K and the Microbe

The K loves the Microwave oven, which she refers to fondly as the Microbe. The Peanut, too, thanks to her now calls it that.

A couple of days ago, I was trying to sleep. It had been a bad night, with my having to wake up almost every hour on the hour to feed Pickle and Papad. At about 6.30 a.m., I realized I couldn't sleep because there was too much noise coming from outside the room.

I also realized that there was this consistent beep-beep that sounded like the Microwave oven being put on to heat something for 30 seconds - this beep-beep was repeated over and over, and I wondered who on earth was heating something at this hour. I finally decided to get up to investigate.

In the kitchen, I found the K standing near the microwave oven with several cups of milk lying nearby.

'What' I asked her ' Are you doing with the microwave so early?'

She mumbled that she was making tea for Vijay's parents, who were early risers. Fair enough.
'But why are you heating milk in the microwave'.
She said that she did not like to put cold milk in the tea, so she warmed it in the microwave first and then put it in the tea.
Okaayyyyy, I thought. I then asked her 'But what are these extra cups for?'
She said that one of the mugs was for Vijay's tea, which she was just going to make next.
I asked her why she was making Vijay's tea now when he would not rise for the next two hours.
She had no answer for this.
I then asked her if she did want to make Vijay's tea in advance for any reason, why had she just not made three cups of tea, and made his along with his parents.
She had no answer for this either and just looked surly. She then informed me that one of the other cups of milk was for me.
I said, even I had my cup of milk with some protein powder two hours later, and more importantly, I liked it cold. So why was she heating it?
She said that she believed that if she heated it once, and then kept it in the fridge for me, then it would remain fresh for longer.
I did not understand this logic at all. I then asked her who the final cup was for.
She brightened up, saying that this one was for Peanut, who wanted her choco-dudu as soon as she woke up.
I said that Peanut wanted her milk warm, and would again, rise only a couple of hours from now - so what was the point of heating it now and then having to heat it again?
The K kept silent, clearly not appreciating this game of twenty questions early in the morning.

I tried to keep my cool, and said perhaps she could lessen her use of the 'Microbe' in the mornings and find something else to do, since it created a disturbance for people trying to sleep. I surmised that this was just a case of her trying to create some work for herself, given that she was an early riser.

The next morning, I was awake again at 6.30 a.m., bleary eyed after another bad night. I then heard a creaking sound - somebody, presumably the K, had walked up to my bedroom door and was shutting it tight. There was a slight click that indicated that the door was indeed shut as tight as it could be.

The now slightly muffled beep-beep of the Microbe started up again, every 30 seconds for the next several minutes.

I just buried my head under the pillow and tried to block it out.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Help...

I've mentioned this before: it's really nice having the help that we do over here - Vinod, Zareena, and the K.

Vinod, as I wrote about before, is not just a driver, but more like an all-rounder. He helped me quite a bit for Vijay's 'surprise' birthday party last week - it wasn't just fetching stuff from the market, but in staying late to help out in the kitchen ( The K was very tickled because apparently he was chopping onions like a pro, at one point), dropping Zareena home after the party, and even helping me sort out some old boxes of junk that we brought from Bangalore over a year back and still haven't thrown out. He takes the initiative in most of these matters, such as noticing that I was asking him to get mobile recharge cards almost every other day for Vijay's phone, which I am using - which was working out really expensive- so he pushed me to switch to a post-paid plan, even getting a Vodafone person to call me up with the ideal plan.

He is very fond of the baby and she bursts into giggles when she sees his face. What is it about this little girl and men!

Conversation between Vinod and me:

Vinod (sing song voice): Madam, maine saab se chaar din ki chhutti maangi hai.
Me: Achha? Kab?
Vinod (waving hand vaguely): Yu hi, paanch, chhe, saat, aath tareek.
Me: Oh. Kahan jaa rahen ho?
Vinod : Mere Maama ke ladke ki shaadi hai, Satna mein. Main nahin jaaunga, Madam, to wo mujhe MAAR daalega!
Me: Theek hai. (Muttering to myself) Chhe tareek ko baby ko doctor ke paas le jaana hai.
Vinod (overhearing me, immediately sings out) To main cancil kar deta ho!

Of course, I had no desire to have him killed by his Maama's ladka for the sake of taking my baby to a doctor 15 minutes away - so I told him we were quite capable of managing without him. He's cancelled his trip anyway, although Vijay tells me that he said it's because he is not feeling too well. Hmmm.

Zareena, of course, is thrilled to have the baby here. She's been waiting for this time for quite a few months and apparently used to get quite bored without anyone here. And unlike the earlier days when she would quickly finish up her work and rush off to the next house, she actually hangs around quite a bit, talking to the K - but actually waiting for the baby to wake up so that she can attempt to deafen her by cackling delightedly in her ear. She has this weird song that she sings to her, I can't really make out the words - but man, that woman is loud and tuneless. Thankfully, Peanut is a in a good mood after her naps and feeds and doesn't seem to mind at all - she smiles away at the old, loud, energetic woman who is shouting 'PA-PA-PUTLI-(SOMETHING)-TITLI....' between cackles. Anyone out there know this song?

And earlier, she would tend to take a day off every now and then - coinciding usually with the day after payday, thereby convincing Vijay that the money he paid her was going into buying and consuming copious quantities of daroo, and that she was lolling about in a drunken state somewhere on the days that she did not show up. This is quite an unfair accusation, but that is Vijay's suspicious nature for you. Anyway, it would be too much for us to hope that she doesn't take days off now, but those instances have lessened, and she does call up to inform us that she is 'not well today'. Plus, it is made that much more bearable because of the K.

The K, my mother's gift to us, is a real saviour for me. Life goes on as usual even though Zareena hasn't landed up today. And while the K can tend to be a little woolly-headed and not very efficient with handling the baby, what matters most to me is that she whole-heartedly loves her and is totally attentive with her. Of course, she is a bit too attentive and I have to coax her to let the baby play by herself occasionally, but this is a small price to pay for such love and impeccable credentials as having brought up my own baby sister.

However, she is getting rather absent-minded in her old age. Incidentally, I was shocked to hear that the K is now 50 years old because, to me, she looks exactly like she did when she came to our house 25 years ago. But anyway, she still tends to have those gaps in communication with Vijay. Such as when she brings Vijay's early morning tea to him.

The K (chirpy): Gud Mawrning, Bhaiyya!
Vijay: (stretching, never at his best in the mornings) Good morning.
The K: Biskoot laau?
Vijay: (mumbling incoherently) Haan...ek, do, le aao...
(Pause)
The K (gently repeats): Biskoot laau?
Vijay (a bit more clearly): Haan...ek, do, le aao...

The K smiles indulgently and disappears for ten minutes.

Vijay, not traditionally a biscuit eater in the mornings, is nevertheless now in the mood for a biskoot or two to dunk in his tea and goes off looking for the same. He goes to the kitchen and finds the biscuit tin himself, and on his way back, notices the K is standing by the drawing room window, gazing at the wide, wide ocean in a very contemplative mood. In his words, it is as if 'Wo soch rahi thi, main itne bade saagar mein kahan se biskoot dhoondke laau'. A bit annoyed, Vijay purposely rattles the biscuit tin as he passes to get her attention.

She turns towards him slowly, the very picture of early morning serenity, and proceeds to rub it in, with a final, affectionate 'Biskoot laau?'

It's good to have her around.

The Awesome Twosome

Right now, I quite like Delhi, where I am spending my leave - the weather was truly horrible the first week of June, but it is sort of tolerable now (Of course, I am writing this happily in A/C comfort, but never mind that...). But I guess I do miss some things about Bombay.

Like the husband, my friends...and as I realised earlier this week, the help that we have in our maid, Zareena and our driver, Vinod. It's strange how these two characters have become, in just a few short months, like members of the family - I have blogged about them before, too.

Before leaving Bombay, I bought our maid Zareena a mobile phone, which which she was very kicked, and gave our driver Vinod a handsome tip - instructing them both to take good care of my husband. It was gratifying to see that they both seemed suitably sorry to see me leave, despite the generosity. (Zareena got teary eyed and reached up from her three-feet-two-inch height to give me a hug, and Vinod told me 'kuchh galati ho gayi, to maafi maangta hoon', which I was quite mystified by until Vijay explained to me this was a standard way of saying goodbye in some parts - strange!)

Anyway, Vijay was travelling abroad earlier this week, so on the day he was to return to Bombay, I called Zareena with a set of instructions, on her new mobile.

Me: Hello, Zareena?
Zareena: HAAAN? HAY-LO? (Sounding very excited to be getting a call, and bawling at the usual unnecessary decibel)
Me: Zareena, main bol rahin hoon (Realising she probably has no clue what my name is, has always just called me 'Madam'). Dilli se.
Zareena: HAAN! MADAM!! MEIN GADI MEIN HOON ABHI! KAISE HO?
Me: (Wondering what Gadi she is talking about...bus, train, auto...there is enough noise in the background for it to be all three) Theek, theek. Aur Tum kaise ho?
Zareena: HAAN!
Me: (Realizing I better get on with this quickly) Achha Zareena, Saab aaj raat ko aa rahen hai wapas. Kuchh khaane ko banaya?
Zareena: HAAN! BANAYA, NA..
Me: Accha. Aur unhe camera nahin mil raha tha, wo dhoond ke rakh dena, theek hai?
Zareena: HAAN! MILA, NA...
Me: Aur ek aur baat - aur hamara bank se courier aane waala tha, wo aaya kya?
Zareena: HAAN! AAYA, NA...
Me: (Satisfied) Achha, theek hai phir, Zareena. Dhyan Rakh na. Bye..
Zareena: ACHHA MADAM! (Gleefully reassuring me) MERA PHONE BAHUT ACHHA HAI. ACHHA, BYE!

Having done the dutiful wifely thing by making this call, I then proceeded to take my afternoon siesta. It was broken two hours later by a call from Vinod.

Vinod: (In his slow, soft spoken drawl) Hullooo? Madam? Mein Vinod bol rahan hoon.
Me: Haan Vinod. Kya haal hai?
Vinod: Bilkul First Class, Madam (Usual endearing sing-song lilt to the 'First Class') Aur Aap?
Me: (Finding this to be a good expression and not quite awake) Haan, bilkul First Class. Kya ho rahan hai?
Vinod (Supremely politely and apologetically, explaining the reason for his call) Madam, aapne Zareena ko aaj phone kiya tha. Usse kuchh samajh nahin aaya. Mujhe phone kar ke bola, ki Madam ko phone karke poonch lo kya bola...

I was dumbfounded for a minute, and then saw the funny side of it all, as usual. I laughed and repeated all the instructions slowly and carefully for Vinod, who seemed to have no problem understanding it - and then bid him goodbye.

These two conversations left me thinking about what prizes these two characters are, individually, and as a team. Alright, they have their own quirks, but then who doesn't? In any case, I know how difficult it is to get good help - someday when I have the strength for it, I will tell you about the Bangalore maids (Sickly Sarojamma, Clever Kalpana, Creaky Josephine...shudder, shudder).

In any case, Vijay and I have been fairly fortunate in Mumbai, to get Zareena and Vinod. Overall, I guess, we are just two clowns who have sort of lucked out with these two clowns.

Vinod, sirf Goldie Banana laana..

We have realized that we been rather lucky to get a driver like Vinod.

The search for a driver in Mumbai had begun rather painfully, when we moved here last year. We weren't quite prepared to pay as much as the going rate, and our usual over-baked attempts at 'bargaining' (feigning heart attacks at what they quoted) drove away a good many prospects.

In fact, a couple of times, Vijay would take a new driver to office and back 'on trial' for a day or two - but they would apparently decide he just didn't cut it as a potential employer, and disappear wordlessly. This initially suited Vijay just fine, as it meant free rides to work, but it got tiring after a while.

That's when Vinod landed up.

One of the security guards at our buildings introduced him into our lives, and since then, he has been an integral part of it.

Some nice things about Vinod:

a. He is a smart, polite, young man, always well turned out, bright eyed and alert. He has greyish green eyes that twinkle as he wishes me good morning, every morning.

b. When I approach the car, he appears out of nowhere like a shot to open the door for me and always offers to help with the shopping packets. He also patiently runs after me to give me my cellphone, or purse, or whatever I have absentmindedly left in the car, and there is never a hint of sarcasm in his smile when he does this.

c. Before us, he worked for a crazy, fussy Mumbai-model-starlet-type, who would keep him out at all odd hours of the night; and so he seems to think Vijay and me are dream employers by comparison.

d. He hasn't missed a single day of work without good reason, always arrives half an hour early, and never complains about being called either too early, or beng kept too late - oftentimes, he even lands up on Sunday of his own accord, just to see if he can drive us somewhere.

e. He has apparently honed his driving skills by driving, from the age of seven upwards, a tractor in the uneven terrain in his village in UP - so he manoeuvres our Honda City like a bicycle through thin cracks in the traffic (Vijay may not agree that this is a good thing).

f. He always politely puts up with Vijay's backseat driving and contrary instructions 'Koi Jaldi nahin..aaram se chalaao...' followed by 'Late ro rahen hai...thoda daudao'. He also doesn't mind running around buying our groceries for us 'Sirf Goldie banana laana...sirf teen Alphonso mango laana..'

g. He doesn't chat while driving needlessly, but when he does speak, it is always amusing because of the overly polite, sing-song way that he talks. 'Hume gaaon nahin jaana, wahan bore hote hai....hamare papa-mummy kehte hai shaadi kar lo, par hume shaadi nahin karni...jab model memsahib hume Sanjay Dutt ke ghar le gayi to unhone hume dekh ke pooncha 'tu baarah saal ka hai, kya?..Aur phir hume paanch hazaar rupaiye diye..Bahut peete hai..'

h. Thanks to having worked for his 'model memsahib', he knows all the party places in Mumbai better than we do. To a query like 'Vinod, Hawaiian Shack maalum hai...?'....a quick 'Ji, Sir' is shot back with quiet confidence and we are off.

i. When he doesn't know a place, he consults his respected elder brother ( also a driver) who he lives with, and who serves as his map and moral guide. When he heard that we were off on our road trip weekend recently, he checked the route out with his brother and sweetly offered to drive us there 'Bhaiiya ne kahan ki mujhe aapko Wapi tak pahuchana chahiye, wahan ka raasta achha nahin hai...'. (We ended up taking him halfway and then he took a train back home)

j. He has a lot of assured self-confidence without being egoistic. This is evident in his belief that he can beat up anyone if necessary - although we haven't seen him actually lose his temper with other drivers and cretins on the Mumbai streets. 'Hum mein bahut taakat hai', he says matter-of-factly. It's a bit hard to believe this fully considering he is roughly half Vijay's size ( Vijay himself is six feet tall but one foot wide), and that Sanjay Dutt (drunkenly but excusably) has mistaken him for a twelve year old.

Some not-so-nice things about Vinod:

a. He doesn't exactly respect each and every traffic rule all the time, and tends to drive a little faster than necessary- and so he has to be chastised by Vijay, once in a blue moon ( I never notice as I am always gazing dreamily out the window at nothing, but I have heard from Vani that he confided to her 'Jab madam hoti hai gaadi mein, to main hamesha bahut aaram se hi chalata hoon..'. Just a little touch of protectiveness! Wait, these are supposed to be his bad points..)

b. He makes us feel a bit guilty by letting us take advantage of his good nature and flexibility. We tip him often and pay him well, but sometimes still end up feeling a bit like imperialist exploiters.

c. He's basically a little too good to be true, and no driver after him will match up. This is a bit of a problem, but that's in the future...

The one time when he did admit to having been in a scrap with the law, recently, we were very much interested in knowing the details. (So he is human, after all!).

Vinod (one evening): Sir, aaj hamara license chala gaya. Kal court se collect karna hai.
Vijay: Kyon, kya hua?
Vinod: Ek police-waala aaya aur hum sab driver pe chillaane laga ...bola ki humne wrong parking ki hui hai. Par humne nahin ki thi, sir. Uss ke saath sab driver log ladne lage..aur ...aur hume bhi gussa aa gaya, sir. Humne bhi police-waale ko keh diya!
Vijay (very interested to see where this goes) Kya kahan tumne?
Vinod (a little ashamed): Bas keh diya, Sir.
Vijay (cajoling him, getting ready to hear the choicest of Allahabadi abuses): Bolo, na..kya kahan?
Vinod (finally getting his crime off his chest, in his usual sing-song, slow manner): Sir..humne police waale ko poonchha...''Tumhe Hawaldar Banaya Kisne?''

And that's our Vinod.


Additional note: Last night, Vijay and I discovered that Vinod apparently sleeps 3 hours a night. 'Sir, neend hi nahin aati doh baje tak, kya kare..phir paanch baje uthke sab log ka khaana pakata hoon. Par teen ghanta bahut hai..'. I am very worried by this fact and am wondering whether the 'bright eyed, alert' look is actually a 'glazed eyes, robotic' look in disguise. I have advised him to drop his 'midnight cup of tea' habit and try to sleep more, considering that he is our driver, and will also encourage more daytime naps. I knew there was a catch, I knew it..

Maid in Heaven

One of the key things that has made it worthwhile to move from the peace-and-beautiful-weather-of-beloved-Bangalore, to the hustle-and-bustle-of-noisy-Mumbai is: you guessed it - the help.

We were lucky enough to have wangled an apartment with a Sea View on Bandstand. It was on the first day of unpacking, when we were admiring this view from the living room window - we were just standing there- side by side, basking in the quiet contentment of husband and wife, enjoying a brief respite between harried moments - when the silence was shattered by a blaring, high pitched voice which rang through the apartment.

Disembodied voice (unnecessarily high decibel): MAIN TUMHARE LIYE CHAI BANATEEE?

Trembling with fear, we turned towards the door of the living room and the offender stepped out of the shadows. A sari-clad wizened old creature around half my height, stood gazing challengingly and authoritatively at us.

Vijay(taking charge of the situation): Chai? Haan, haan, chai. Par...aap ho kaun?

The creature suddenly seemed to remember her manners and attempted an ingratiating grin: MAIN ZAREENA. ISS BUILDING MEIN MAIN-ICH KAAM KARTEEE. SAB FLOOR PE MAIN-ICH. EK FLOOR, DO FLOOR, CHAAR FLOOR, SAB FLOOR. (in a revealing tone) TUM TEEN FLOOR PE HO.

Dumbfounded and unable to argue this fact, we nodded assent. She discovered that we didn't have tea in the house, so she went to the floor above and used the raw materials and utensils there to bring down two steaming cups of tea for us. I was immediately impressed by her resourcefulness and decided she was exactly what we needed. While sipping the tea, I was quick to quietly but firmly impress upon Vijay that he shouldn't try his negotiation tricks and drive her away (since his usual idea of negotiation is to bid 1/25th of the initial ask price and this tends to turn some people off). He reluctantly agreed.

After the brief discussion on payment which she won, she demanded of Vijay: MERA CHAABEE KAHAN HAI?

Vijay (wary from past experience with shady Maids in Bangalore): Chaabee nahin dega.

Zareena (Shocked and hurt): KYOON?

Vijay (searching for inspiration): ....Uhh....Ek hi hai!

Zareena (With a condescending guffaw): MERE KO DEYO. MAIN BANWA KE AATEE, NAA. PHATAFAT BANWA KE AATEE.

Vijay, defeated, handed over the key mutely. Soon, she was back, with two extra copies of the key which she gave to us. And then, she proceeded to take over the house.

We were quickly delighted to learn that Zareena would not only cook for us, including early morning tea, breakfast and dinner; but also take care of the other household bores like cleaning, buying veggies, etc. It really is quite fantastic - it's like having a live-in maid without her living in.

She has her drawbacks, of course - the chief of which is her disinclination to fold up clothes and put them into cupboards. She much prefers to put them straight into the washing machine, regardless of whether they need cleaning or not. I have bought many new clothes, tried them on once, left them on the bed, only to find them hanging out to dry the next day. And since she enthusiastically and indiscriminately bungs in everything into what is clearly her favorite invention in the world, more than one wonderfully expensive new shirt has been tainted with the bright color of a cheap undie (Vijay's).

The other drawback is that once she gets into a chatty mood, it's difficult to end the conversation.

Zareena (out of the blue, while I'm reading): MAIN SAARA HINDUSTAN KE LIYE KAAM KIYA.
Me (genuinely impressed): Achha? Saara desh mein?
Zareena ( confused): NAHINNN! TUMHARA COMPANY KA SAARA LOG YAHAN REHTA NA..KITNA SAHIB AAYA-GAYA - SAB KE LIYE MAIN-ICH KAAM KIYA.
Me (understanding): Oh, achha. Hindustan Lever ke log ki liye.
Zareena (not one to bother with detail): HAAN - SAARA HINDUSTAN -TUMHARE PEHLA, KAUNSA MADRASI YAHAN THA? MOTA SAHIB?

(Cue for the beginning of Never-Ending game of us trying to establish who lived here before us - and who before them - and so on - ending only when it's sundown and time for her to go home).

Overall though, she has been quite a catch - has a heart of gold, works efficiently, and most importantly - today, she made us Methi Paranthas for breakfast.

And with a Methi Parantha inside you, and the sea in front of you, Mumbai doesn't look so bad, after all.