At peace with self, thanks to a sweet trick
Last month, returning from a close friend’s wedding in Uttarakhand, I called up my father on my way home from the Mumbai airport to share with him my experiences at the functions. In the middle of the conversation, he sensed that I was a little edgy and asked me if something was bothering me. I thought for a while and, on an embarrassing note, told him I was utterly disappointed with my cook.
My cook is an aged woman, who’s with us for more than a year now. She prepares simple and delicious dishes that we refer to as ‘ghar ka khana’ (home-cooked food), fondly. Of course, she is well mannered and pleasant. My husband I are kind to her and during her daughter’s wedding, we even helped her financially and otherwise. However, over the past one month or so, I began to notice that some items from my kitchen groceries and stores were going missing. For a while, I dismissed the thought of my cook’s having to do anything with this development but when the frequency of the unwanted happenings increased, I was shaken out of my belief. I had always trusted her, and it was hard for me to accept that she had begun to take undue advantage of it. I felt angry and hurt.
Coming back to the conversation with my father, I realised that subconsciously, I was afraid of facing the unwanted probability of noticing anything amiss once I got back home; so I changed the topic back to the wedding and told him casually that my friend’s mother had gifted me a huge box of delectable assortment of home-made shaadi ki mithai. My father replied: “Share with your cook a generous portion of sweets from this box.” I was appalled. I questioned the logic of it, especially when I was so troubled by her actions. In disbelief, I blurted out a loud: “No, Papa.”
My father responded calmly: “Your sharing the sweets with her is independent of her taking away your groceries. Don’t suppress your natural character. I thought it over. though not 100% convinced. Somewhere in the broad horizon of the ideal and the practical, I knew my father was right. So, the next morning, just as I was leaving for office, I took out the box from the fridge, scooped out a generous portion of the sweets, filled an empty bowl to its brim and offered it to her. I said softly: “Aapke liye ( for you),” and walked away.
I felt suddenly as if an enormous weight was off my head. I could not believe that the solution to my stress was so simple. That is the power of a good deed — it does not require a functional mind. Good deeds are the simplest to execute because they only require a functional, large, warm heart. Today, thanks to my father’s vision, my cook and I share an unspoken camaraderie. Whenever she falters, I check her and move on. Her misdeeds, if any, do not determine me. I do what I would do in the normal course of things, irrespective of the flaws around me. I do what is right, what my values demand of me. Today, I am at peace with my cook because I am at peace with myself.
I HAD ALWAYS TRUSTED HER, AND IT WAS HARD FOR ME TO ACCEPT THAT SHE HAD BEGUN TO TAKE UNDUE ADVANTAGE OF IT. I FELT ANGRY AND HURT