A Spoonful of Hope
As Subbamma felt the last bit of fatigue drain away from her body, she realised that all she had done all her life was sacrificed. Sacrifice for her parents, her family, her grandchildren.
And here she was working as a maid- faithful in everything she did. Today she was being yelled at! Her only mistake??? Stealing an extra cup of rice pudding from her owner’s kitchen. It was embarrassing and tears freely flowed down her cheeks as she was being reprimanded. But did she care? No! Would she repeat the gesture? Oh Yes, she would. She knew that she would be forgiven every time because the fondness and love that her owners had for her was endless. She was almost like family to them.
At the age of 13, she was considered a burden on her parents and was married off to the alcoholic 20-year-old construction worker. Life moved in a flash and before she knew it she was the mother of 11 children- all daughters. Not that she had a say in this. Her husband and his family kept hoping again and again that this woman who only brought bad news with every delivery would finally produce a son.
A Son did arrive, but her health was deteriorating with every delivery and a month after childbirth her only hope in life of receiving respect was short-lived. Her son died of jaundice. Her husband and his family and then abandoned her considering her a bad omen and she was left fending for herself from then on. She worked as a maid in 3 different homes and toiled from dawn to dusk.
That tiresome journey had begun years ago. Every time she looked back to guess her age she couldn’t remember. She considered herself to be “65” and found it unbelievable when people guessed her age to be 80 plus.
She was caught time and again stealing petty things like earphones, hair clips, lipsticks and random stuff but let off with a light warning. Because in spite of her weaknesses she was loved and respected by the family she was working for and all they felt for her was pity and sympathy. They knew she had nothing she could call her own. Four tattered sarees and two pairs of sandals!
All that she stole she would supply to her children and grandchildren. Their demands were endless. All that she received she gave and gave hoping that her responsibilities would end one day. Even the food that was served to her, most of it would be packed for her daughters who would meet her every evening after their coolie work.
It was the same routine for her for the past several decades, she felt. But the only thing she didn’t share was the rice pudding that was served to her every other day. She would relish it with abandon and pure joy, scraping the last bits of it off the vessel before she had to wash it off at the kitchen sink.
She laughed to herself. The irony of her life was that the only thing that gave her hope to face another bleak day was that bowl of rice pudding – with a heapful of ghee, milk and sugar. Not her husband, not her family, not her grandchildren, but a CUPFUL OF SWEETENED RICE!
Rachitha Poornima Cabral
Assistant Professor
School of Social Work, Roshni Nilaya
Mangalore