My servant and his Slave!

There was a time when I was a struggler in this city. The money I received as stipend supported me to survive, but didn’t allow me the luxury of hiring a pair of helping hands. I was like a self-sufficient unit then. I used to do all my household chores myself. Although I made a shaky beginning, thanks to all the pamperings at home, I soon mastered the art of self-help. Mopping and sweeping the floors, cleaning utensils, washing dirty linens (albeit in the privacy of washroom) - I did everything single-handedly with little help from my fellow room partners. I remember how difficult it was for me. For the record, back home the only thing I used to wash myself was my handkerchief and I took almost half-an-hour to wash a single hanky. Moreover the smell of Vim Bar used to be the most horrifying smell for me. And although I swept floors occasionally, it was more out of choice than the lack of it.

The job was never easy. It used to eat over my free time. Half of my sweet Sundays were spent doing trivial things like washing shirts, trousers, socks, vests etc. I had to clean the cups before preparing the morning tea in a frosty December morning. Cleaning the room was the toughest of them all. We used to follow a rule- the early bird sweeps. But soon I discovered that none of my roommates were interested in flying back early. So poor me, I was left with no choice but to bite the dust more often than not. Never-the-less, I always found solace by thinking that one day my luck will defeat all the odds and finally I would be able to afford a domestic help. But honestly speaking, it was a different kind of experience altogether. I was happy to see myself independent in true sense. There was no one I had to depend on to take care of my To do list.

Then I got settled (although I hate this word, I don’t have a substitute for it). My salaries became handsome and offered me the extra money to spend on luxuries. And a lazy person that I’m, I employed a domestic help almost immediately to free myself from such petty jobs. Sundays were nice once again. I started waking up late only to find my washed clothes in the clothesline. I didn’t have to think twice before taking out a clean dress from my wardrobe. I was free to litter in the rooms, and utensils? Well, I started drinking water from glasses. Now, after a hectic day’s work I could afford to sit and watch my favourite TV show. The day I was looking forward to was finally here. Within no time I unlearned all those things which had become a necessity once upon a time. Sometimes I used to recollect my old days and smile. Nostalgia you know.

What a mistake it was. Today, I realise I have totally become a slave in the hands of my domestic help. He takes a day’s off and I am in a fix. Suddenly all those works which were a cakewalk started appearing monstrous to me. I can’t even think of washing a bucket of clothes anymore, I have started using disposable hankies and the sight of piling utensils send shivers down my spine. Not only that, I have to surrender to his unrealistic demands also. A sudden request for salary hike by him sounds like a threat to me. I guess he has started understanding my handicap. So he exploits me as much as he can and gets away with all his tantrums. For example, he no longer asks for a day off, he just announces- “Dada, kalke ami ashbo naa” (I won’t be coming tomorrow). I have recorded the time; he can easily make it to the Guinness Book of World Records as the fastest sweeper in the world. And I have to toss a coin to find out which shirt is washed and which one is not. So here I’m, once again a slave struggling to break my shackles. Anybody there to help me out?