The Karmic Kaam-wali Bai Connection

I woke up earlier than usual today. With a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not sure what the day's promising but I know for one that there'll be a bigger to-do list of things to accomplish. One that may run into a second page, actually. The first place I go to when I wake up every day, like every other woman immersed in housewifery I suppose, is the kitchen. Whoops! Am I in the wrong house? Did the elves not show up last night? You know the ones who magically scurry through my kitchen at night, clean the dishes and conspicuously tuck them away out of plain sight, organize all the cookware in the order it is to be used, perfume my squeaky-clean kitchen in lavender (with a hint of fresh lime), and in general assured me that they're on top all the gory grossness that can multiply like rabbits if left unsupervised. Oh, that's right! My maid's on leave today and that's why I'm here. To manage the ugly mess before getting into the domestic goddess groove and doing everything else that I love.

Deeply lamenting the absence of my personal God-sent Jeanie, I slowly inch forward, in an ascending order of disgust levels, to absorb the astonishing exhibits of the remains of the previous night's exotic fare (not looking quite as sharp now). Every now and then, I am introduced to this revelationary sight, only to be followed by meticulous planning on how I can get my kitchen more organized and welcoming, especially the next morning. That said, I'm not a very organized person and I don't really plan ahead and I wish, to all the harmless neuroses that I have, I could also add OCD. Atleast that way, I could elevate the out-of-bed morning look of my kitchen from toilet to passable attractiveness. Of course, for the next few days, I'll have fits of absurd cleanliness expectations and I'll do everything in my power to have no more pucker-faced broccoli florets staring at me from under the cooking range in the morning. But then it just doesn't stick. I do try to reclaim every little shred of normalcy in the way my house appears, but then everything seems to go out the window the moment we get new things for Saanvi. I may constantly shuffle and dislodge and buy new crap to hold my old crap all I want, but my compact 2-bedroom house, maintaining its stiff upper lip, isn't very hospitable to new additions. So, after exhausting all my laundry bags, under-the-bed and over-the-wardrobe spaces, I reach a point when I don't know where anything goes and resort to tuning off the out-of-control chaos that has now become the order of the day. 

I may be one of the moms who make religious efforts to look like they didn't pop out a baby yesterday, who're constantly experimenting in the kitchen to dish out chef-like culinary treats, who take up arts and crafts projects once in a while, like maybe making holiday cards, who spend a good deal of time grooming and accessorizing their babies and ensuring they're well-behaved but unfortunately, I'm not the mom who dwells for long on cleaning.

However, I do make it a point to put things out of the way if:

• they're actually in my way 
• pose a threat to Saanvi (My house in that sense is fairly babyproof)
• they're books (cos I can't stand seeing books disorganized) 

 But things that will have to try harder to get my attention are: 

• Clothes - if they're out of the wardrobe, either somebody wears them, or they go get washed, or they're stashed away in one of the many bags that I'm collecting to be given to charity, or they just sulk on the makeshift laundry table like a bunch of homeless outcasts until they get the sympathy vote.
• Dishes - I like to make it look festive while I'm cooking so there'll be loads of colorful dishes posing as buffers, tasting spoons and measuring cups. But the minute I'm done cooking, I tend to forget all about them. Working on it!

Well, as you know, that is enough to breed epic chaos, not to mention dust bunnies and indecipherable clutters of functional stuff neglected for too long. 

Which is where my awesome, wonderful, giving, WHIZ of a maid comes in. I adore her to bits, mostly  because of the infectious smile and energy she carries that magically turns everything around, sort of like in cartoons. Apart from her usual chores of giving my house a much-needed facsimile of order and serenity, she does a little bit of everything else from pacifying baby Saanvi in the peak of her high-pitched tantrums to altering my old clothes (Read widening). Next, and also awesome is the fact that she makes these super-soft, fluffy chapatis that I can never get my hands on exactly the same way. She's a freaking steal and God am I grateful! She's not even close to the stereotypical "Itne paise mein itna ich milega" Mumbai kaamwali bai and I know how intimidating and mean they can be through previous experience. Life can be cruel when you have an unreliable, calculating maid. In fact, it can revolve around them.  I even know of people who have their vacations based on when their maids go on an unwarranted, extended leave. So I guess I really lucked out. (Knock on wood!)

Over time, we've developed a somewhat symbiotic relationship with each other. Well  you see, I can't do without her and she absolutely adores my daughter and in a way, we've also become friends. So, until my guilt catches up and I feel like I'm lagging far behind the exalted supermom image lurking somewhere in my social consciousness, let me say a prayer. God almighty, while every other department in my life may need some improvement or reassessment and while I continue to work on my laid-back attitude, mood swings and inattention to details, in the maid department, may nothing ever change...God, no!