The loofah week

“Madam, can you please get me a loofah” said my new Home -Manager, as my eyes tweaked to listen loudly.

It took a while …in a slow motion to register..Looofaah. Just like a Bollywood couple running towards each other in a dance sequence. Though in my case it was my ears leaping towards her speech. I, now had my radars up – thanks to my excellent hearing capacity, which several times miss out not only the unimportant information flow but also the important one!!!

She reiterated, “Loofah madam”. I jerked my mind to capture LooFahh. And here my thoughts took a flight to the Lux ad on TV, where a loofah was provided free, every time you buy a body wash – in the early last decade when the Indian market was opening up to more advanced and sophisticated toiletries. And my introduction to the Loofah. I hadn’t even known about such a thing existed and hadn’t experienced the real product until then and continue to do so now. I am pretty old fashioned when it comes to experimenting and really have no idea whatsoever about others in this domain. 

Now this middle aged new entrant into our lives, as an extended help to the household chores and more specifically for our young boy, hired through an NGO, run by an ex CEO of a telecom company had a finest demand ever – loofah!! Her journey into our abode wasn’t easy either. We had to go through a back-ground check and based upon our previous record and requirement a domestic help nee a “Home-Manager” was provided to us. How lucky!! We finally found one after years of struggle, despite the fact that we had to pay her salary through our nose. No gain without a pain and this was a pain only in my bank account.

While a flashback descended my mind about our maid less days, a soft voice ringed my ears. “Please take care of her. She is the most prized possession in our centre.” The centre head had known her for only a week then!! A prized possession for me now. I’d known her for a few hours. Without grunting I nodded a happy affirmation.

The constant reminder of “Please take care of her” made me aptly chronicle her demand while I was going out for the weekly grocery shopping. And I was hunting for the loofah as per her description and make. After dismissing a couple of Indian make, I could finally zero on to one closest to her description. As I grabbed it, ending a 20 minute hunt, I flipped it around to closely inspect the price tag and the make. I was taken aback. It was nearly the same price as the Olay anti-ageing cream which I had heartlessly dissuaded myself from buying.

Oops the loofah slipped from my hand!!

I returned home minus the loofah and no thoughtful explanation of why I hadn’t adhered to her requirement.

As I entered, she disarmed me of the grocery and the vegetables stock that lasts until the next weekend. I noticed her searching for something while she helped me by settling things in the kitchen and refrigerator. Her curious glances and a question little later; as she collected her own necessities out of the shopping bag, “ Loofah Madam?”

I couldn’t say that your loofah was costing me more than the Olay cream. Instead, I replied that it wasn’t available and maybe she could accompany me to the Friday bazaar and buy for herself.

She didn’t look pleased and I carried on with work.

I had made my cook exit before she entered our household hoping that the ‘trained’ Home-Manager, whom I would be paying through the nose, would adequately help mum look after our young boy and take care of the cooking chores as well.

However, to my astonishment I found mum in the kitchen doing things by herself the whole of Saturday and Sunday while the home-manager looked on. This forty plus woman with 2 children and grandchildren struggled peeling potatoes and on several occasions I extending a helping hand with the peeler. On Monday, she apprised us of not only her minimal knowledge of cooking but also of her disinterest. Mom and I wondered whether cooking basics was something of a rocket science to a woman who’s already lived half her life!!

While this cloud of confusion persisted over her presence; I consoled myself by thinking that since the agency took the guarantee for her, we would perhaps win the battle if she is able to strike a cord with our son. We encouraged the little boy to break the ice with his new aunty.  He would go and offer her food, give her toys to play with and encourage her involvement in his play time.  While his efforts were also going to the drain, we continued to be in vain.

In the mid –week, she reminded me of the Loofah again. I nodded and told her to wait till Friday when we can buy it from the Friday Bazaar.

An emergency beckoned hubby to his hometown. Son and mum joined him too for I had a working weekend. This meant the home-manager and I get to spend more time together.

On Friday, as promised, I took her out for loofah shopping and to celebrate our new buy decided to cook special dinner. I taught her palak-paneer. While she feasted over the green, I digged in my vegetable dalia and told her to pack me the veggie for lunch, the next day.

As I reclined to bed, a sms beeped, “What are you doing? Can I call now?  To this, I replied, “Yes darling, hubby and son not besides me on the bed. You can surely fill up the emptiness tonight?” Minutes later, Anshu called. How could she miss a rare opportunity!! Like 2 school girls we chatted quiet past mid-night till my eyes couldn’t take any more burden and I had to force a pre-closure of our chat session. This was perhaps the first night in soo many years ….a girls night out albeit the physical proximity.

Well, surely I had known the side effects of a night over phone. I woke up past 8. Fortunately, the home-manager was up before I and it was a relief to catch her happy face over a hot cup of tea. I wondered was this the loofah effect or the palak-paneer, for I hadn’t seen her smile in 6 days that she was with us. Couldn’t reason out though!! Without further wasting much time on morning broodings, which most often I indulge into, I asked her to quickly pack 2 chapattis along with last night’s left-over of palak –paneer for lunch as I leave in the next half-an hour.

During the lunch hour at work, I excitedly opened the box as I salivated over the sumptuous veggie that waited inside it. As I opened the box, a surprise waited instead in the form of an empty box.

How foolish!! I debated – me or the home-manager? I frantically searched for the contents inside the bag, and inside my car- front, rear, and everywhere else.  Saturday meant no office canteen. The hunger-pang travelled to the North Pole and then to the South Pole, back and forth. My temper soared like the bubbles in hot water. I dialed my land-line while remaining composed, at least over the phone.

Damn it - the contract!  I couldn’t demand an explanation or yell – yes, I was bound by the contract. I promised myself to read and re- read the clauses of the contract and find out from the agency the manner in which I have to behave in case the home-manager forgets to fill the contents in the lunch box??

I was boiling with hunger and anger and couldn’t exactly figure out the order. Nevertheless, picking up courage, in the most polished voice that I could ever had in this flaming temper, I asked her about the lunch box contents and its whereabouts, jokingly. She gave me the silliest answer at this juncture when my head and tummy were tremoring in the hunger -quake with soon to be followed gaseous eruptions.

“Did you ask me to fill the contents that I prepared in the box that you took to office?”, she answered.  This was little much to handle, I thought to myself and not worth probing over the phone. For now, the gaseous eruptions in the tummy had already ensued and I needed to put them to rest fast. I stayed put the conversations and ventured out to find a suitable replacement to my lunch dreams. Somehow, I managed to find haldiram bhujia from outside the office premises while she had her feast number 2. By the way she had finished her lunch even before I called up. 

I reached home late and did not express disgust over the morning incidence. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words. A self-proclaimed Ph.D. that I am in maid-management, this incidence really didn’t bog me down. My hopes were high for training her. After all, I had the entire Sunday at my disposal and weeks later.

My night plans were entact for I had decided to watch Leo-Caprio's Black Diamond followed by a long chat session with Anshu. My target was set, I had to finish the movie on a fast –forward mode by 10:30 pm. Therefore, I quickly scurried off my veggie dalia, bade good-bye to Leo, promising to finish off the CD-2 in my next Home-alone stay, soaked Rajma for lunch on Sunday (thinking on a Sunday I could treat myself to something nice, despite the Saturday fiasco) and later engrossed myself to a 3 hour tête-à-tête with Anshu.

The morning was groggy. It was past 9 and I had skipped my morning walk and my plans for the day looked hazy as well. I couldn’t curse myself beyond this as I was still hopeful of accomplishing some of the plans though. Gleefully, I ventured into the kitchen to help myself with a cup of hot water. My part-timer was busy cleaning and mopping the house. I noticed Rajma on the kitchen platform and not on the gas-stove as I had explained to the home-manager the previous night. And she was not in sight either. I enquired from the maid and she pointed to the wash-room. I settled on the couch, sifting newspapers.

A little later, she walked out and out to her room. I was a bit surprised and followed her. She laid down in anguish as she had thrown once since morning. To me it looked like a typical case of in-digestion; being a victim myself, several times and advised her to rest while I leaped out to open my medicine box. The next moment I saw her howling at the top of her voice, rushing to the wash-room to throw again. I and the other help hurriedly followed her. Thankfully, nothing came out of her tummy this time. I requested my maid to help her to the room and get talking with her as both of them shared their mother tongue. Meanwhile, I offered her water and the necessary drug. She refused it curtly. I, not knowing what to do and also thinking about the availability of doctors on a Sunday.

Her howls were becoming more pronounced. This scared the hell out of me. Immediately, I decided to take her to a nearby hospital. Being a holiday, they took her into emergeny.

The doctors here diagnosed her with gastroenteritis and sever panic attack and instantly ripped me of Five Thousand Rupees.  She was administered some medicines and also a relaxation pill and later shifted to an ac ward where an attendant looked for her needs.

I, in my night pajamas, with a limpy calci-spurred foot ran helter-skelter, getting things in place, arranging for the tests, and doing rounds of the doctors, the pathology lab, reception and the hospital canteen.  And parallely informing the agency head of her condition. It was only post lunch-time that I heaved a sign of relief as I had completed all the necessary formalities and by that time, the home-manager looked well too. 

I realized that my tummy was rumbling badly. I had forgotten everything. Even while ordering food for her, I had forgotten to order for myself and it now it was too late. The hospital canteen was no-longer taking lunch orders.

After several phone calls and requests, the agency took mercy on me and sent one of its employees. Her friends were informed as well – and promised to join her in the evening.

The next morning, I oriented myself to the one of the extra-ordinary busy working that laid ahead at work and the first ones in my new job. Before leaving for the office, hubby (had reached late Sunday night with mum and son) and I completed all the formalities at the hospital and went to her room to check on her.

The agency had been conveyed to terminate her employment with us and provide us with replacement, as laid out in the contract with them. 

Later in the day, she along with a friend came to pick her belongings and took away whatever belonged to her and also the refund given by the hospital.

A replacement was provided 2 months later. And on one of the shelves, her loofah still stays perched.