Servant Girl

Original in Telugu by:

Tripuraneni Gopichand

Translator:
GRK Murty
By today, it is two years since I joined this house. I have been
sweeping the house and the yard, and washing the dishes. In free
time I babysit their children. I also attend to many other domestic
chores such as heating water etc. If my madam was busy
otherwise I even cut vegetables for her. To tell the truth, there
was no work in this house that I haven’t done.

I am quite an able worker. Even when asked for doing work

beyond what was agreed upon, I never said, “We haven’t talked
of this when we started”; nor have I ever felt that way. Used to do
them as any other work. For doing all this plus washing clothes,
they gave me food in the morning and paid eight rupees. At sharp
7 o’clock in the morning I used to go for work. After completing
the morning chores, I babysit the children. By 10 a.m., master
used to have his lunch and go to the office. The children too
would have their meal by the same time and go to school, while
the two tiny toddlers remained at home. After the master had
gone, while I took care of the kids, madam would have her bath
and putting on fresh clothes, would sit for lunch. By the time she
finished her lunch and called me for food, it would be 1 o’clock. Of
course, in the beginning, it didn’t matter much to me. But I did
feel hungry since the clock ticked 9. What then? I never felt like
eating something or the other the moment I felt hungry. It’s OK if
I am hungry. After all, it happens always! And it’s OK if I sat pulling
legs closer to the belly.

If they are eating snacks before me even when I am hungry, I

never felt that I too should eat something. However, as the days
rolled on, my perception changed. Whenever they ate, I too felt
like eating. What could be the cause for this change, how did it
come upon! I can’t say.

By the time I finished my work in this house and went home, it

would never be before 8 in the night. Yet, my mother would not
be home. My mother worked in a big house. By the time all of
them finished dinner in that house, it would be around 10 o’clock.
She would then come home carrying their leftover food. In the
meanwhile, I would wash the earthen pots, and cook rice myself.
After eating it with red chili powder, I would lie down. At times, if
I could not hold back the urge to sleep, no sooner had I arrived
home than I would lie down and sleep. After returning home, if
she had brought any food from that house, my mother would
wake me up and feed me with two fistfuls of rice; otherwise
nothing. She too, would lie down by my side by spreading the
hem of her sari.

Next morning, getting up at 5, mother would wake me up and go

for her work. I would sweep the house, clean the pots and by 7
would go to the house in which I work. At times, getting up when
my mother wakes me up, after she leaves, I used to sleep again.
Might wake up by around 8 o’clock. My heart would tremble then.
Hurriedly, I would rush for work. And there would be no point in
explaining my late coming to the mistress of the house. If I had
said, “no sooner did I wake up in the morning, the whole body
crackled—could not get up”, would she listen? Would she keep
quiet, if I say, “I slept over, but I don’t know why I slept over”.
“Who do you think will do all this work, your grandpa?” she would
say. “Look, how the house is—who you think would take care of
the kids, your abba1! This way it won’t work, don’t come from
tomorrow onwards. We shall look for another servant girl. You
think we won’t get maidservants? Or, do you think we hired you
’cause we haven’t got anyone else?” She would thus scold me in
many ways. Whatever she said, I would remain silent. For, I felt it
was my mistake, promised to come at 7, but could not. What is

1
Your Abba—your father, used in a despicable sense to the servant and her father as well.
the use of blaming anybody? Whatever she might say, head bent,
I would carry on with my work. Even that became a crime. “Why
dumbfounded, why don’t you reply?” the mistress of the house
would shout at me. “It’s all like raindrops on a he-buffalo”2, she
would say. “Street smart. Keep everything to yourself, and do
whatever you want to.” I used to think: “OK! It’s my fault.” But
slowly my perception changed … I felt like giving her back. I
cannot, however, cite the reason for this change, nor could say
why it happened.

Ever since this change dawned in me, many new thoughts started
stirring up in my mind. Wherefrom have they come! Where were
they all along! As ordered by the mistress of the house I used to
carry the breakfast to the master. Seeing it, I too would feel like
eating it. In the beginning, the curries of that house were not to
my taste! Rice with my regular chutney was the tastiest. Despite
eating food there, after going home I would feel like eating my
usual rice with chutney. Would eat too. Now, I have recognized
the taste of curries. When madam is cooking them, my mouth
watered. Although it was not agreed upon at the time of my

2
“It’s all like raindrops on a he-buffalo”— a proverb meant to indicate that the person is as insensitive as the he-
buffalo, a thick skinned animal, to the rain drops.
joining to feed me with all this stuff, I used to wonder why my
madam wasn’t that kind enough.

I am young. I have been seeing all these varieties of eatables, and

have I not also served them to all those who are supposed to eat!
Why didn’t my madam think that I too would feel like eating
them! What if a little was given to me too! All that was given to
the children, anyway, would not be eaten properly. They would
stir it, play with it, spill it and ultimately strew more than half of it
around the plate. Finally, I had to collect all that to throw into the
garbage bin. I had to wash all those plates. How would I feel then?
No wonder if it engendered hatred in me! It could as well be
thrown out, but not fed to me. It never appeared to have struck
to the mistress of the house’s mind that I too would love to eat,
and instead of throwing, it could be given to me. In fact—what did
she think of me? It didn’t appear that I ever struck to her as a
human being. How was I to make her believe that I too am a
human being?

As I was thus grieving, she would call me somewhere around 1

o’clock to say: “Carry away the food and eat.” And what food was
it—the leftover of last night! In it, there might be a little leftover
pulusu3 of last night! Before that I had carried to everybody in the
house freshly cooked Upma, Iddli4. Served curries and pulusu
seasoned in ghee to all of them. They had left half of it in their
plates. I had thrown it all in the garbage. Holding my hunger
silently till 1 o’clock, finally when I sat down to eat, all I had was
last night’s food! The leftover after every one had eaten! The food
that was sloppy! Seeing that food, my eyes would well up. What
would my mistress lose had she given even this food no sooner
had I come? Is it after eating their breakfast and finishing their
lunch that they give me that food? What would my mistress lose if
she had given it earlier? Even if they finished their lunch earlier, I
must wait for my food up to 1 o’clock. If she found it difficult to
drag that far, she might even wink for a while. Why all this?

Not being able to put up with it, one day I asked the mistress of
the house: “I am feeling hungry. Give me food first.” Enraged at it,
she yelled at once: “How arrogant you are? Are we to feed you
before we eat? Eating our food you have fattened, acquired pride
of flesh! I will not let you stay even for a minute. Get out from
here.” Thus she drove me out from the house.

3
Pulusu—a local liquid preparation eaten along with cooked rice.
4
Upma, Iddli—local eateries, mostly taken as breakfast.
Dragging my feet, I came to my hut. I wondered how sleep
overtook me, but lying on the floor, I slept like a log. Coming
home sometime in the night, my mother woke me up. I narrated
to her what all happened. My mother got wild at me: “Curse upon
you! Instead of eating whenever they feed, why this questioning!
Want them feed you along with them? My labor is not enough to
eke out a living for myself. How then am I to feed you?” Yelling,
“Die … die …” she battered me. Tired of beating, she wept at once
… Hugging me, saying, “Why doesn’t god take away people like
us,” she cried her heart out.

*****