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| ashu |
Posted
on 29-Jun-03 09:43 PM
Servants and Us
By Susal Stebbins
When I was eight years old, my mother went back to University to get her masters degree, and a woman named Betty came to help clean house for us, two days a week. Up until then, household servants had existed for me only in the movies, and seemed only to work in mansions for unbelievably rich people.
I had to revise my concept. But I still wasnt comfortable with the idea of someone sweeping my floor and washing my clothes- because hadnt my mother taught me that these things were my own responsibility? Paying someone to do them seemed like cheating, somehow.
By the time I reached forty and had a demanding and extremely time consuming job, my wish for a clean house began to outweigh my value of rugged independence. I broke down and arranged for a cleaner to come once a month to prevent deep grunge, but retained my sense that it was best for me not to foist my dirty work off on someone else.
When I came to Nepal, another revision was in order. At first I did wash my own clothes- but they never got clean, though my knuckles became red and raw with the effort. When I moved into my flat, the cheerful landlord asked if I wanted his didi to come help me in the mornings- for 500 Rs a month, and she wanted the extra work.
This seemed a preposterously low salary, but I thought of my knuckles and resolved to accept her work and pay her more. When I tried to pass a few extra hundred rupees to her, she refused with a worried look, as though I were doing something improper. Over time, we have developed a lovely relationship.
She does what she thinks needs to be done (like sweeping the floor every day, which I would never have thought of but seems a useful practice in this land of perpetual dust fall) and what I ask her to do. If I dont leave her enough dishes or clothes to wash, she demands more: Give me the kurta you wore yesterday! I make Nepali chiya for both of us every morning.
Soon after she began working for me, she started inviting me to come to her house- quite near mine- frequently, and treated me like an honored guest. I came to love Didi and her family, including her dogs. They seemed unusually happy and healthy, and I admired Didis affectionate but firm way with them. When her dog Kali became pregnant, I asked for a puppy, promising I would bring him back to visit his family often.
Almost a year later, there are still wonderful romps with four dogs chasing and wrestling and amusing the humans several times a week. Didi still wont take a higher salary, but she is happy to have me help pay for special occasions and needs: her sons wedding, doctor bills, special puppy food, and so on.
Knowing Didi (I have heard her name, but no one calls her by it) and being aware of the prevalence of servants in Nepal has made me think more about the whole relationship between the server and the served.
When I visited Beijing in 1995, I was surprised that in a country that had once aimed to eliminate class differences, hotel workers turned on the taps so that I could wash my hands in the lavatories, waiters filled my glass after each sip of water, and both had obviously been trained to avert their eyes and refrain from unnecessary conversation with guests. I was told that having this level of service not only improved the establishments reputation with tourists but also was a strategy to keep unemployment low.
I was glad the people had jobs, but wondered at what cost to their dignity, and to human relationships. This question is also important to consider in a household serving situation. It seems to me that when one hires someone else to do work that we are unwilling (and sometimes unable) to do for ourselves, our basic attitude towards them should logically be appreciation and respect, which is rather opposite to the general low status of servants.
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| ashu |
Posted
on 29-Jun-03 09:44 PM
In Nepal, it is clear that working as a servant in a foreigners home is a coveted position. Nepalis frequently ask if I know anyone looking for a didi, a gardener, a guard, a delivery person. One man calls me once a week to ask if I have found a job for him (yet).
Bideshis seem to pay good salaries and offer other advantages that come with our broad access to the world. One bideshi friend put out an enormous effort to find her housekeepers lost child; another (a Scotsman, naturally) encouraged and supported his gardener to become an amateur golf champion, and there are many other stories of bideshis making a big positive impact on their servants lives, as well as forming close, long lasting relationships.
(Of course this kind of generosity and friendship is not limited to bideshis; for example I know several well-off Nepalis who have committed to educating their servants children, helped out with a health crisis, and so on.)
However, the very existence of these forms of help reflects the precarious situation most Nepali domestic workers are in: they usually do not have independent means to handle the most basic crises or needs of their children, let alone to develop unique talents, and so must rely on the kindness of (relative) strangers.
This leaves us to ponder: what is our responsibility- human or karmic- to the people whose work allows us to lead full, demanding, complex work and social lives? What is an even exchange of energy and benefit? Sometimes I prefer Didi and her familys unpretentious warmth and kindness to the complex social banter and one-ups-manship that are common amongst people from my own background. I realize at times that my contact with Didi is teaching me : to be humble, to be generous, to be present, to appreciate life. This is priceless.
Bideshi households with Nepali workers naturally have some degree of challenges and tensions arising from the great disparities of wealth and experience, and from differing expectations and cultural approaches.
The Nepali cultural patterns of bholi garne (will do tomorrow) and saying yes to everything as a way of being polite are everywhere and on a collision course with western sensibilities of urgency and directness.
A substantial amount of communication (both Nepali and English language lessons really help here!), cultural observation and learning, patience, humor, compromise, and sometimes simply accepting what one does not understand seem to be necessary for both parties to flourish in such situations. These practices have the advantages of improving the general quality of our experience in Nepal as well.
Ultimately, my relationship with Didi and her family also strengthens my commitment to do whatever I can to help Nepal make the economic and social advances necessary to ensure a decent life for all its citizens. I think of her daughter, a bright young woman who is fluent in English, made an A in her basic computer course, and is now taking a sewing class.
I wonder if she will be able to use the skills she has learned to make a living, or if she will eventually follow in her mothers footsteps. This redoubles my wish for decency in the serving life and for broader options in the society.
And you?
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| bhunte |
Posted
on 29-Jun-03 10:36 PM
------And You?--------
hami sabai "rastra sewak" hoina ra?
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| Yadav |
Posted
on 29-Jun-03 10:41 PM
Hami ta khai thaha chhaina...tara Bhunte bau timi chai bakaido ho 'rastra sewak'!
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| bhunte |
Posted
on 29-Jun-03 10:45 PM
timi Lalloo Yadav ko noker ta...eheheheh
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| suva chintak |
Posted
on 30-Jun-03 09:20 AM
Talking of servants,
I just read what must be the first in-depth anthropological study of domestic servants in Nepal by Saubhagya Shah. It has interesting analysis and description of the condition of servants in middle and lower middle class families. The article is published in an edited volume called 'Home and Hegemony: Domestic Service and Identity Politics in South and South East Asia.' Editors K. Adams and Sara Dickey. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2000.
I think there was also review of this book in Himal South Asia. I think there was also a longer article in Himal about the domestic servants in Himal.
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| knt |
Posted
on 30-Jun-03 02:47 PM
As long as we got money coming in to Nepal, the means don't matter.
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