Mukhe Bhaat

The first time a Bengali baby eats solid food, at around six months of age, it is an occasion for celebration, a celebration called Mukhe Bhaat – which literally translates to something like “Rice in Mouth”.  So today, when I boiled my first pot of rice in my “new” kitchen, I felt it was a kind of Mukhe Bhaat celebration for me. 

I just moved into my flat – slept here for the first time last night. As promised, I’ll post some “before” and “after” pictures – but there isn’t really an “after” yet!  The move-in is still in process!

This morning, bright and early, the help started to arrive, first Poonam, the maidservant, who swept and cleaned my floors.  Then the two men who delivered my set up for drinking water, and finally the two plumbers who fixed the drain pipe to the kitchen sink. 

Batting three for three – a remarkable record here, as friends Amitabha and his wife Sarbari would say.  Amitabha figured that if one out of three arrived this morning, I could count it a success.  India is not necessarily known for efficiency, so I had to agree with him.  And yet, we had just called each of these helpers last night – in the US you could call a plumber and expect rapid service – plumbing problems can be an emergency after all.  But you’d pay a pretty penny.  I paid my plumbers about $7.00 – that was for parts and labor. 

Poonam, age approximately 22, with a five year old daughter and a husband who doesn’t work, brought a blithe spirit to my flat this morning when she arrived at 7:00 a.m.  She is a true beauty, tall, with sparkling eyes.  A few months ago, Amitabha told me, she had informed them she was moving to Mumbai for a job someone had promised her.  Amitabha and Sarbari suspected a trafficking scheme, and called the police.  The police quickly appeared at Poonam’s house, talked to her about her plans, and although it’s not like the police could have stopped her from going, she obviously re-thought the situation and she’s still here.  She did a beautiful job on my floors – I was supposed to pay her 100 rupees – I paid her 150 (100 rupees = about $1.40).  I would like to have given her more, but I’ve been told not to upset the apple cart too much.  On the other hand, when I leave, I can and will – it will be appropriate at that time – give her a healthy tip. Poonam doesn’t clean toilets, by the way.  The woman who comes on Sundays will do that.  The caste system lives on. 

Noblesse oblige lives on as well, and most middle class people employ “maidservants,” cooks, laundresses, drivers. Doing so is almost seen as a duty, a way to assist those less fortunate, of whom there are many. No surprise, I’m not accustomed to having people in my living space doing work that I could do myself, and it makes me feel self-conscious and antsy. But that’s my problem, not theirs. In fact, the relationship between servants and their employers is often quite close and warm. I think the water guys, the plumbers, and Poonam all kind of got a kick out of the novelty of working for the American lady. Tonight a guy was supposed to come install a mirror for me — there are none in the flat. He was a no-show. Three out of four — not bad!