Friday, March 5, 2010

Meera

Meera: It’s been 2 years now when Meera first entered the kitchen and ever since she has taken charge and given satisfaction.
            I still remember those times in 2007 when I was in sore need of a cook. With my relations irretrievably estranged with mother; mother went to Bombay to stay with my now estranged sister in Santacruz for 6 months. That turned out to be most peaceful period of my life and I resolved never again to share diggings with that malignant force, no matter the costs.
            I had this crazy job of penning creative stories for WWM and those did not require me to venture out of the house. Hotel food just doesn’t agree with the stomach or the Annapurna dabha meals. I am a fairly good cook myself but then the mind revolts; there is a feeling of revulsion. 
Cooking for oneself is a curse like no other and this accentuates loneliness like hell. It deflates your psyche and it is for this reason that I don’t cook food or go to a movie alone. I needed a cook and in a hurry too.
            I went to the only Brahmin store near Besantnagar bus terminus and put in a word: can you suggest a cook for an Iyer Brahmin? The owner of the shop - they sell all these pickles, vadams and pudis that only this community would use - a short, plumb, middle-aged lady with thick spectacles immediately said: this is Meera’s number and you can contact here.
            Meera came to the flat enquiring about the job offer. I liked the look of her; a tall and stately demeanour, a ringing sonorous voice, parted hair at the forehead and pleated at the back, a jasmine string bunch on top of the head, and vermillion on the forehead. In short, a typical Brahmin look!!
            She came to the point straightway, “ Vidya Stores indicated that you were looking for a cook.” .
            I asked, “Will you just cook or also wash utensils?”
            She winced looking flabbergasted. Meera said, “I can help arrange one. I only cook and that’s it.”
            Then we came to the terms as she said, “I have never cooked at a place for just one person. I really don’t know how to quote. I cook for a couple in the neighbourhood and they pay me Rs.3, 000.”
            I concluded the deal to her satisfaction, “How about Rs.2000? I shall help you by keeping the rice and dhal so you don’t have to spend a longer time here.”  Actually hiring a cook or renting a place in Chennai is difficult for bachelors and so I had to reassure Meera that you don’t spend a minute more than necessary.
            Thus started her employment with me and I can unequivocally state that she has given full value. I cannot survive without Tambrahm food and I treat her as an ally than have any illusions of being the boss. When I have to instruct her, I would call her by her name and when I wanted a favour, I would say, “Akka”!!!
            It is next to impossible to source a Tambrahm cook and I knew that it was my good karma that landed Meera to my place. Getting a maid, a tailor, barber, good neighbours are products of one’s karma, most definitely.
            Meera would come by 8:00 in the morning and she would get into her job straightway –a no-nonsense and no gossip at all. It entailed of me to get the pressure cooker ready and also place the day’s vegetables on the black granite slab in the kitchen. Meera would get on with the chores and her job did not take more than 30 minutes. It’s usually a sambar or rasam, one curry, and 4 chappatis.
            Slowly we got used to each other and we developed respect. It is easy to be admire a person so regular; just work and go.
            These were no ordinary days in my life. There were the turbulent days when my romance with PW collapsed and poor Meera had to hear all those tales. Remember I am a recluse as imaginable and being stuck at home gave no opportunity to meet new kinds. Then there truant ways of mother and how she conspires to still dig my grave. The treachery of my sisters can fill pages but they get a patient hearing with Meera. Once Meera said, “Sathya, after listening to your Pushpa tales for months, I think I can write a script for a TV serial.”  
I had disposed off all the things the Sindhi had gifted me to Meera including a Ganesha idol, some trinkets and even a full hand T-shirt that I she wore at Kodaikanal  saying: Akka, if your son does not mind this, “ knowing nobody wears used clothes.
            Slowly she too opened up and when I enquired about her husband, she simply said, “He just ran away and I have not known his fate in a decade.” She single-handedly nurtured a son to a position of respect. Being poor, she enrolled him in Vedic studies and today at 17 years, the stripling is a “ganapatigal”; a title given to one who has mastered the Veda parayanam.
She works in 3 houses and that can at best give her an income of 9 K and the son has now started earning and that family is seeing some prosperity after a long trail in the tunnel. Meera in addition takes care of her mother, an example I keep quoting to my sisters for their dereliction of duty towards mother: shame, you don’t even have the morals of a cook. Go, hang in shame.
            As an employer, I am generous. If there is an extra milk sachet, I offer it most willingly. Nor am I stingy with vegetables. If there is an excess or I am not in a mood to eat that day, I tell her to wrap it for home. I always praise her work for she fills a role that I am extremely grateful for. This food is agreeable and that is sufficient enough to earn my gratitude and respect.
            Meera keeps telling me, “Sathya, I have many offers near my house in Karpagam Gardens but my conscience does not allow me to leave this place and leave you in wilderness. You are a gentleman and I have not come across many who does not look at a woman with lustful eyes.”
            I laugh it off, “There can be a passion and love with only one person and I don’t see every woman with passion rimmed eyes.”
            Of late, she keeps saying, “Sathya, you are a noble man and I keep telling my mother and son about your tales.” She insisted so much that I see her mother that I visited her home in Kalpagam Gardens (about 2 kms from my place) on Ganesh Chaturthi day and her mother gave me the best kozhakattai (modaks).
            That really made my day. Getting compliments from people who see you day in and day out is something to be cherished. And that too from a person whose courage and sense of duty, I respect immensely.
            I play my rock music loud and she says: I have been listening to these same old songs. But I love them, I want to bring my son so that he can likewise cultivate a similar taste for music.
            Meera, to me, defines a cultured woman; sense of duty, ability to fight life’s odds (for a single woman to fend for herself with a toddler by cooking in various house is not easy). She narrated tales of how creepy some men could get especially against a vulnerable and defenceless woman. She warded them all and not compromise her dignity at all.
Meera is cheerful personality, blessed with a smiling face, smooth tongue and soft words. She is a world-class listener. She now looks forward to her son’s marriage. In the last year, the family has bought a colour television, the lad a motorcycle, and she is making tepid inquiries for a house.
May you ever be happy, my dear Meera akka, no one deserves it more.

Verdict: Sattwic
Lesson to be learnt: To face life’s challenges with dignity, never say die attitude.