She is a nobody. She is about 5' 2" tall. An unremarkable face that you wouldn't remember even if you went past her several times in a day. Pearly white teeth set against a dark, weather-beat face, smooth skin with no wrinkles yet (does that indicate she is still young?). Gold coloured (will tell why it is just gold coloured and not gold itself, later) ear rings, a yellow thread around her neck to signify her marital status. She wears saris in bright colours - orange, red, yellow, shocking pink, electric blue and neon green. Braided hair up to her waist, nothing to embellish it like jasmine or chrysanthemum flowers as South Indian women do.
She is a nobody. Born the eldest among 6 siblings, her father abandoned her mother to live with another woman in the same village they all lived in. She never went to school. He mother boiled 1 kilo of rice into a watery gruel and divided it equally amongst them. She drank her portion and stayed hungry. Always. Her younger brother died at the age of 2, eating dried tamarind seeds at home. Death freed him from grinding poverty and unbearable hunger.
She is a nobody. She doesn't know her age now. She doesn't remember her age at the time of her marriage. After her son was born, her husband abandoned her. Took all her jewellery, the cows & goats, a 2 wheeler at home, her money - everything. He moved in with another woman in the same village they all lived in. History always repeats itself. She left her infant son behind in the care of her parents and went to work in the Gulf (she doesn't know which country she went to). She worked for 4 years, toiling in the kitchen of a Sheikh, taught to cook by a Filipino cook there (she knew to make nothing but the gruel she grew up eating). She longed to see her son but stayed there to save money. Finally, she went on a hunger strike for one week to get back her papers to come back home.
She is a nobody. She came back, bought 4 acres of land, bought some jewellery and smartly, kept everything in her name. But, she found her 12 year old son addicted to alcohol, trained by none else than her own father. She lost her mental balance and roamed the streets. Worried relatives sent her to Bangalore to earn a living - after forcing her drunkard 17 year old son into marriage and his wife giving birth to a boy.
She is a nobody. She went to work in a North Indian's home as a cook. She was asked to make atta for roti. She had never seen a roti in her life before. She made the atta like the batter for dosa. Her employer beat her on her hands with the rolling pin. Her hands swelled like a roti ball and she groaned in pain for 3 days. Her employer took pity on her and told her that she could learn cooking as a skill or forever do menial work. She wisely chose to learn a new skill that could be her ticket to a different life.
She is a nobody. She has lived in Bangalore for 8 years now. She lives in a hut, right next to a nallah (river of sewage). She pays Rs. 500 as rent for the little place. She bought left over construction material and made the flooring herself. She bought tin sheets for the roof. Her hut has no electricity or running water. She collects water from a roadside pump when the water is released once in 2-3 days. Her home is infested with mosquitoes and bugs. She has no valid papers to get cooking gas. She buys kerosene in the market when she has money and cooks when she can afford. Otherwise, she eats if her employers let her eat at their homes.
She is a nobody. 5 months back, she came to cook for me. She knew some dishes that she made well. My mother taught her some. I keep teaching her a few dishes. She is a quick learner. She is very attached to my infant son. After finishing her work in 3 homes, she comes running to my place to take care of my boy. She taught him to stand up pushing himself against the wall. She admonishes me if I feed him too much or too little.
She is a nobody. She asked my mother for a sari. My mother gave her an old synthetic sari that belonged to her. She asked if my mother could give her a cotton sari instead. She wanted it for her mother, an old woman once abandoned by her husband and now her sons, who works in the fields and lives all by herself. She wanted a soft cotton sari that would absorb the sweat of her brow as she toiled under the harsh sun. She asked me for Rs. 100. She wanted to buy rice grits for her mother. To stave off hunger for the days that she wouldn't find a job under the NREGA scheme. She asked me for my boy's clothes. For a little boy who was born in her neighbourhood a couple of months back. The boy slept naked amongst bloodthirsty mosquitoes and all alone as his mother had to go out and work. A little later, she asked me for a mosquito net for another child who was unwell. One day, when my husband came home with a bouquet of roses, she asked to take it home. I gave them to her. She distributed all of them to the women in her neighbourhood. I asked her if she didn't keep any for herself. She smiled wryly and asked, "Who should I wear those flowers for?" She asked me one day if I could take her to the Church at Vasanth Nagar. Knowing I am an atheist, she told me, "You don't have to do anything. I just want to light a candle for your boy. I want his health to improve and get well soon."
She is SOMEBODY. Her name is Malar (Tamizh for flower). While all the colour in her life had withered right from her childhood, she blossomed for others. She bathed once in 3 days but the goodness of her heart is still refreshingly fragrant in this cynical, self serving world. Amidst the thorny path that has been her life througout, she still blooms in her caring for the people around her. She may have never heard of Abraham Lincoln who said, "To ease another's heartache is to forget one's own." Perhaps she does mitigate the pain of her own existence by easing the suffering she sees around her.
She is SOMEBODY. I am learning from her. That, it is far more heartening to seek for others than to pursue one's own needs. That, suffering is very relative. That, when I complain about my own aches and pains, there is a world that moves on amidst far greater turmoil and still stays tranquil. That, when I feel righteous about my own social work and charity for others, there is someone who doesn't know these words but does it very quietly. That, charity is not about writing a million dollar cheque but it is also about giving when you don't have anything for yourself. Mother Teresa said, “It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.” Those words are perhaps about Malar, from Degadruvam near Kallakurichi in Tamil Nadu, an ageless, faceless nobody. But, she is SOMEBODY.
She is a nobody. Born the eldest among 6 siblings, her father abandoned her mother to live with another woman in the same village they all lived in. She never went to school. He mother boiled 1 kilo of rice into a watery gruel and divided it equally amongst them. She drank her portion and stayed hungry. Always. Her younger brother died at the age of 2, eating dried tamarind seeds at home. Death freed him from grinding poverty and unbearable hunger.
She is a nobody. She doesn't know her age now. She doesn't remember her age at the time of her marriage. After her son was born, her husband abandoned her. Took all her jewellery, the cows & goats, a 2 wheeler at home, her money - everything. He moved in with another woman in the same village they all lived in. History always repeats itself. She left her infant son behind in the care of her parents and went to work in the Gulf (she doesn't know which country she went to). She worked for 4 years, toiling in the kitchen of a Sheikh, taught to cook by a Filipino cook there (she knew to make nothing but the gruel she grew up eating). She longed to see her son but stayed there to save money. Finally, she went on a hunger strike for one week to get back her papers to come back home.
She is a nobody. She came back, bought 4 acres of land, bought some jewellery and smartly, kept everything in her name. But, she found her 12 year old son addicted to alcohol, trained by none else than her own father. She lost her mental balance and roamed the streets. Worried relatives sent her to Bangalore to earn a living - after forcing her drunkard 17 year old son into marriage and his wife giving birth to a boy.
She is a nobody. She went to work in a North Indian's home as a cook. She was asked to make atta for roti. She had never seen a roti in her life before. She made the atta like the batter for dosa. Her employer beat her on her hands with the rolling pin. Her hands swelled like a roti ball and she groaned in pain for 3 days. Her employer took pity on her and told her that she could learn cooking as a skill or forever do menial work. She wisely chose to learn a new skill that could be her ticket to a different life.
She is a nobody. She has lived in Bangalore for 8 years now. She lives in a hut, right next to a nallah (river of sewage). She pays Rs. 500 as rent for the little place. She bought left over construction material and made the flooring herself. She bought tin sheets for the roof. Her hut has no electricity or running water. She collects water from a roadside pump when the water is released once in 2-3 days. Her home is infested with mosquitoes and bugs. She has no valid papers to get cooking gas. She buys kerosene in the market when she has money and cooks when she can afford. Otherwise, she eats if her employers let her eat at their homes.
She is a nobody. 5 months back, she came to cook for me. She knew some dishes that she made well. My mother taught her some. I keep teaching her a few dishes. She is a quick learner. She is very attached to my infant son. After finishing her work in 3 homes, she comes running to my place to take care of my boy. She taught him to stand up pushing himself against the wall. She admonishes me if I feed him too much or too little.
She is a nobody. She asked my mother for a sari. My mother gave her an old synthetic sari that belonged to her. She asked if my mother could give her a cotton sari instead. She wanted it for her mother, an old woman once abandoned by her husband and now her sons, who works in the fields and lives all by herself. She wanted a soft cotton sari that would absorb the sweat of her brow as she toiled under the harsh sun. She asked me for Rs. 100. She wanted to buy rice grits for her mother. To stave off hunger for the days that she wouldn't find a job under the NREGA scheme. She asked me for my boy's clothes. For a little boy who was born in her neighbourhood a couple of months back. The boy slept naked amongst bloodthirsty mosquitoes and all alone as his mother had to go out and work. A little later, she asked me for a mosquito net for another child who was unwell. One day, when my husband came home with a bouquet of roses, she asked to take it home. I gave them to her. She distributed all of them to the women in her neighbourhood. I asked her if she didn't keep any for herself. She smiled wryly and asked, "Who should I wear those flowers for?" She asked me one day if I could take her to the Church at Vasanth Nagar. Knowing I am an atheist, she told me, "You don't have to do anything. I just want to light a candle for your boy. I want his health to improve and get well soon."
She is SOMEBODY. Her name is Malar (Tamizh for flower). While all the colour in her life had withered right from her childhood, she blossomed for others. She bathed once in 3 days but the goodness of her heart is still refreshingly fragrant in this cynical, self serving world. Amidst the thorny path that has been her life througout, she still blooms in her caring for the people around her. She may have never heard of Abraham Lincoln who said, "To ease another's heartache is to forget one's own." Perhaps she does mitigate the pain of her own existence by easing the suffering she sees around her.
She is SOMEBODY. I am learning from her. That, it is far more heartening to seek for others than to pursue one's own needs. That, suffering is very relative. That, when I complain about my own aches and pains, there is a world that moves on amidst far greater turmoil and still stays tranquil. That, when I feel righteous about my own social work and charity for others, there is someone who doesn't know these words but does it very quietly. That, charity is not about writing a million dollar cheque but it is also about giving when you don't have anything for yourself. Mother Teresa said, “It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.” Those words are perhaps about Malar, from Degadruvam near Kallakurichi in Tamil Nadu, an ageless, faceless nobody. But, she is SOMEBODY.
