Maidless in Mumbai

by Payal Kapadia

  ‘Sameer will pitch in,’ chimes Bhavna, predictably positive.

  Some more comforting murmurs follow about how a woman can always depend on others. How working moms should learn to ask for help, etc. Sonia’s mouth is full, but she is shaking her head vigorously and making little gagging sounds.

  ‘Take my advice,’ she says at last, chortling so hard, she needs a large gulp of water before she can continue. ‘Don’t count on Sameer.’

  Sonia has raked up a controversy. The conversation on our table escalates to a new level as the others protest: ‘How can you say that, Sonia?’ and ‘You underestimate fathers!’

  ‘I’ll tell you why!’ spews Sonia, thumping the table hard. ‘Sperm!’

  ‘Sperm?’ I blurt.

  ‘Sperm!’ roars Sonia. Loud enough for any hearing-impaired person in the room.

  A group of women yelling ‘Sperm!’ over and over in a fine dining establishment make other people listen in while pretending to study the menu. Bhavna shushes us, but Sonia is on a rant.

  ‘A man can produce an unlimited amount of sperm, right? While we get, what? Only one egg a month!’

  ‘You can have my eggs if you like!’ Mansi quips. The rest of us hide behind our serviettes.

  ‘Women get fewer opportunities to pass on their genes,’ fumes Sonia. ‘On the other hand, does a man care when one of his gazillion swimmers turns out to be Michael fucking Phelps? The answer is no! Which is why he isn’t going to help with the homework!’

  Bhavna passes the salad around sheepishly. ‘I guess it falls upon us to multitask!’

  ‘Multitask?’ Mansi nudges me playfully. ‘Have you seen Anu driving? She can’t turn the wheel and change gears at the same time!’

  While Sonia calls for the bill, Nina quietly dusts the bread-crumbs off her silk blouse. ‘No offence . . .’ she begins when we all know she’s about to say something offensive anyway. ‘You should get more maids. It’s that simple.’

  ‘How do we do that when you’ve helped yourself to them all?’ smirks Mansi.

  Nina pulls a face, but Mansi is not about to let up on her. ‘Say, Anu, how’s the maid who resisted the magnetic field of Nina’s house and turned up at yours?’

  ‘I can’t find fault with her . . .’ I say carefully, thinking of how No Nonsense Nirmala pushes me out of the way with a ‘Madam, side please!’

  ‘That’s right,’ says Sonia, nodding decisively as she calculates the tip. ‘You need her more than she needs you.’

  ‘She knows her work . . .’ I add.

  ‘Then you’re set!’ says Sonia, cutting me short. ‘Sorry, but I’m off, ladies, to earn my keep!’

  Mansi rushes out after her. Nina examines a chipped fingernail while she waits for her chauffeur to bring the car.

  ‘My part-timer’s niece is looking for a job,’ Bhavna tells me as we leave. ‘In case yours doesn’t work out . . .’

  I nod absentmindedly. Sonia’s words are still ringing in my head. Then you’re set!

  Set like lemon soufflé. Smooth on the surface. But wobbly underneath.

  6 Nov

  Tara and I are at the paediatrician’s for her shots. I juggle baby bag on one shoulder, Tara on the other, and curse Nirmala for flatly refusing to come. ‘I cannot see Tara in so much pain, no baba!’ she said.

  ‘Well, well, look who’s here!’ says Nina, looking up from her phone in the waiting room. ‘Where’s your maid?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘My maids come with me wherever I go!’ says Nina, lifting her head to acknowledge her child. ‘Standing rule: I’m never alone with Vivaan!’

  Vivaan is punching a teddy bear. ‘Don’t do that!’ Nina admonishes him weakly before turning to the maid in uniform who has just slipped the teddy bear under the sofa. ‘Take Madam’s baby off her hands for two minutes, please!’

  Vivaan is on all fours now. ‘I want Teddy’s head!’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. Unlike Teddy, who is about to be decapitated. But the perfume in the air makes me sneeze, and the uniformed maid takes Tara from me. I blow my nose gratefully.

  ‘Next!’

  ‘I want Teddy’s eye!’ Vivaan wails.

  ‘Yes, darling, you can have Teddy’s eye after the doctor has seen you,’ Nina says, disappearing inside. ‘Vivaan, leave Fishy in the fish tank!’

  The paediatrician is still in a sulk. She dances around me as if I’m nothing but a parental obstruction. Tara is red with crying after her shots, and I buy her a balloon on our way home. I have a full-blown cold now. I think of tea.

  Call it telepathy, but back home, MIL thinks of tea, too. She asks Nirmala to make her a cup, and all hell breaks loose.

  ‘No!’ says Nirmala. ‘Only baby’s work!’

  ‘You will do what I say!’ says MIL, trying to mould Nirmala as per an outdated maid-prototype. ‘Won’t!’ says Nirmala, making it quite clear that she cannot be moulded.

  I am not home to put this in proper perspective because I am stuck in traffic, sneezing, with a baby on my lap and a balloon bouncing against my head. Not that I’m some expert on proper perspective. People are dying of starvation; the world is running out of clean water; war has broken out somewhere; and all I want is a maid who stays. But proper perspective means persuading MIL to make tea herself.

  ‘Jamta nahin hain!’ says Nirmala as I walk in. I try to point out that she shouldn’t be leaving at this minute. Maybe later, when she’s cooled down? Even better, when the weather has cooled down? Best of all, never?

  But this is her swansong: ‘Jamta nahin hain!’ What this means, at the most literal level, is ‘I’m not sticking.’ What it means, in maid-speak, is that Nirmala is sticking it to me.

  ‘It’s either her or me!’ says MIL. Would it be so bad if I chose Nirmala?

  Tara’s balloon pops above my head, and she starts crying again. Who knows, maybe this crying fit will last her entire childhood? Must find a new paediatrician. A new maid. And a new husband who knows what managing Ma really means.

  10 Nov

  ‘Not too long before you get back to work now!’ writes Michelle from New York. ‘You must be excited!’

  I make a mental note to block her emails in future.

  12 Nov

  Fed up of feeding alone in my room because of MIL’s medieval notions of female modesty. Arm numb. Bum numb. Wildly excited at the imminent prospect of putting Tara in her cot. Outside I can hear the news . . .

  Beep! What’s that? Tara’s eyelids flutter. Beep! Is Sameer’s iPhone somewhere in the room? Beep! Oh no, no, no. Tara is back to sucking on twin pacifiers aka breasts. Beep! Tara whimpers!

  Conducting a police search for dumb smartphone while lugging Tara around. Damn nightie slipping down to waist because I forgot to slide the straps up. Punching an available pillow with my free arm. Who says I can’t multitask?

  ‘Anu, why are you walking around topless?’ Did not hear Sameer come in.

  ‘Switch your phone off!’ Flashing eyes at Sameer in the dark like a leopard in a jungle.

  Offending phone found and silenced. Will just slide Tara into the cot gently, ease out one hand, then the other, slide up the railing. Home at last!

  ‘Now look what you’ve gone and done!’ Tara’s eyes have flown open like one of those grinning dolls in a horror flick.

  ‘What? All I did was take off my belt!’

  I put Tara back to my breast in a preemptive strike type of motion. ‘Well, don’t even think of unzipping your pants!’

  ‘How else do you propose I put on my PJs?’ Sameer asks coldly.

  ‘Don’t!’ I hiss.

  Sameer makes an exasperated sound. ‘Would you like me to remain in my office trousers?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Another exasperated sound from Sameer, the sort typically produced when a rhetorical question provokes an unsuitable, if polite, reply. He bounces about on the bed in a theatrical attempt to demonstrate that tight office trousers do not make for acceptable loungewear.


  ‘Keep still!’ I can hear a pant seam splitting. Serves him right. If he’d done anything about managing Ma, I wouldn’t be stuck here in the dark, breastfeeding myself into oblivion.

  ‘If I die in my sleep, find someone else to do the snoring!’

  The one thing this man has brought to the parenting table is his wondrous ability to produce a snore that sounds like soothing white noise, and now he wants to take that away? Can’t scream. Must bite pillow to avoid biting off husband’s head.

  What you see there on the screen, ladies and gentlemen, is Mount Vesuvius having a giant, silent eruption . . .

  Later Sameer holds me in the dark. I hold Tara in the dark. Like nesting bowls. ‘Sleep, Anu, I had no idea the maids were leaving because of my mom. I’ll manage Ma in the morning.’

  11 Nov

  Why did I spew lava on Sameer who has spewed lava on MIL who is waiting for Sameer to go to work so she can spew lava back on me?

  Sameer’s message says: Managed Ma. She ended up crying. Best not to do any more managing for now.

  I have no plans to, but a loud sob from the general direction of MIL makes me freeze in my tracks. Another loud sob. This doesn’t look good. ‘Ma, is everything OK?’

  ‘If you don’t like what I say, don’t listen,’ she sniffles. ‘After all, we are just voices from the past. Why do you worry poor Sameer with all this? He has to work hard to pay for your maids.’

  More sobbing, which spares her any retaliation on my part. I feel terrible. Who wants to be the sort of daughter-in-law who makes her mother-in-law cry? I fetch her a glass of water and make soothing sounds. ‘Shall I put on the TV for you?’

  But what’s this? In one of those fate-intervening-to-help-distressed-heroine moments, the cable has gone on the blink! That little disruption shakes MIL out of her comfort zone. ‘Time for me to return to Igatpuri,’ she says. ‘Back to my own life.’

  I cannot believe my good fortune!

  14 Nov

  One Proxy Mom down! I tried not to look too pleased when I said goodbye.

  16 Nov

  Must make the dreaded call that I’ve been putting off forever. What was it Eddy said when I broke the news of my pregnancy to him? Another one bites the dust! No one ever comes back after having a baby.

  ‘I don’t think I can get back on the second of Jan,’ I say. ‘I’ll try to, but I might need a month more.’

  ‘Take two.’ He doesn’t have to sound this considerate.

  ‘No, just one.’

  ‘The delay is to be expected, Anu.’ He has a knowing way of saying this that bothers me. Maybe I would be happier if he sounded surprised. Or disconsolate.

  I hang up and call Bhavna about her part-time maid’s niece. ‘Is she still available?’

  20 Nov

  ‘Maids are daft, husbands are dafter,’ said Sonia last night, which led me to an epiphany. Why not give up on both—and train the baby instead? That’s how I discover Gina Ford’s The New Contented Parenting Little Baby Book: The Secret to Calm and Confident Parenting.

  It’s probably just another waste of time in paperback form, but wait a minute, look at these reviews. ‘This book set me free!’ says one reader online. ‘A revelation!’ gushes another. ‘Life-changing,’ says the third.

  I’m all ready for my life to change, where do I start? The book proposes a calm and confident schedule for the baby. I like schedules. I like knowing what’s coming up next. And I love smart babies. If I can train Tara to become a smart baby, I’ll be calm and confident before I know it.

  Dec 1

  I must move fast. I could be back at work in thirty days. I have a three-step plan. Three calm and confident steps.

  1. Find a maid.

  2. Train clockwork baby.

  3. Resume work.

  I type up my version of the schedule and paste it to my door:

  0700 Wake the baby if the baby is still asleep.

  0730 Sit the baby down to breakfast.

  0800 Settle the baby on the mat to occupy herself while you wash the breakfast things and prepare for lunch.

  0900 Bathe the baby.

  1000 Put the baby down for her first nap.

  1100 Wake the baby if the baby is still asleep.

  1115 Sit the baby down to lunch.

  1200 Clear up lunch things and settle the baby down to play on the mat.

  1300 Put the baby down for her second nap.

  1500 Wake the baby if the baby is still asleep.

  1515 Give the baby an afternoon snack.

  1545 Dress the baby.

  1600 Take the baby out for a stroll.

  1700 Bring the baby back home.

  1715 Bathe the baby again.

  1800 Dinnertime.

  1900 Put the baby down for the night.

  Mom is smirking. Then again, it might be my imagination.

  2 Dec

  Must remember to put Bhavna on my IOU list (the one in the bedside drawer). She has sent me a new maid called Aarti. One day, when Bhavna has stopped gushing about the daily miracles of her life, I’ll come to her rescue. ‘Just repaying the favour,’ I’ll say as she gazes at me, tearful with gratitude.

  I hand Aarti the schedule, and her eyes widen in disbelief, but I pat her on the back gently, ‘Don’t worry, we will do this together and show them, we will!’

  3 Dec

  Up until last night, Gina Fording Tara seemed like a great plan. But at 0700 hours, I experience mild second thoughts. Which mother in her right mind wakes up at the crack of dawn, beholds her baby still fast asleep, and faced with the attractive option of rolling over and going back to sleep herself, proceeds to wake up the baby? Me.

  Tara bawls and kicks up such a fuss till 0800 hours, she throws the rest of the schedule off. Aarti picks her up and rocks her back and forth. ‘She’ll fall back to sleep if you do that,’ I cry. ‘She can’t sleep till 10 now!’

  ‘Then ask Gina Ford to keep her awake!’ retorts Mom, who has just walked in.

  4 Dec

  I wake up Tara at 0700 hours again and I steel myself for a tantrum, but she smiles at me and coos. Gina would be so proud! But at 0900 hours, Tara falls asleep in the bath. Mom stifles a smile and nothing makes me madder. ‘Wake up the baby,’ I order Aarti. So we sing loudly, clang saucepans and switch on Arnab Goswami. Tara sleeps through it all.

  5 Dec

  Not feeling calm.

  6 Dec

  Or confident.

  7 Dec

  I’m on day five of Gina Fording my way to being a calm

  and confident mom, and this is what the schedule is really

  like:

  0700 Baby has been awake since 0600 and has refused to fall back asleep.

  0730 Baby only opens her mouth to cry, not to feed. Breakfast feed shelved.

  0800 Baby refuses to play on mat and wants to be rocked.

  0900 Keep Baby awake in the bath.

  1000 Baby fell asleep in the bath and is now wide awake. Patting Baby hard on the head does nothing.

  1115 Baby is hungry for lunch feed because breakfast was a disaster, but Baby is too sleepy to feed. Lunch shelved.

  1200 Baby can’t play on the mat because Baby is out like a light.

  1500 Baby is wide awake to play. I am dropping off to sleep from being up at the crack of dawn.

  1515 Baby not hungry for afternoon feed on account of late lunch. Afternoon feed shelved.

  1545 Baby kicks up a fuss about getting dressed as Baby is sleepy.

  1600 Neither Baby nor I are in the mood for a stroll, but we stroll anyway because Gina Ford says we should. Baby cries in the pram all the way home.

  1715 Baby cries too much. Bathing shelved.

  1800 Dirty baby is given dinner feed. Baby falls asleep during feed. Dinner shelved.

  2200 Baby wakes up and plays till 0145.

  0700 Neither Baby nor I are awake after playing all night.

  I’m putting out a fatwa on Gina Ford.

  12 Dec

  Tara is slee
py and grouchy. The same goes for Aarti and me.

  ‘The baby has lost weight,’ says the new paediatrician. ‘Is she feeding and sleeping on time? Babies thrive on regularity, make a schedule.’

  The new paediatrician is clearly an idiot. I must make amends with the old one. But first things first. I rip Gina Ford apart, page by page, in the privacy of my bedroom. I quietly take the schedule off the bedroom door. For once, Mom says nothing. Things go back to normal.

  ‘It’s time for Tara to bathe,’ I say.

  ‘It’s time for Tara to have milk,’ says Mom.

  ‘It’s time for Tara to sleep!’ MIL still gets to say irritating things because Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone.

  Just as I feared. It’s time for Aarti to quit.

  16 Dec

  I hate I-told-you-so moments. ‘Eddy, you were right, I need two months more than I planned for. I’ll be back at work on March 1. No later, I promise.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ I respond. ‘It’s not like I’m quitting.’

  ‘Who said anything about quitting, Anu? We all know you can’t stay away from the Sceptic forever.’

  There’s a lump in my throat. That world belongs to another life now. ‘By the way, you’ll be happy to know that Poor Pia did a fabulous story about fire safety in high-rise buildings.’

  It’s the story I helped her with, but Eddy doesn’t need to know that.

  I am beaming now. ‘See you in March.’

  ‘Of course,’ says Eddy as he hangs up.

  An additional month’s reprieve. Feeling wildly optimistic.

  20 Dec

  Dear Santa,

  What’s the policy on Christmas gifts? Any chance that I could get a maid? A perfect maid who stays forever?

  Many thanks,

  Maidless Mother

  P.S. In case of there being a strict policy on Christmas wishes being only for children, may I make a wish on Tara’s behalf? Same wish, by the way.

  25 Dec

  Nothing yet. And I did ask nicely. Santa is a big fat Scrooge.

  28 Dec

  Let it be noted I was too quick to write off Christmas and to judge Santa who is, as it turns out, a nice-enough guy. My gift got here at last.