Fettered in a free world

I AM blessed with a frequent change of maidservant. I wonder whether this is a boon or a bane. This year, I have seen a change of guard four times. At first, it was a maid who was so well dressed that my husband's patients were confused as to who was the lady of the house. Another, who was more regular in her absence than presence, replaced her. Then followed a younger recruit who turned out to be a competitor to me in respect of the number of friends she had and the frequency of her outings with them. To enable her to keep her engagements I had to forgo mine and out of sheer frustration I dispensed with her services too. Right now I have, waiting on me, a right royal personage called Elizabeth. I hired the last servant because of her name - Elizabeth - my favourite literary character and favourite film star, Elizabeth Taylor.

It was the morning of the 55th Independence Day. I was supervising her swabbing the living room floor. As she was at her job I realised that she had a large swelling on her upper lip hiding the rest of her face from view. On enquiring, I gathered that her alcoholic husband in a drunken stupor had used her cheek as a landing pad for his fist of fury. The result was the tell- tale craggy effect. A rickshaw puller, her husband, had lost his leg in an accident. Now, she was working as a domestic hand to feed, clothe and shelter him from the vicissitudes of poverty and the vagaries of fortune.

Out of curiosity, I asked her how much she had studied. She dropped her swab, turned round and said, "Amma ! I am unlettered but I can mark my thumb impression clearly."

I then asked her: "How old are you?" She responded, "Amma! You tell me. How old do I look? Earlier, they held elections every five years and I could tell my age at least by that but now they hold elections every now and then and hence, voting seems to serve no purpose!" I went a step further and asked her, "How many years have you been married?" She replied, "Married? Nothing of the sort. I just live with him. I have a son studying in Standard VI in a Corporation school but he often stays away to play marbles bought with money pinched from home. He returns, the victim of a brawl, after both money and energy are exhausted. If he is injured I take him to the charities dispensary nearby where a two-rupee note given to the ayah will help you jump a place in the queue and a ten-rupee note to the lady doctor will fetch you a prescription for free samples of any costly drug." These revelations shocked me.

On the television a heated argument was on as to whether problems outweighed achievements in Independent India. How can we attain freedom from such social evils? Like a good citizen I wish to help but wonder how to begin?

THARA MOHAN RAO

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