She is Madhavi

Her palm held a Rs. 50 note. At home, there is no rice, no sugar, no edible oil. She extended her palm to Rama and she placed her salary. Smiles full mooned her face. Her back sometimes hurts. Today, it does. For 22 years she has been cooking, cleaning and sweeping. And it is telling. Two sisters and two brothers were taxing her parents. As an 8 year old she was sent off to her aunt, a government employee. She kept her aunt and family free. Roti making, dal cooking, house and kitchen cleaning... two days in a week if at all she went to school where she was good says she. Her teacher lauded her. She was taken out, home being a was, is and always. Thats fated, come and go, a few gods and goddesses, she says running a forefinger across her forehead. She was married at 14, has three children, husband dead .... she came in an unreserved railway compartment from Solapur to a slum in Borivili. Pasted to it. About 9 years she has been working at our place more regular than mobile timings. She now owns a iphone and is better at it than this blogger. Keeps her in touch with daughter who hurdled over Class 10 with 70 per cent (no special and unspecial classes) and is into nursing. Her daughter is 18 and her mother is musing on her marriage at least by 20, if not earlier. Thats village norm. Thats the norm set by her brother, a policeman. Thats the norm, insists grandma. She is 30 years old. She is Madhavi.