The bell rings and I wake up startled, slowly I squint my drowsy eyes trying to make sense of where I am; through the window in front of me opposite my bed I see a streak of light fighting with the dark drizzling sky unsuccessfully.

‘Can’t she come a little later?’ is my first thought. ‘What if I don’t open!’ is my second thought.

I drag myself out from under the comforter, trust me it takes a lot of will power to do that. I open the door with a half asleep, half annoyed disposition and there she is standing – slightly drenched shivering in a flimsy jacket.

She enters without a word as if it is her right to do so – ‘Doesn’t even have the decency to wish’ is my third thought. I follow her into the kitchen that has a sink full of dirty vessels and I am reminded there are some more in the utility, yesterday night I got creative and in the process discoloured a few of them. ‘Is she going to wince?’ is my fourth thought. Her face didn’t give away any emotion she might be experiencing.

I started preparing tea. ‘Should I ask her if she wants a cuppa?’ is my fifth thought. I let it pass. We each do our work in silence, it is still dark outside, I load my tray with buns and biscuits and a steaming hot cup of ginger tea and settle on the bed, covering half of myself with the comforter.

Going through the nebulous events of the world I forget about her petty existence until she appears with a broom. As she passes by I can smell her stench, ‘Can’t she change or at least apply some perfume’ is my sixth thought.

I yank myself off from the blissful bed experience and start getting ready for the day ahead as she is almost done with the mopping. Suddenly am reminded of the day – I ask her how she wants the payment and she says cash, now that’s annoying – ‘Why can’t she have a digital transaction system?’ is my seventh thought.

I decide to confront, she just stands there for a while and then starts in that voice that’s so typical of them – “my husband is away and I am out of cash, I need ration – the man who helps with digital payments is not responding yada yada…” I reach out for my bags that hold cash and extract every penny to make up for the handsome amount (feel like a fortune to pay to a domestic help, but peanuts if one is out to entertain oneself).

Having got back the flat to myself I rejoice, as she leaves for the day – ‘How I wish I can see them replaced by robots in my lifetime!’ is my eighth thought.

I finish my workout and feel the floor as am rolling the mat, refreshing.

Hungry belly takes me to the kitchen that shows no signs of the mess I made the night before, the sink is all ready to be filled again and a happy me arranges a hearty breakfast and settles on the dining table. Outside the light has finally triumphed over darkness and as I sat munching looking around the freshly cleaned space that I call home, not the ninth thought but a train of thoughtsesses (the word ‘thoughts’ doesn’t do justice to what happened) hits me.

‘Hardly a girl of 25 odd years, mother of two, in a heartless relationship with a man to whom she is the second wife, cleaning dirty vessels and floors in one house then another till day end with may be a break for a hastily prepared lunch – that’s her – that’s them – with a slight variation of circumstances.

I have had many domestic helpers in the course of my existence, from different provinces, varied age groups and gender, and have often wondered – how do they make themselves do this mindless job all their lives, rain or sun, winter or spring – each day, every day – well almost!      

True they are in a habit of making me dump my plans more often than would be convenient, to do some unheard of ritual or be part of a festival or ceremony which mostly involves fasting and spending their hard earned money and eventually falling sick due to the stress – it is never a vacation for them.

Frustrated by their lifestyle – choosing mobile over nutrition or even medicines, lack of sense of responsibility – though there have been exceptions but very rarely, improper behaviour – again there have been rare exceptions, unrealistic demands – no exceptions there, it is my heart’s desire to see them replaced by robots.

A close friend commented on my wish – “What will they do then?”

Definitely a food for thought, what will this huge populace who survive and thrive catering to domestic services do if robots take over their jobs? But then who knows how many jobs from how many industries will be taken over and how many of us will be jobless!’

I overstayed at the dining table long past the breakfast and a look at the clock puts me into top gear. I rush through cleaning up the table meanwhile booting up the computer, switch to decent clothing to face the world even if virtual and finally fetch the steaming cuppa of coffee from the microoven to get set go.

I pause momentarily looking at the kitchen and the home space as I walk over to my work desk. ’May be I’ll ask her if she wants a cuppa tomorrow morning’ is my tenth and final thought for the day – for her.

by Moutushi Ghoshdeysarkar