Laali - 12th Aug'24

 

Laali

In the suburbs of Udaipur, at the foot of Aravali mountain range, on banks of river Gomati, there was small well-planned mines colony – Zawar. In the center of the town, there is a long-cemented bridge connecting the New Market to Hindustan Zinc Limited (HZL) hospital. The largest one in the vicinity of Zawar to Udaipur. The straight road had the company guest house in the middle which ended at Naka Bazaar – the end of the town. Up straight on the road from the guest house lead to the officer’s colony on the top of a small hill which was almost cut off from rest of the town with few officer’s families residing in an array. Here everyone knew everyone from end to end.

All the kids went to school together and played cricket or 7 stones in the evening. Mummies made papad (dried crisps), achar (pickle), sweaters, quilts together depending on the season in continuum. Dads worked in same places and played badminton together in the guest house on most of the evenings. There were festivals, birthday parties, new years and what not to crowd in each other’s homes. Needless to say that they had common household helps as well. Mummies planned the maid schedule as per their requirements.

Laali came to our home in the afternoons. She was very old. Maybe in her 60s or 70s. That’s what I could guess by seeing her lean figure with wrinkled face and arms. With that frame, she was always well dressed and presentable. She had neatly dyed hair tied in pony, brows drawn with black eyebrow pencil, red sparkling lipstick and wore clinking glass bangles. She will dress up in shiny lehnga-choli (skirt-blouse) covering her head with dupatta.

As soon as I would finish my lunch, she will shout in a shrill voice - “didi I am home”. I was just a school going girl. It was awkward for me that an elderly person was calling me didi. I tried to teach my name to her. She was adamant to call me didi. On the other hand, she insisted to call her Laali. I was calling her Laali aunty. She would say “I am not that old to be called as aunty. Don’t go by my looks. They are deceiving. Call me Laali. It feels good”. I wanted to call her daadiji. Still gave up as calling Laali made her happy. She was the first elderly person to call me didi and whom I called by name. (Who knew years later, I would be calling every person by name in office whether young or old).

I would wait for her to finish the work to listen a story. It was more of a gossip, villager’s life or an incident. My favourite one was her visit to BT pala (Beauty Parlour). At that time, I had never gone to a beauty parlour. So didn’t know what happened there. She started, “Didi you know what they do there?

Me: I don’t know. Maa-Dada (Mummy & Daddy) never even allows me to have a haircut.

Laali: Mu BT Pala gayi ri. (I went to beauty parlour). Didi, mharo toh saara ka saara baal uda diyo (they have cut my whole hair). Bharrana-Pharrana machine chalayi diyo – sab sukh gayo (they used some machine and it got completely dried). Kai jadoo-tona kari, manne kai pato (Don’t know what magic they did)

Then, she showed me her hair cut. It was indeed shortened to a great length.

Me: Pachche kai vyo Laali? What happened next?

Laali: Arre tu kai jaane didi? What do you know didi? Dhaagare mhare bhohen ro baal uda diyo. She removed all my eyebrows with thread.

Ke bedagark kar diyo. Mu toh bhaagi re bhaagi. What have they done to me. I ran away from there.

After giving the performance matching to her words, she was in tears. I was laughing and rolling on the floor. I recited to everyone I knew. Had the blast of my life.

Laali was part of our CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) activity as well. My brother (Bhai) was supposed to teach poor elderly villagers as instructed by school. She was our scapegoat. We tried our best to teach her. All she could learn was writing her name. But the school was getting greedy. They wanted every child to get a villager educated. We didn’t have a choice. Poor me. I became pretend Laali on the notebook. Bhai would scold me for writing in a good handwriting. He will scold me and say which villager writes beautifully in a neat and clean handwriting. Make it smudged and dirty. It was fun to do so.

Bhai was promoted in the eyes of his class master and classmates alike. Now he wanted to do more and be more. My responsibility grew in correlation. I was now Mangi laal, Amra, Chotu, Munna and every other driver, maali (gardener), casual labourer who was illiterate. I devised new fonts for all of them in bunch of notebooks with impositions. Thanks to the half yearly exams, they bailed me out of this child labour.

Back to Laali. One fine day, Maa was having her best rest day as she had half day in her school. Neighbour aunty gushed in Bhabhiji ! Bhabhji ! see what Laali has done. Maa woke up startled. Auntiji was in tears. I meekly said Namastey Aunty and sat beside her. Maa brought water. We got to know that Laali has stolen sarees from aunty ’s almirah. Maa checked hers. Nothing was touched. Copying her, I also looked into mine. Things were intact.

After few days, I wanted a chocolate for Rs. 50. Maa refused to give so I checked my mud gullak (piggy bank) in the last rack of the cupboard. It seemed slightly tilted. I lifted it up. The bottom was cracked and there was nothing in it.

The world got shut for me. Tears were unstoppable. I was finding it hard to believe. I befriended her, shared my school stories, snacks and helped with things that she required for her work. Even parted with my extra notebooks, pens and little things to cheer her up. Had she asked, I would have happily shared some money from my gullak as well. It pained that leaving everything at home, she stole my petty saving in gullak. Silently, I cried. I never saw her again.

Maa bought new dress and sweets for Lali as Dashehra was approaching. With this her heart was also broken. Soon we also got transferred to a new place and all the goodies were given to Guddi - new maid.

-         -  Saranya