She
died a few days back and I got the news today.
She was a nobody in the village.
For me she was a symbol of fortitude.
From
the time I can remember anything about my life she was an integral part of our
household. I remember her carrying
things from our house to sell in the market four kilometres away and bringing
things back we needed at home. I
remember her bathing my little sisters when they were infants. I used to watch her bathing the infant. In the leaf of an arecanut tree. I remember being astounded by her
dexterity. The infant would laugh at her
touch. Even when she poured cold water
on the body, my little sister would laugh.
I used to be fascinated by the sight.
My mother couldn’t extract that kind of laughter from her children.
My
mother cannot be blamed. She had too
many children to look after. Too many
servants too. Workers of the fields were
numerous and I can’t recall the names of any one of them. Mother had to prepare food for them in a
kitchen that smelled of smoke and ash.
There was my grandmother to issue a lot of orders to the servant who
assisted my mother in the kitchen.
Orders, mother, maids – they confused me quite a lot in those days. We were ten children in the family adding to
the chaos that adults normally make.
“It
was a tough time,” my mother told me years later when I got a job 3000 km away and
was on a holiday at home. “Life was a
balancing act.”
During
one of those holidays my mother told me that Maria (Mariappennu, as she was
called by all of us including me) was the best maid she ever had. Maria knew all the jobs: from giving bath to
infants to cooking to planting saplings in the paddy field.
Maria
was our unavoidable maid. She was a constant
presence in our family. Her husband,
Eipe, was also a similar presence. I
remember how he used to put me in his lap and rub his cheeks against mine. I remember how I used to be tickled by the
bristles on his unshaven cheek. I used
to laugh and he would tickle me further by playing all kinds of childish games
with me. I remember how his mouth smelt of betel juice which he would spit outside
the wall of the front yard. I remember
he always used to wear a cap made of the leaf an arecanut tree.
Eipe
died before he could marry off two of his daughters. One of them was a classmate of mine. She was beautiful in those days, I recall. But Eipe’s death had made her mentally ill
and the medication in the hospital had her look terrible when I met her after
quite a period. Another daughter of theirs had been in chains due to mental
illness even when I was a student in the primary school that was just adjacent
to their house. Maria continued to
labour for the family, especially for her daughters. The sons moved out with their own
families.
I
met Maria every time I went to Kerala for a vacation. She would come to my ancestral home where I
stayed during the holidays. I was happy
to meet her and she was happy to meet me. I would always give her a small gift
which pleased her beyond my understanding. As years passed I could notice age
taking hold of her body. Even to walk on
the village roads, that indefatigable woman now required the help of her
youngest daughter who was my classmate and who had gone insane for some time in
her life.
She
didn’t visit me the last time I visited Kerala.
I was told she was not well. I
made a plan to visit her in her house. I
couldn’t. I had gone on a two-day
programme with a specific task. Tasks
control my life nowadays.
My
sister-in-law told my wife today that on Maria’s funeral day it rained heavily
in the village. Maria was a rain when
she was alive. Her funeral deserved the
shower.
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ReplyDeleteSome people have that kind of an impact on our lives. They touch us with their most mundane deeds.
ReplyDeleteI can relate to that Matheikal. How Kerala has changed!
ReplyDeleteA nice homage Matheikal .. RIP Maria..
ReplyDeletePerhaps most of us have a story of a Maria, unsung, unmourned in our lives. I am touche that you stopped to remember her and pay a tribute.
ReplyDeleteMaria has a separate name for each one of us. we always have the Maid who is a family. A person inseparable from childhood nostalgia
ReplyDeleteMarias are essential for us...still we know so little of them. Thanks for paying a nice tribute to your Maria... RIP...
ReplyDeleteA touching tribute to a noble soul...
ReplyDeleteSorry to hear that. May she rest in peace and the concluding lines of your post made her immortal in my memory.
ReplyDeleteA touching piece indeed. My deepest condolences. Feels sad to know that a person you treasured so much is no more.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThat was a beautifully written Obituary of Maria. It is surprising how some people make that special place in our hearts. Sometimes when our mothers struggle with daily chores, taking care of huge responsibilities at home or at work, some house-maids with their dedication and affection fill up that space in a special way. May her soul rest in peace.
ReplyDeletePeople like her are close to Gods. Your description makes me believe that she is a good soul who visited the world for short span to spread happiness. May Maria attain final peace.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful homage. People like her are rare to find as they become part of the family. the selfless service is no longer existing
ReplyDeleteVery rare to find such helping hands , now a days, in cities. One has to be lucky enough to get helpers who connect to the family with affection in their hearts. The family too has to walk that extra mile to make them part of the family whom they serve.
ReplyDeleteI have been lucky in this respect. Our family had good hearted helpers all along , who would stick around for decades. This post brings back their memories.