Mahipal
This was during Delhi days. First time I had a male as a domestic help or so I thought. The guy was very conscious of the quality of his work .The floor he swept and mopped would glisten like glazed tiles of today, though it was mosaic flooring. Clothes too would look bright and fresh once he had washed them, dried it out in the sun on the terrace and pressed them as well as a professional ‘dhobi’.
He was just superb in his work, but every second month he had to go to his village. He stayed alone in Delhi, I guess he wanted to give his salary to people back home in the village. When he went he would be away for a week or ten days. The day before he left as he mopped the floor sitting on his haunches, he would linger on where I sat reading the news paper and having my morning cup of tea. I knew he wanted to ask for leave so I would purposely ignore him. He would sit mopping the same place, till I asked what is it Mahipal ? He would not look up, in fact his head would dip further down and he would mumble “ chutti chahiye“( I want Leave ) I would ask him why has your “Chacha( uncle) died again?” he would giggle and say “ yes, it’s another chacha”
Every time he wanted leave it was the only reason he could think of, his uncle’s death! He knew we saw through his lie but he would still give the same reason. He would giggle every time I asked how many more uncles do you have ? Once in a way to add credibility to his story he would say he is taking leave to give his salary to his family and would be back in two days . He would return 10 days later, once again because his‘ chacha’ died . As he said it he would giggle, yes giggle is the right world , it was not a grown up man’s laughter but little child’s giggle. He was so child like you could never be angry with him, there was this elusive endearing quality about him.
I noticed quite often that he had very effeminate gestures and expressions. When I mentioned it to one of my neighbours , she told me “look out of your window at six in the evening , you will find Mahipal transform” .Six sharp that evening there was this person in a shocking pink salwar kameez with long artificial hair plaited with tassles swinging and a bright smile, lips painted red and kajal linned eyes , who on close examination turned out to be Mahipal.
He was a very affectionate person. Though cooking was not one of his assignments, if he found that I was not well any morning, without being asked, he would put in an extra hour cook something for me to have. After completing his work in other houses on his way back he would drop in to check if I need any help.
Unfortunately, he fell ill, became very weak and decieded to go back to his village .That was the last we heard of him. Wonder what happened to him. He was a tormented soul, torn between being a man and a woman, facing society’s jeers.
This was during Delhi days. First time I had a male as a domestic help or so I thought. The guy was very conscious of the quality of his work .The floor he swept and mopped would glisten like glazed tiles of today, though it was mosaic flooring. Clothes too would look bright and fresh once he had washed them, dried it out in the sun on the terrace and pressed them as well as a professional ‘dhobi’.
He was just superb in his work, but every second month he had to go to his village. He stayed alone in Delhi, I guess he wanted to give his salary to people back home in the village. When he went he would be away for a week or ten days. The day before he left as he mopped the floor sitting on his haunches, he would linger on where I sat reading the news paper and having my morning cup of tea. I knew he wanted to ask for leave so I would purposely ignore him. He would sit mopping the same place, till I asked what is it Mahipal ? He would not look up, in fact his head would dip further down and he would mumble “ chutti chahiye“( I want Leave ) I would ask him why has your “Chacha( uncle) died again?” he would giggle and say “ yes, it’s another chacha”
Every time he wanted leave it was the only reason he could think of, his uncle’s death! He knew we saw through his lie but he would still give the same reason. He would giggle every time I asked how many more uncles do you have ? Once in a way to add credibility to his story he would say he is taking leave to give his salary to his family and would be back in two days . He would return 10 days later, once again because his‘ chacha’ died . As he said it he would giggle, yes giggle is the right world , it was not a grown up man’s laughter but little child’s giggle. He was so child like you could never be angry with him, there was this elusive endearing quality about him.
I noticed quite often that he had very effeminate gestures and expressions. When I mentioned it to one of my neighbours , she told me “look out of your window at six in the evening , you will find Mahipal transform” .Six sharp that evening there was this person in a shocking pink salwar kameez with long artificial hair plaited with tassles swinging and a bright smile, lips painted red and kajal linned eyes , who on close examination turned out to be Mahipal.
He was a very affectionate person. Though cooking was not one of his assignments, if he found that I was not well any morning, without being asked, he would put in an extra hour cook something for me to have. After completing his work in other houses on his way back he would drop in to check if I need any help.
Unfortunately, he fell ill, became very weak and decieded to go back to his village .That was the last we heard of him. Wonder what happened to him. He was a tormented soul, torn between being a man and a woman, facing society’s jeers.
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