The migrant worker crisis in India today has pushed us to question the values that we stand for as a country. Do we see ourselves as a country of kind people who believe in helping the less fortunate? Do we prioritize inclusive growth? Hope this story of a migrant worker will inspire you to start taking responsibility for what you believe is the culture of India.
She was first introduced to us by Uncle Oommen. Uncle Oommen was a friend of my father who lived inside the Pusa Institute Campus, nearby. We lived in the N.P.L. Quarter Complex.
One afternoon, when I looked out of our balcony I saw Uncle Oommen cycling very slowly towards our house. When the bicycle came closer I realized that an old woman was seated on the rear seat of the bike. I watched them alight and move towards our staircase.
Soon the bell rang and I ran to the door. Standing at the threshold was the woman. She had white hair and a tanned, weathered face. Her hair was tied up into a high bun. A necklace of beads and silver coloured danglers adorned her neck and ears respectively. She had a nose ring too. She was dressed in a faded blue salwar-kameez.
What interested me most were the wooden chapels/slippers on her feet (also called ‘khadau’). Great grandfather’s brother was the only other person I had seen in khadaus. He wore them only at home.
Uncle Oommen told my father that this woman was a good masseuse. It seemed she was well known in the area around Pusa Institute for her skill at massaging. My mother had arthritis and needed someone to massage away her aches.
Uncle Oommen talked for a while and left. Then my mother talked to the lady and it was decided that she would come twice a week in the afternoon for the massage session. After everything was fixed she danced a small jig.
Perhaps it was out of sheer happiness that she would earn some more. Perhaps she wanted to amuse my elder sister and me who were nine and six years old at that time. It was when she took leave that we noticed that she had a bundle and she hoisted it on to her head. We could hear the clatter of her khadaus/clogs as she walked down the steps.
Her commitment to work
The next time she came, she came walking. She had her bundle on her head and was in time. She wasted no time and started her task almost immediately.
When the massage was over she said, “Mau ko paani pa” which in her dialect of Rajasthani meant “Give me water”. We gave her water and as we looked on she addressed my sister and me as “Guddi Rani” which means Doll- queen. It was after that day that we began to refer to her as ‘Guddi Rani’, though she informed us that her name was ‘Nanagi’.
Soon she started coming every Tuesday and Friday afternoon. She would leave in the evening after drinking a cup of tea and eating some food offered by my mother. She came regularly and hardly ever took a holiday.
All her customers stayed within a radius of 5 Km. A champion at walking, she walked to every destination. She could not afford any form of transport. Walking to and fro she walked a lot but she never complained or fussed.
Sometimes it would be in the blazing sun, sometimes in the rain and sometimes when it was bitterly cold. Her precious bundle protected her from the merciless summer sun while her dupatta (a kind of shawl) was useful at other times. It was very funny but in winter she sometimes stuffed cotton and bits of cloth inside her kameez.
It was interesting to watch her walk along the street. Her efforts at balancing her bundle on her head as well as keeping a grip on her wooden slippers made her gait unique. She walked slowly. After all she was old and petite. Whenever a vehicle whizzed past her at an alarming speed she would burst into expletives. Dogs barked at her and children teased her. Perhaps they found her queer.
Her background
As she continued to visit us, week after week her life story unfolded. She belonged to the Tonk district of Rajasthan, near Jaipur. She was the daughter of a labourer and was married young to a labourer. They had two sons and barely managed to make ends meet.
One year her husband fell sick and died suddenly after a brief period in the hospital. The responsibility of earning for her young sons and herself fell on her. She was constantly struggling to find work. Life became hard and scary. The social norms of the village discriminated against her because she was a widow.
Dire necessity made her take a difficult decision. She and her sons would go with her younger brother to Delhi, the capital city of India. Her brother had a small job there and she was confident she would find one too.
After her arrival in Delhi she discovered that her brother was working as a maali/gardener at the house of a big man in Pusa Institute. He took her to his house and begged for a job for his sister. He was a bachelor and his family consisted of his parents and his brother. I am not sure of the facts though, because my memory fails me.
The kind Dr Lal and family
His family took pity on her and engaged her as a domestic help. She swept and mopped the floor, washed the vessels and did other odd jobs. They were compassionate and warm and allowed them all to stay in the outhouse.
His quarter was a big bungalow with a variety of beautiful roses. This big man and his family won their admiration because they were gentle in their instruction and full of courtesy.
Her brother and her sons were gently drawn into the nuances of gardening. They learnt a great deal about plants. Nanagi said she also learnt techniques of good massaging from someone in the family. Perhaps she massaged his mother and in the process was instructed. Well, they helped her acquire a new skill which would become a means of income. They helped her find clients too.
Later we came to know that the ‘big man’ of Pusa Institute was a Botanist and a well known Scientist and rose breeder called Dr B.P. Pal. He had written books on roses. Much later we were extremely surprised to learn that this Dr Pal was also the first Indian Director of Pusa Institute.
When Dr Pal retired he had to vacate his bungalow. Nanagi too had to vacate the outhouse. However, her brother and sons found jobs as gardeners because they had been well trained by Dr Pal. He was a blessing to this poor family from Rajasthan and they were truly grateful.
Much later my father retired. We had to shift and after that we lost track of our dear Guddi Rani. Surely she is not alive today but we remember her with love and fondness. I still remember the few massages she has given me. They were very soothing and put me to sleep.
What did she keep in the precious cloth bundle she kept close to her always?
She felt it was the ideal place to keep her money and the food she got from houses. Sometimes she would take out dry chappatis from it and soak them in the tea we offered her. She always relished the tea as well as the dry chappatis.
After giving my mother a massage she would go to the tap in the backyard and have a wash. We could see that the sight of the running water delighted her. She would roll up her sleeves and her pyjamas and take time washing her hands and feet. It filled her with joy because in the places where she then lived there was only stored water.
A woman of high self-esteem
Sometimes, she would offer to clean the rice and the wheat for my mother. Her eyesight was good and she did a perfect job. She asked for used tea leaves and plucked the amaranths leaves that grew as weeds in our green patch. However, she was dignified and never coveted anything. On festivals she was satisfied with whatever gift was given to her.
I feel convicted when I think of her because she was a woman who had struggled and learnt to be content in whatever circumstance she was in. She often drank tea without milk or sugar, never used luxury soaps and never could send her sons to school. Yet she was honest to the core.
She expressed both self-respect and respect for others. She was reliable. I am proud of my dear Guddi Rani.
Nanagi’s story is the story of millions of Indians who are forced to migrate from the village to the city due to poverty. They come to the city attracted by the promise of a better livelihood.
Some are lucky, some are not. Nanagi/Guddi Rani was lucky to find a Dr Pal who was so humane.
All they want is a helping hand. Many of us are selfishly focussed only on our lives, our jobs our existence. May we focus on the not so lucky ones.
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Hi! My name is Rubitah. I’m a Content Writer certified Life Coach, Counselor, Social Work professional and the Founder of Being Rubitah. Over the years through my professional and personal life, I have realized that prayers and love can do wonders to family life once you come to terms with yourself and surrender to God. Do you relate to me? Then you may like what I post here! Read more about me
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