I met her first in the summer of 2013 in Bijapur, India. Of a diminutive frame, of a pearly white smile and cute dimples, this lady made an immediate impression on my mind. I was drawn to her, probably to her strength of character. She came home to wash our dirty dishes and dirty laundry twice a day and to lend a helping hand in other household chores when needed.
This time when I visited Bijapur, six summers later, I met Kalawati again. She shone. She was resplendent, exuding more charm than before. An air of being in control – control of her finances, of her daughter’s education, of her status in society, a quietly glowing confidence which comes from knowing that the worst is now behind us, that when difficult situations come and go, I have the wherewithal to battle hardship and be on top of it.
My stay in Bijapur this time was fifteen days long. Other than my heroine Kalawati, there were two other women, their lives being no mean feat either, who worked in the house. One came in at 9am, left anytime at or before 5pm. Kalawati was the primary support for my ailing, almost immobile mother-in-law. A young lady of 28, she kept her company till as long as she was around and brought some cheer into an otherwise sullen life of a person hoping to walk again some day, hoping to be useful all over again. Then there was a truant cook – a lady who ran a canteen at a small local hospital. What I found truly inspiring was how each of them was a statue of self-discipline, a symbol of strength that makes a woman and how their self-confidence, their zest for living and making the most of what they got, didn’t get marred by day-today ups and downs, their poverty-stricken lives or by the people who make up their lives.
The fortnight that I spent in Bijapur was almost all indoors. In hindsight, I do regret very much that I didn’t make my most coveted, most charming foray into Gandhi Chowk, the main market area in Bijapur. It has such an inexhaustible array of small shops, dusty roads full of history and character that is so typical of a small town. There are small businesses everywhere on those streets – there are multiple cloth and clothing vendors, for example, selling safari suit material, salwar kameez pieces, blouse pieces, local Ilkal sarees and exquisite cutwork, embroidered sarees, night gowns , children’s baba suits, clothes for little girls and boys swaying from hooks adorning the exteriors of these shops. Then there are shops selling aluminium, steel and brass ware , kitchen utensils , pots and pans, shops selling plastic just- about-everything, small and medium sized jewellers selling gold and silver jewellery, silver lamps, anklets which make the sweetest tinkling sound, small black and silver beaded bangles for new borns, hardware shops, hair salons , beauty parlors, chaat and mithai shops, grocers etc. Among other such shops, shops which completely cover all possible daily needs of the human kind of Bijapur, there was what I have come to appreciate a lot (after living in Europe for more than a decade) – the local Farmer’s market which sells the freshest of green leafy vegetables , okra, eggplants of all shapes and sizes, fresh spices, green and red chillies both fresh and dry variety , pomegranates, gooseberries, other seasonal fruits and vegetables. I do go quite gaga when I see such a fresh green spread out on the streets in Bijapur in many pockets of this town. The farmers are of a warm and friendly disposition. They are respectful, honest and lively.
That was a bit of a digression. Have I told you already that Kalawati has magic hands? She’s a top-class masseuse. With these hands, which are both deft and firm, she can make many a pain and strain vanish. It feels safe to be in her hands. Her touch is calming, I find the same soothing effect in it like in my mother’s. The great cracking neck twist – it felt like years of stress had been snapped out of me in a jiff. The day after I had uncontrolled diarrhoea and I woke up with a very bad stomach-ache, a stiff back too, our lady K instructed my husband exactly which area around my backbone could be massaged and how to relieve those symptoms; and it worked! She knows. She knows a lot of home remedies for common ailments. She knows how to keep her hair soft, black, thick and shiny. She knows how to keep her teeth from decaying, ” I brush my teeth with salt every morning. Nothing but salt.” The teeth, they are white! Then there’s so much one can learn from her just by pure observation. She’s an inspiration, a lesson in how to handle an authoritative, at times foul-mouthed boss at work, still holding fort, not giving in, not letting emotions get in the way of work. Kalawati knows how to laugh it off, she knows which battles to pick and which ones are not worth it, she knows how to filter the chaff from the grain and that grain is precious and chaff is not, she knows that judging is not for her, not for her to put people up or down .
She told me she stopped going to school, still less than ten years of age, because she didn’t want to be the object of teasing after having lost all her hair to a three-month long tryst with the deadly typhoid fever. Her parents, Kalawati said, not being too educated themselves, didn’t really push her against her wishes.
I later came to know from my mother-in-law that Kalawati is a widow. At a very young age, perhaps less than 20, a bride of three years, she lost her husband to a stroke. She has a daughter whom she chose to adopt from her brother, who apparently had one too many children.
Adversity must have shown it’s face at every step from then on. She fought it unfazed – not getting bogged down by anything. Luckily, both her husband’s family and her own offered support when needed – not that she ever went seeking support. She earned a living, eking out a little life for herself and her daughter ( whom she insists should get at least a college education ) and saving up for building a little house, some day, for herself and her daughter. Today, she’s a proud owner of a little housing complex of sorts, four small rooms with two bathrooms on the outskirts of Bijapur. Two of these rooms and a bathroom are rented-out while she and her daughter share the rest.
A fearless explorer – that she is too. She has been on week-long trips, sometimes two weeks, to other parts of India up north, touring around with, perhaps, total strangers, hooking-up with her ethical Guru and other like-minded people.
I loved the way she has raised her daughter. The twenty-year old came to meet us before we left. She has a calm and contained demeanour, is well-groomed, has a quiet confidence, a sense of righteousness and seemed to have her head fixed firmly on her shoulders. She’s studying for a Bachelor’s in Commerce at a local college. She chips-in with her bit at home – helping out her mother with daily chores, cooking dinner every night. That same evening, our last before we left the next day morning, Kalawati carved another little niche for herself in my heart, another act of generosity and thoughtfulness. She sun-dried and roasted some twenty different spices, ground them together into what is locally called Masaalpudi. An addition in almost every culinary preparation in the land, this spice mix enhances the taste manifold and of course increases the goodness, the health benefits of it; that being inherent to the spices . This aromatic and hot spice mix is one tangible legacy of Kalawati which I brought back with me, the rest I carried deep within.
She continues to take care of my mother-in-law who fortunately cherishes her wise company and knows that Kalawati will stand by her through thick and thin.
I also brought back a sackful of respect and love for the women of Bijapur, those who know that life is about living it as it comes, the situation and conditions that come with it may hamper your lifestyle, make life look hard and trying but there’s emancipation in living it, riding the rollercoaster than standing by the wayside and watching it rush by. My love and prayers for all of you.
( A page out of my yet unwritten tribute to the housemaids in India)
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