Ponnimma

I was about to step out that evening. My mother in law called out to me, in a tone I recognised as one that immediately conveyed we had visitors in our drawing room. This is the season when close friends and family drop in with invitations.

That evening though, we had two unusual visitors. A woman in her forties dressed garishly in a bright saree with multi colours in loud prints, accompanied by her son, a decently clad youth in his twenties. At first, I could not quite place her. But as she affectionately enquired ‘ eppdi irukkeenga chinnamma?’ it struck me that she was Shanthi- the daughter of Ponnimma- who had worked in our house for 20 years as house help.

Ponnimma was a maid in our house when I first came to Mylapore as a new bride. A tall, well- built woman in her thirties, she was always well dressed – in a clean saree , her long hair oiled and tied in a neat bun, with some jewellery on her person that would make it to the ‘marwadi shop’ every now and then, as and when the need for money arose. She had seven children- 3 girls and 4 boys. And she had walked out of her marriage with all seven of them in tow, from an alcoholic husband who abused and traumatised her for years. Her sister, who also worked in our house as a maid, gave her shelter in her small housing board flat and the job.

 Ponnimma’s first salary in our house was Rs.60. She would dust, sweep, mop the floor, make the beds, wash clothes, put them out to dry and fold them, clean vessels and help around the kitchen when the need arose. She came in twice a day but was never on time, showing up at different times every day and taking off unannounced once in a while. But she always had a good excuse up her sleeve when my mother in law confronted her. One of her seven children falling sick, close relative or friend’s wedding, death in the neighbourhood, quarrels over corporation water that had to be hand pumped,  suicide attempt by a jinxed lover in her building, elopement of a married woman (with children) with her paramour, one of her sons getting into trouble with the police – usually for a drunken brawl or selling tickets in ‘black’ outside kamadhenu theatre, one of her sons consuming rat poison, one of her daughters stalked by some jobless Romeo, fights with her cantankerous landlady, visits to temples outside city limits and yes, her occasional ailments, aches and pains.  

Ponnimma was always bright, chirpy, cheerful, talkative and full of news. Her troubles did not trouble her too much. She had stories to share every day, and her life was full of them. If she was not in the midst of a crisis, her sister’s family or land lady was.  There never was a dull moment. Soon after Ponnimma came to work, one of her children came after her, looking for her. At times, she would drop whatever she was doing to feed them with the food we gave her; at times she would loudly admonish them for never letting her work in peace; at times she would rush back home with them to attend to an emergency that called for her presence.  And she came back with more stories!

None of us have seen Ponnimma’s husband, although she talked about him every day. Apparently, he wanted her to ‘sleep’ with him and bear him children, without having to take care of the large tribe he had sired. She dreaded his return in her life and kept her whereabouts a secret. She claimed to be taking different  routes to get to our house each day, just so her husband could not find out.  But that did not stop her from stopping every foot of her way as she leisurely walked with a basket in her hand, chatting with every person she met on the road – her fellow maids working in the neighbourhood , vendors, shopkeepers, even my friends and temple priests. She knew everyone.  And had a kind word of enquiry for all of them.  She kept abreast of the latest news in everybody’s lives, especially salaries drawn by various maids working in different ‘flats’. And everyone knew she worked in our house- as she took great pride in introducing herself as our maid. And we became notorious in the Mylapore police station, Royapettah hospital and among local goons for being her employers!

Ponnimma was a great cook and enjoyed feeding people. Her rasam smelled delicious, her curries were yummy and even her fish and prawns looked tantalising to a vegetarian. She would bring just one dish she cooked  and insist on sharing it with the other maid, the driver, gardener and all of us at home, explaining the recipe as she tempted us with the open dubba held in her hand. 

She did have her faults though – the most glaring and annoying was her weakness to pinch small things – soap, tooth-paste, shampoo, small change and trinkets lying on the dressing table. But when we complained that something was missing, she made a hue and cry, searched high and low, prayed to mundakanni amman and produced the lost thing from somewhere!

And oh, she insisted that each of my babies were first taken to Mundakanni amman temple and placed in the goddess feet by the priest and handed over to her. Which was all very divine, but for the fact that she always went into a trance when the aarthi was performed, with the hapless baby in her arms, while I struggled to gently extricate it without incurring the Goddess’ wrath!  

Over the years, Ponnimma became a part of our family. We depended on her in times of need and she never let us down. She was almost a foster mother to my children and loved bathing, feeding and pampering them. And the children in turn loved her. She took them to temples, walked them in the crowded ‘aruvathumoovar festival’ of kapaleeswarar, unabashedly let them partake of the  food offered in all pandals, nursed my mother in law after a major surgery, spent nights in hospital when my son was ill and knew every member of my family and my husband’s family as much as they knew her.

And then, Ponnimma lost her husband. His death came as a relief to her although she lamented the fact that she could not wear flowers or her big bindi anymore! She single- handedly raised her children and got her 3 daughters and 3 sons married. One daughter eloped with a bank clerk and took refuge in our terrace for a few days before they were officially married in the temple. Two sons died rather young, leaving Ponnimma devastated.

Ponnimma stopped working for us a few years ago when she could no longer cope with heavy house work. She took to cooking in a few houses instead. She had moved into her daughter Shanthi’s house in Adyar where her grandchildren doted over her. But she was a regular visitor to our house- once a week, to see all of us, give us news of her family and enquire of our welfare. She worried about her last son who had turned out to be a wastrel, unmarried and under her care. Yet, she seldom sulked or complained, her indomitable spirit, innate warmth and enormous optimism intact.

Then one day last year, we got a phone call around mid morning. It was Ponnimma’s son in law, informing us that she had passed away. She had complained of chest pain at midnight and died on the way to the hospital. It was the most shocking news I had heard in a long time. While my mother in law went to pay her last respects to her mortal remains, I could not bring myself to see Ponnimma lifeless. We felt a member of our family had left us.

And here was Shanthi, Ponnimma’s eldest daughter, inviting us for her daughter’s wedding.  Shanthi’s son, a B.Com graduate, works in Tidel Park , one daughter worked in Sify after completing B.Sc in mathematics and her last daughter is pursuing MBA after a degree in biotechnology along with a diploma in optometry. Shanthi’s husband, a tailor, worked in Singapore on a contract for a few years while his family lived here in kabali thottam. Now, he owns and runs ‘ Shanthi Tailors’ in Luz. And now the daughter was marrying a Singapore citizen and moving with him shortly.  

Ponnimma must be proud....