The Village

The Village

                   Before Holi, the annual exodus began. From sister's marriage to wife's delivery to kids’ admission, the entire range of excuses was used by the domestic helper/s, office staff, grocery shop and home delivery boys etc. to go to The Village. I willingly took on the mantle of housewife, chauffeur, cleaner, et al in the fond hope that a) this is short-duration, will pass, b) gives me an opportunity to dirty my hands in the kitchen, c) some physical activity is always welcome, d) bad habits like late sleep-ins and bed-tea can be kept in suspension, e) less cooking, no one to order about, translates into less calories consumed, f) driving skills can be practiced and sharpened, in preparation of retirement and concentration improved, g)  annual stock checking of towels, napkins, bed-sheets can be undertaken etc. Added to the above advantages, or so I thought, was the Bonus of expected compliments flying in your direction like Super-Woman, Amazonian, Mamma Cool etc.  

                   One week was fine and maybe even ten days. Then the body and mind started agitating and rebelling against the staus-quo. The Spouse wanted replacements for dhobi and chauffeur, but I resisted. Guests soon arrived and one had to make serious and sincere efforts to find a cook. But before a new cook could be “advertised"and interviewed, the guests departed! Back to square one. Sense of urgency disappeared and resistance to change resurfaced. Now what? Still no sign of the faithful loyalists who had sworn to abide by you till Thy Kingdom came. By now I was missing them more than I missed The Offspring. Then I chanced to go to a favourite cloth store, the type that is growing smaller and smaller and difficult to find, due to the expanding ready-made garments market. Uncle ji was alone, all alone, showing his beautiful textiles to half-a-dozen excited housewives. I asked him, when my turn came, whatever happened to Bittu and Sittu? Arrey, he snorted, they haven’t come back after the Holi break and annual sojourn to The Village. I shrieked Same Pinch but piped down immediately for fear of recrimination from an un-amused and irritable uncle ji!

                    Driving myself back home on this hot Sunday afternoon, I looked around at familiar joints and found them similarly understaffed and then it suddenly struck me. Oh these guys were not on their annual pilgrimage to The Village. This was the quinquennial pilgrimage, necessitated by The Great Celebration of Indian Democracy, elections to the House of People, Lok Sabha. The Village was suddenly a vibrating, gyrating hub of economic activity, besides remaining the political conundrum it always was! The Chauffeur was probably engaged at three times his daily wages, driving some four-wheeled drive in dusty bad-lands of UP or Jharkhand. The cook, man-Friday was similarly employed, cooking at Volunteers’ guest houses or running errands for political thugs or simply getting his “daily wages” for attending rallies of dubious candidates. Or maybe he was not “allowed” to return under threat of getting his name deleted from Electoral Rolls. Maybe the politician was finally available to listen to their grievances and dole out funds for repair of drains, kharanjas etc. Money was in circulation and The Village was ready to receive large chunks of it, through its own service or manufacturing sectors. Myriad reasons to stay in The Village, not one to return to benevolent, kind-hearted employers, in distress for trying to juggle office and home responsibilities! Sigh! 

                   

                     Wish 16^th May would arrive pronto and restore order in my chaotic life.  Not to say anything about The Nation!