My mother, the superhero
I was walking back from school at the end of the day. Roads were crowded as usual with people walking, riding bicycles, mopeds, rickshaws, buses, auto-rikshaws, and an occasional car. There were cows and dogs squeezing through a sea of people on foot and other modes of transportation. I walked into the corner medical store to pick up milk bread. They carried delicious milk bread which was my goto after school snack during school days and afternoon snack during summer. I picked up the bread and tucked it away in my book bag as I hurried back home. I was looking forward to slathering freshly whipped butter and sprinkling a good amount of sugar on a slice of milk bread and enjoying it as soon as I got home. The last half mile lasted forever. At last I walked up the driveway of our apartment complex and reached the front door of our apartment.
Our apartment complex was a 3-story building with 10 apartments on each floor and a single room in the middle of the flat roof at the top of the building. The rest of the flat roof was a common area for drying mango pieces, peppers soaked in buttermilk, అప్పడాలు (Appadalu - flat fritters made out of rice and other grain flours), and వడియాలు (Vadiayalu - fritters made out of rice and other flours) in the sun. Sundried వడియాలు (Vadiayalu ) and అప్పడాలు (Appadalu) are deep fried to enjoy as just as snack or as a side with rice and dal. The flat roof was also used for sleeping during hot summer nights. The walled compound of the building had a concrete veranda that ran end to end in front of the ground floor apartments for parking vehicles or hanging out to chat. There was a gate at both ends at the front of the building and the backside was a solid wall.
Each apartment had a veranda with an iron grill as the front wall with a door in the middle. All of the apartments were identical. The building was rectangular shaped and each apartment was about 10 feet wide and 60 feet long. The 60 feet long and 10 feet wide area was divided into 5 sections, a front veranda, a large room behind the veranda, a smaller right behind it, and a kitchen behind it. A door from the kitchen led into a small open area that had a faucet, a bathroom, and a latrine. The small area in the back was used for cleaning dishes, clothes, and other household chores. We had clothing lines running across the back area for drying clothes in addition to the clothing lines in the front veranda. There were no windows in the apartment. The only places you could see natural light from were the front grilled veranda and open space in the back of the apartment behind the kitchen.
Our apartment was at the left end of the ground floor right next to our landlord’s apartment. It was tiny to begin with and we lost a 5 foot by 5 foot space we used as our dressing room when our landlord decided to build a library for her daughter. We used the veranda to dry our clothes, do our homework, entertain guests during the day, and as a bedroom for us kids at night. This room transformed during the day to accommodate the myriad of functions it was used for. The day started with folding the cots and rolling up the mattresses and leaning them up against the far wall away from the door. Folding chairs were set up for any guests who might show up during the day. At the end of the day, a folding dining table leaning against the wall was unfolded to do homework. Once homework was done, the table was folded back up, leaning it against the wall. Close to bedtime, folding cots were set up as the room transformed into a bedroom with two cots.
A family of four, a couple with their two very young children lived in the apartment to our right. Several nights a week, there was drama unfolding when the husband arrived home after whiling away the entire night at a bar. When the bar closed, the bar staff had to kick him out, get him into a rickshaw and send him home. The rickshaw driver brought him to the building, stopping the rickshaw at the front gate. The gate would be locked by then and the rickshaw driver would shout to get attention. The drunk man’s wife would unlock the main gate. The husband would refuse to get out of the rickshaw asking the driver to take him back to the bar. The rickshaw driver and the wife would manage to coax him out of the rickshaw and get him into the house. Everybody who lived in the building pretended like nothing happened even though they were all forced out of their blissful sleep in the middle of the night.
There was another family of three who lived in a small room under the stairs. There was a lady, a devotee of Sathya Sai Baba who lived on the floor above us. She would come running down once in a few months, telling everybody that there was వీభూది (Veebhudi) coming out of Satya Saibaba’s picture in her pooja room. She used to host pooja ceremonies for Sathya Sai Baba. There was a doctor and his family who lived on the far end of the ground floor. They lived in Iran for a few years. They used to tell us stories about their life in Iran. They would talk about freshly baked warm Rumali bread they used to buy at a corner store on their way back from school. Our apartment complex was a happening place. On very hot summer nights, we would spread our mattresses up on the flat roof to sleep. The drinking water faucet was located all the way on the right end of the building. It was a trek to get water for drinking everyday when the city released water. We had running water which was pumped from a well for bathing, cleaning and other household needs. Our landlord supervised water dispensing at the drinking water faucet making sure everybody got their fair share. My mother recalls him as being very kind to her.
I got home and made myself snack with the fresh loaf of bread I brought home. I set up my folding work table and settled down to do my homework. Our landlord came by looking to speak to my parents. Our landlord was a tall, sturdy man. He had farmland in a nearby village. He lived in the city with his second wife and daughter while his first wife lived in the village taking care of their farmland. His first wife couldn't have children and he married her younger sister who was able to produce an heir. It was very evident that his second wife was forced into the marriage by the family. She ignored him for the most part. He looked happy and alive when his first wife came for a visit. They would stand in the veranda talking to each other like soul mates and good friends. Our landlord’s daughter was a year older than me. She had a large collection of books she let me borrow from to read. Our landlord’s family was friendly to us. They let us use their phone to receive and make occasional and important phone calls.
Our landlord asked me if he could speak to my mother or father. I walked inside to let my mother know that our landlord was at the door. She came out to talk to him as I got busy with work. Our landlord asked my mother, “Does మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) work for you?” My mother said, “Yes. I hired her to wash our dishes and clothes a few months ago. She is very good.” Our landlord said, “I came to tell you that she isn’t a good woman. I can’t have her coming to my building to do work.” My mother asked to know more about why she wasn’t a good woman. Our landlord said, “I heard she was a prostitute and was also a mistress. She appears to have started working as a maid now.”.
This exchange piqued my interest. Now I was no longer doing homework, but still pretending to not care about the exchange. Our maid was an older woman in her late fifties or early sixties. She was soft spoken and minded her business unlike other maids who carried juicy information as they went from one house to another during the day.
My mother said, “I am not going to let her go because of rumors. She does good work.”. Our landlord was taken aback as if he didn’t expect my mother to respond the way she did. He said, “It isn’t a rumor. I know for certain.” My mother simply looked at him waiting for him to volunteer more information. He continued, “A friend of a friend has firsthand knowledge of her work.” My mother simply said, “I see. Still I am not going to let her go based on the work she had done in the past.” She continued asking him pointedly, “Do you want her to go hungry? If I let her go, how will she make a living?” Our landlord said, “That isn’t my problem. I just want you to fire her.” My mother said, “Well, I am not going to. I think she needs to make a living and I don’t think she should be punished for what she had done in the past.”. She added sarcastically, “It appears the other party in the alleged crime is enjoying living their life without any punishment.”
It was a fascinating exchange to unfold. My mother stood at 4 foot 10 inches to our landlord’s close to 6 foot frame as she challenged him. My mother refused to fire her maid and our landlord walked away shaking his head.
My mother told my father about this exchange. My father laughed and said, “Hmm. Maybe we need to look for another place to live in case he asks us to leave. Our landlord didn’t ask us to vacate the apartment and never brought up firing the maid ever again. మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) continued to work at our house for several years. My mother took a stand as she supported a helpless woman. This wasn’t the first time she hired vulnerable people who were discriminated against by society. One other time she hired a young woman who was rumored to have eloped with someone, ignoring people’s objections. My mom looked like a superhero to me in those moments. My petite, delicate looking mother can be fierce and forceful when she perceives societal injustice such as this one.