by Vani Viswanathan
Kavya sighed obligingly as Chitra, her domestic help, swept the floor furiously, narrating the latest misadventures of her alcoholic husband. ‘I spent another five thousand rupees yesterday! That brings it to twenty-three thousand rupees in all for this wretched man!’
Kavya could see the slight limp in Chitra’s walk. She was sure that the man had beaten her black and blue last night, probably after taking all her money to squander it on drinking and gambling. The same story that she’d read about, heard of, hundreds of times. Anger surged within her.
‘Chitra akka, go tell your husband that you’ll take him to police! They can arrest him under the DV Act!’ Kavya said, moving a chest of draws under which Chitra often forgot to clean – Kavya knew that these women didn’t have a sense of duty and were always looking for ways to shirk work.
Chitra muttered, ‘All that won’t help, akka,’ and prodded her broom into the corner Kavya had just cleared. Kavya was irritated. Why didn’t these women take advantage of this new law that social workers like Kavya had fought hard to get for them?
Granted, Kavya had been nowhere around when all the activism for the Prevention of Domestic Violence Act happened; she was a newbie, having decided to quit her job in Human Resources in a sprawling Indian company to do social work. She now had a few days’ experience with the local women’s club, donating sarees and sewing machines to women in the slums around where she lived. She had even visited some houses and talked to these women to understand what bothered them about their lives; these women were miserable but trudged on. When she’d come back home from these visits and sat on her recliner or lay on her hotel-like mattress, Kavya would feel guilty about her good life, but thankful that she wasn’t staring into an abyss of poverty, illiteracy and poor health like these women. That’s where she saw the role of women like herself, who had had the fortune of moving ahead, but who were conscious that other women – women like Chitra – needed pulling up, a helping hand. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was about dedicating her life to social service. Abhishek was supportive of his wife’s decision; he did, after all, make more than enough for the two of them.
As the days wore on, Kavya jumped into social work even more deeply. Her job was to record stories that could be used to encourage donations to the club. She walked around everywhere with her fancy DSLR, a big deal in India of the mid 2000s, clicking pictures of women in action – cleaning, minding children, carrying loads, cooking… pictures that highlighted their dire circumstances. Whenever she asked these women to pose, they would break into a huge smile – and such pictures didn’t work. She wondered how these women managed to smile despite the wretchedness all around them: abuse, alcoholism, poverty, ill health, poor sanitation – just what was good about their lives? What did these women do before social workers came to help them in dealing with domestic violence or helping in livelihood generation? Sure, Kavya stood at the fringes of this work, mostly as an observer/reporter, but day after day her knowledge increased, as did her passion.
And so it was that when Chitra came home one morning with her arm bandaged, she knew it couldn’t continue any longer. Chitra didn’t say anything; she went about her work with stoic silence. Kavya watched her with eagle eyes, hoping she would show a sign that she could latch on to. At long last, Chitra said she wouldn’t be able to wash the dishes; she had a burn on her arm that the doctor had said shouldn’t come in contact with water.
‘Did he do this to you, Chitra?’ Kavya demanded angrily. Chitra didn’t reply; she left the house, saying she will come as usual the next day.
That afternoon, Kavya went with Devika from her women’s club to the police station in her area, close to where Chitra lived. She told the inspector Chitra’s story of abuse and gave her the name of the locality in which she lived – she hadn’t been there, of course, but she knew Chitra came from the settlement near the railway tracks . Devika knew the inspector well; they had worked closely on several cases of domestic violence in the last few months. Irritated with having to face another of these activists and their relentless follow-up, the inspector agreed to go check out the case at night with a female officer accompanying him.
That night, Kavya went to bed with a huge sense of achievement; she was moved by her clarity of thought, her potential, and her selflessness. ‘Mission Chitra’ had taken off well. She sent thoughts of love and power to Chitra and drifted to a fitful sleep.
The next morning, Chitra didn’t come. Kavya thought that was understandable. She decided to wait a few days before calling her. On the third morning, she called Chitra, and the number didn’t go through. She kept trying all day, out of concern and irritated with the cleaning and washing she had to do since Chitra wasn’t turning up. No luck.
A few days after, she stopped at the park where she knew many of the domestic helpers from Chitra’s area gathered for lunch. She needed a new helper; Chitra didn’t even have the courtesy to call her and tell her what was happening – after all that she had done for her! Kavya knew that none of the other houses Chitra worked in treated her as well as she had: Kavya would give her packed lunch, tea in the same cups that she and Abhishek used, a generous Diwali bonus, new clothes for festive occasions – not even used ones! – and above all, a sympathetic listening ear every day.
The women, who were cackling up over something when she entered the park, quietened down when they saw her walking towards them.
‘Did any of you see Chitra?’ Kavya asked.
None of the women answered; some went back to eating.
‘I need a new maid. Can any of you come from tomorrow at eight in the morning?’
‘Why, so you can ruin our lives too?’ asked one, a tall and skinny woman wearing multiple tiny gold rings along the length of her ears.
Kavya was surprised. ‘What happened?’
‘Did Chitra ask you to come rescue her? Why did you have to interfere?’
‘But he was beating her black and blue!’
‘That’s the problem with these women,’ she said, turning to her group. ‘They think they’re out here to save the world… do they know what we do with their useless sewing machines? Or who will buy the million candles they teach us to make? And what do they think, bringing policemen into the area, no wonder Chitra’s in-laws kicked her out…’
Kavya walked away, embarrassed. That night, she cried in Abhishek’s arms about what the women had said. He tried to assure her that change took time; with their lack of education and awareness, these women would need years to get the clarity of thought that women like Kavya had.
Kavya’s mind wavered the next few days as she went around the community with her camera. She sensed the antagonism among the women there; there were no longer smiles on their faces when she pulled the camera up for a picture.
Thirteen days after she disappeared, Chitra turned up one morning at Kavya’s door. Kavya felt nervous, but also relieved; truth be told, she’d been quite concerned that Chitra’s in-laws may have got her killed because their son was in jail. ‘Chitra akka! How are you? It’s so good to see you!’
Chitra didn’t seem pleased with the welcome, though.
‘I’ve asked some government lawyer to see if I can file a case against you… I came to let you know so that you don’t act all surprised if something comes up,’ she said.
‘Against me?! What did I do wrong?’ asked Kavya.
Chitra snorted. ‘Did I ever tell you that my husband beats me up? Did I ever ask you to go to the police?’
Sure enough, Kavya realised that Chitra had never told her about physical abuse, but there were always signs… Kavya snapped out of her reverie as she heard Chitra walk off. She had better lie low for the next few weeks or find another women’s club to be associated with; these women were not worth the likes of her.
Picture from https://www.flickr.com/photos/piaser/
