LIFE UNDER THE REIGN OF HOUSEMAIDS

To the great majority, ‘housies’ have become evil necessities

When my mother was around things went smoothly in the house. It was not because she did something special; she simply did what mothers of that day did. Unlike mothers of today, our mother was not a working mother–she was a pukka housewife who ran the house including the servants (yes, in the plural). In that day, poor village peasants handed over their kids to the walawwe hamuduruwo or hamu mahaththaya to be fed, clothed, housed, tamed and schooled in that order of priority. Consequently such ‘servants’, ‘family retainers’ or ‘adopted children’ were perennial live-ins in our home. Most of them lived with us until they were found employment or married off with dowries.

Father was the bread winner

My father was not prominent in the day by day home affairs. He laid down policy and was strictly the breadwinner and the man of the house. We respected him as the head of the house and the provider of the finances for all our needs.

Sounds like ancient history doesn’t it? It is history over half-a-century old. Today’s parents’ lives run on expressways. After packing off the kids to school by about 7 in the morning or earlier, they shoot off to work without breakfast. If the family has wheels a bite is bought off a wayside bakery and gulped down while driving bumper to bumper in a rat marathon. Mothers and fathers who have pre-grade one kids make varied arrangements to send their kids in pampers to pre-school or Montessori, fed, washed and kept away from mischief. If anyone is constipated, does not like milk, rice, potatoes, carrots and avocado or is down with the flu’ the arrangements become more complicated. Couples with live-in baby minders–parents, grand parents or in laws who would even go without food, water and sleep for their grandkids are lucky. But parents who are not so fortunate have a Hobson’s choice of hiring help described as domestics, servants, housemaids, cookies, dailies or rare live-ins to look to the needs of home and family.

Hiring a‘housie’

Hiring a housie is tricky as they are engaged in complete blindness. Hiring interviews that are usually conducted on the phone go on typical lines that have been condensed in serial form for the sake of brevity.

“What’s your age? where do you live? can you cook? have you experience in looking after children? do you have children? if so, when you are at work, who will look after them? where did you work last? what does your husband do? can you come to work by 8? how much pay do you expect? is one off-day a week enough?” The queries can be less or more depending on the costly lessons the employer had learnt at the hands of previous domestic helps.

Prospective housies can pretend to be shy and mild characters, but in real life they are as hollow and as tough as cement blocks. Exceptions are as rare as the Hope diamond.

“I am about 35, 40, 50. ( It depends on availability of birth certificates, NIC’S that had been dropped in a sewer and the impression planned to be given to the prospective employer.); I live in Obesekerapuram; I can cook very well, why I have been cooking for over ten

Mother and father heave sighs of relief–finally the gods have smiled upon us…. But, that heavenly feeling is short lived when apparently gods begin to loosen their vigilance over the new recruit

years; Oh yes, I can look after children, I have four of my own (giggles or coy looks may follow). When I am at work, my mother will look after them; I worked for a police inspector last, but he did not pay me for three months so I left; my husband works at building sites as athvedakaraya; I can come even before 8, madam; you can pay me what you paid the last person; (answers to this one does vary quite a bit). If you give me Sunday off I can go to church and come. I am a member of the Church of Angels,” etc etc.

If the ‘housie’ sounds barely OK caution is thrown to the wind and the hiring takes place soon after a cursory face to face pow-wow lasting five minutes. The desperation for a housie is that great.

There’s a new maid in the house

The house maid’s first day usually begins on a non-working day when her mistress is free to brief her on the chores she has to perform. New brooms sweep well and the new maid gets off with a bang. Mother and father heave sighs of relief–finally the gods have smiled upon us…. But, that heavenly feeling is short lived when apparently gods begin to loosen their vigilance over the new recruit. The first sign of slackness comes with negligence. (Some claim it Willful Negligence). Willful Negligence in bits and pieces appear in various forms. The kiri-hodi is salty; chicken is over boiled and cabbage under boiled, master’s shirt is burnt while ironing; and dinner plates stink of egg. It is also discovered that the maid cannot cook string hoppers, hoppers, roti or pittu (it seemed the maid never learnt; it had been easier to buy them from a boutique nearby)…before long tea and sugar begin to run short in quick tempo–and also eggs. And mother begins to miss some cutlery, a hand bag from US and a bottle of something from Gucci… Mother and Father know who the culprit is; but they have no choice but to tolerate the bad, the ugly, and the indispensable new help.

Then one fine day the maid fails to arrive; she doesn’t call either. Mother calls her mobile number but it’s switched off. The maid appears two days later. “I had the flu madam and so did my mother and two of my children.” The following sudden absences were due to a fu- neral, husband falling down a ladder, death of grandma in Trinco, floods, son’s sports meet, daughter’s dance competition and attending a pre-natal clinic. Indeed the variety of reasons for not coming to work is astonishingly long and imaginative.

One is fired; another is hired

One day an exasperated Father gets really, really, mad and fires Dora (that was her name). Maidless, Mother, Father and kids suffer two weeks until they hire another housie when the previous exercise was repeated: “What’s your age? Where do you live? Can you cook? And “I am about 35, 40, 50; I live in Obeysekerapuram…”

“You say you live in Obeysekerapuram?” interrupts Mother. The new dame nods. “Do you know Dora?” “Yes of course. She is working in a house in Kurunduwatte. She said she was badly treated by the people in her former place and not paid for two months. She was talking of going to the police.”

All housies play the same game

Mother and Father gaped shellshocked, but anyway hired the new applicant Menike because once again the desperation was great. Although Menike needed double helpings at every meal and had an affinity for the children’s ice cream and bread pudding, she did wonderfully well for several weeks until symptoms of Willful Negligence and the ‘disappearing things’ syndrome began. The gods had begun to lose interest…again. One rainy day Menike did not appear. She phoned three days later to say her hubby got bitten by a mad dog and that she would like to have two weeks’ salary in advance. She wasn’t sure when she could return to work however…