cooksinindia

My little domestic dilema...

I’m sitting on the roof of our apartment complex. The sun is about five degrees above the horizon. I’m in shorts and a T-shirt. The date is December 3.
One of the interesting little dramas that have become a part of my life is my relationship with my house-helper, Leela. She is very protective of Tom and me, and gets down right nasty if we try to do any work in her presence. Washing dishes is out of the question, as is laundry and sweeping the floor. Sounds OK, right? Well, here’s the problem: Leela is a doll and all…a real sweetheart with a heart of gold, but she’s not the most thorough of cleaners. Laundry is pretty much dumped in a bucket and let sit for an hour or so, then drained and hung out to dry. If there’s any agitation going on, it’s strictly on my part over the less-than-sterling results. After about three days it might show up ironed and folded. Maybe. But you can imagine the less-than-uniform look of the finished product. Mottled might best describe it. So.
There happens to also be a very nice family that sets up shop in the little parking lot outside the flat. They have a lean-to…a bit of a roof, and they make their way in the world by taking in laundry and ironing. The iron is a great massive affair with a central chamber into which one puts hot coals. Very ingenious. I’m sure it was all the rage in the first world at the turn of the century; and it’s still working fine here in India. So a month or so ago the little girl from this family rings the bell and makes motions to suggest she’ll do laundry (my neighbor helped me to understand the gist of her message). I figured Leela was no where to be found, so I handed her over an armload of the good stuff. The next day it comes back clean and pressed. Let me emphasize: Clean and pressed. The cost? Ten rupees…or about twenty-five cents. And it was service with a smile. The little girl was cute as a bug’s ear. Enter Leela. She happened to be in the apartment one day shortly thereafter when the little angel knocked to again inquire after my laundry needs. Overhearing my discussion with the lass, Leela reacted with a purpose. Pointing to a pile of laundry in need of laundering, she gestured in the general dirction of my new laundry family and said: “No. No laundry.” Or thereabouts. She then gestured to herself and said, “I laundry piagee.” (Piagee is what she calls Tom and me. Loosely translated, it means, “little brother”. Or, ‘helpless one’.) Just for good measure she told me ten more times I’m strictly not allowed to take my laundry to the humble-and-incredibly-efficient-family-in-the-parking-lot-who-is-available-and-willing-to-do-a-great-job-for-next-to-nothing. Well. You don’t need to hit me over the head with a blunt shovel! The little girl walk away dejectedly, and I decided for the sake of domestic tranquility I’d live with dirty pants.
Switch scenes. This morning I was feeling the need to clean and organize, what with my time fast coming to a close. I amassed a small pile of particularly dirty laundry, and resigned myself to not seeing it again for a week. Then I did a bad thing. Flying in the face of what I know to be right, I hunkered down in the bath room and proceeded to scrub that pile of laundry with a vengeance. And you know? It felt good. The chance of Leela coming in unannounced made it that much sweeter. I felt like a middle-schooler stealing a smoke in the boy’s room. I scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed some more before hanging them out to dry on the roof and heading off to a well-deverved lunch of fish talis and some shopping. I was willing to concede Leela the ironing; I’d had my fun, and was prepared to take my lumps. Washing the clothes myself was a relatively minor transgression, I reasoned. Then, inexplicably, a dark cloud passed between me and my better judgment. It was a small cloud, but profound in effect. It came in the form of the little girl who first enticed me into her laundry services. As I wheeled my bike into the parking lot following lunch and various business, she gave me a smile and a“Namaskar”. I responded with an “Ap ke sai heh?” And she with, "Mais ah cha Huh!” A simple howdy-do, but delivered with such sweetness and light as to render me weak in the knees. I was done for. After locking up my trusty bike, I went directly to the roof, pulled the clothes from the rack, and proceeded back to the lot to ask about ironing. I thought I might have caught a sly glance stealing from the face of son, to mother, to father. They knew I was operating behind Leela’s back. But guess what? They ironed the pile in five minutes time for a charge of Rs. 5. I gave the boy a tenner and told him to keep the change. That was about twenty minutes ago, and now I sit here in nervous anticipation. Shades of Crime and Punishment pass before me. But I have a pile of fresh clothes. And the sun is next to the horizon. And, as they say, what doesn’t kill us helps to make us strong. Let us hope Leela can find forgiveness in her heart. I’ve included a photograph of the sun touching the horizon, as viewed from the roof, as well as a picture of my partners in crime. Sorry about the latter’s blurry aspect.