Adjacent to the Laburnum is the most talked about house occupied by the most status family in the street. Everyone holds the posh doctor and scientist couple in great awe. I always imagine seeing a halo of sophistication and modernity emanating from their persona. Almost all of my madamjis regularly prod me for the latest happenings from this household. After all, we enjoy the coveted status of gossipmongers amongst these high-fi Saabs and Sahibaas. These people na, I tell you, they are always busy in their aping business! What is the new design she is wearing, what is the new gadget they are buying, what was the level of her kitty party, these are the standard topics of their sub-standard discussions, yes sub-standard even by my standards! Even small people like us discuss national problems like Karnataka floods and Kalahandi droughts, may be because majority of the affected folks there belong to our class.
Today morning, as I was about the start my routine work at the house, I notice the car entering the portico with Doctor Saab at the wheels. He opens the door for the other two eerie creatures inside. I am shocked to find him escorting the two attired in discoloured ochre robes inside the house. Their overflowing beards remind me of the story of birds building nests in an ascetic's beards. Their wide foreheads are adorned with some kind of ash and their bulging eyes are fiery red. Doctor Saab had told me one fine day that this happens due to over drinking over a prolonged period of time. Strings of wrinkled beads hang loosely around their necks. As I stare incredulously at the thick bouquet of brilliant blue peacock plumes they are waving at no one in particular, Saab orders me to bend down and touch their feet as a mark of respect. I hurriedly obey him and rush out of the hall confused. I notice other madamjis giving each other confused glances and wry smiles from the balconies of their houses.
In the afternoon, Kutte-wali madamji summons me suggestively, 'Sakku, what was going on at Doctor Saab's place in the morning?'
I reply, 'Saab's little daughter is suffering from jaundice, unhone jhada lagwaya tha.'
Kutte-wali madamji gets interested, 'Arey baap re, jhada! Can you detail me on the jhada process?'
I describe, 'The guest room was filled with suffocating Hawan ka Dhuan and Gudiya was made to sit in the centre of the room. Then she was bathed in honey, milk and oil. All through this, she was constantly being hit by the peacock plumes on head and back. I got a back-ache cleaning up the mess afterwards!'
Kutte-wali madamji goes hysterical, 'Hai Rabba, Doctors also started believing in jhaad-phoonk! Medical Science is on real decline! I availed this doctor's services for my son's jaundice treatment two years back! Hey Rabba, please take care of my little son!'
Then she goes on to call other madamjis one by one for breaking this news with quite a spicy contribution from her own side. Though she hardly takes notice of my plight at her house, today she ostensibly sympathizes with my back-ache just to disgrace the scientist madam.
The other Saturday, I happen to reach Doctor Saab's house an hour earlier. I am curious to find a Shani Dev wrapped in white clothes waiting at the gate. I am about to ask him to leave when Scientist madam signals me from balcony to wait outside quietly. In the meanwhile, Shani Dev replaces the shriveled nimbu-mirchi at the gate with fresh one. I realize that this household task, like most others, has also been outsourced. I see Doctor Saab coming down the driveway. At some distance from the gate, he removes his sandals and washes his hands and feet. Now he walks up to the Shani Dev bare feet, balances himself on left leg with right leg twisting around the former, he resembles the meditating Dhruv now, supports the right elbow with left palm, closes his eyes, bows his head, mutters a few inaudible shlokas and offers oil to Shani Dev's bucket with his right hand. This is followed by an offering of hundred bucks. God, how Saab haggles not to pay me for the few days I fall sick! I really envy Shani Dev. I am seriously thinking of changing my job and becoming some Weekly Devi!
Watching this, I am reminded of how scientist madam stops her kids from leaving the house if the feeblest of a distant sneeze manage to vibrate her sensitive ear drums. Then she makes them wash hands and feet, sit down, drink water and recite a few shlokas. I am the illiterate maid here, I am supposed to be superstitious as per my children's lessons, but I am not as much. May be she cares more for her kids' well-being. Whatever, I am no more euphoric about working at her place as I keep on getting reminded of my dreaded mother-in-law's taunting proverb, Chirag Tale Andhera!
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