A wish for those born on the margins

Sometimes two Indias collide — surprisingly, giddily, happily. Case in point: When one woman gave another a hug and a peck on the cheek, a simple, spontaneous gesture of affection as we looked on. Except: one was a royal dowager, regal in her chiffon and pearls; the other a dancer, part of a troupe to entertain wedding guests. As receptions go, it was an intimate affair, ridiculously small by Delhi standards, making up in bonhomie what it lacked in numbers. That odd bonding warmed our hearts more than alcohol that cold night. Where, once, women of the zenana would look through those to the margins born, the easy acceptance of the other was a marker of the distance India has come since independence, a moment of quiet triumph and celebration.

India exists on so many levels that one runs the risk of generalisation. Take the case of millennial couples who think little of toting a nanny along with their kids to a restaurant, but the ayah will not be offered a seat, her duty being to spoonfeed the little babas and missy-babys while remaining standing; and any meal — it won’t be leftovers if she’s lucky — will be served on a separate table away from the family. How hypocritical that those who wash and cook for us should be considered unclean company. Yet, how often have we asked a driver to share a table when out on a highway, even in a dhaba? The thought of the house help sitting on the sofa is galling to most, so having the major domo run through house accounts, or the cook list the ingredients for a party menu while standing up, is not just acceptable, it’s desirable. 

How many of us care to provide the domestic staff furniture in the kitchen? Do we know the condition of their bed linen, the state of their bathrooms? Are we so tightfisted that we can’t think to bring a little cheer into their lives with gifts of snacks (they can suffer midnight pangs too) or half-decent toiletry? Must they take care of our privileged lives from a state of unhappy drudgery? Can we bridge the difference between the lives of their children and ours by ensuring basic hygiene, education — and the chance of a chukker in the sports field? Let us not think of it as charity as much as gratitude, for we owe our working lives to their unflinching support. They have our backs; do we have theirs? 

To understand their aspirations and joys, peek into their cameras (with their permission, of course) to see the selfies they’ve clicked, the songs they’ve stored, the serials they watch. You’ll find photos taken while posing against the family car, the sports bike, the strange sculpture, the lavishly laid table in a celebration of the family’s good fortune. Their song list will consist of favourites they cook our meals to; they watch serials on their phone to discuss with their friends and families while waiting in the summer heat or winter cold for us to get off Netflix so they can serve us dinner. 

As 2019 winds down and we get busy with our bucket lists and New Year resolutions, don’t forget to make a wish for a little more equality for them. Dignity and grace? They have that in abundance.