Lately I have read a lot of books by authors of Indian origin. The books are often set against a typical Indian backdrop and have numerous references to life in the sub continent.
A few years ago, Arvind Adiga's White Tiger was the book that actually set off my journey with this genre. It is a tale about a chauffeur who makes it big in the city with a little help from unexpected sources. I will not divulge any more here because I will be accused of adding spoilers. However, I will go ahead to say that the book had a great account of life in an East Indian state that I was never familiar with and it made very interesting reading. One of the details that stayed with me for a long time was the description of lives of chauffeurs in big cities like Patna or New Delhi. Their daily routine is not just driving around their employers to and from places, it also involves keeping the cars clean and care of pets. The cars are washed everyday and the accessories cleaned. An interesting accessory that I would've never thought of and described in the book is a spittoon. People from that part of the country eat Paan, which is tobacco rolled into a Betel leaf with other spices and hence there is a need to constantly spit out the juice at regular intervals. The spittoon is cleaned out and polished everyday before setting out for the day. This little detail really got to me. I was not only disgusted that the poor chauffeur had to clean the receptacle out but was expected to polish it everyday, only to be spitted into again. How spoiled can one get?
I remember visiting a friend in my own sleepy coastal state of Goa. She had promised a typical Goan fish curry and rice lunch for me and my son. We loved the food, it brought back many fond memories. The fried fish she served as a side had lots of bones and my son needed help with removing them. She asked her maid to bring me a plate to throw away the bones even when I insisted I would pile them in a corner in my plate. Now that a small plate was brought for the purpose, I placed it in between my plate and that of my son, so we would share it to throw away our fish bones. She saw that said- "that's his fish bone plate, you'll get another one. Get her another one", she instructed her maid. Then she turned back to me and said, "we have the luxury of maids who do the washing here, we don't have to skimp on using utensils like you do in the US." That was so unnecessary!
I was saddened to see that my once dear friend had joined the ranks of the elite, never mind if she was making another person work needlessly and using up resources too. I admit I miss the everyday help of maids here in this country, but if I had them, I wonder if I will ever get them to do things for me that I can do for myself, or are just plain avoidable.
A few years ago, Arvind Adiga's White Tiger was the book that actually set off my journey with this genre. It is a tale about a chauffeur who makes it big in the city with a little help from unexpected sources. I will not divulge any more here because I will be accused of adding spoilers. However, I will go ahead to say that the book had a great account of life in an East Indian state that I was never familiar with and it made very interesting reading. One of the details that stayed with me for a long time was the description of lives of chauffeurs in big cities like Patna or New Delhi. Their daily routine is not just driving around their employers to and from places, it also involves keeping the cars clean and care of pets. The cars are washed everyday and the accessories cleaned. An interesting accessory that I would've never thought of and described in the book is a spittoon. People from that part of the country eat Paan, which is tobacco rolled into a Betel leaf with other spices and hence there is a need to constantly spit out the juice at regular intervals. The spittoon is cleaned out and polished everyday before setting out for the day. This little detail really got to me. I was not only disgusted that the poor chauffeur had to clean the receptacle out but was expected to polish it everyday, only to be spitted into again. How spoiled can one get?
I remember visiting a friend in my own sleepy coastal state of Goa. She had promised a typical Goan fish curry and rice lunch for me and my son. We loved the food, it brought back many fond memories. The fried fish she served as a side had lots of bones and my son needed help with removing them. She asked her maid to bring me a plate to throw away the bones even when I insisted I would pile them in a corner in my plate. Now that a small plate was brought for the purpose, I placed it in between my plate and that of my son, so we would share it to throw away our fish bones. She saw that said- "that's his fish bone plate, you'll get another one. Get her another one", she instructed her maid. Then she turned back to me and said, "we have the luxury of maids who do the washing here, we don't have to skimp on using utensils like you do in the US." That was so unnecessary!
I was saddened to see that my once dear friend had joined the ranks of the elite, never mind if she was making another person work needlessly and using up resources too. I admit I miss the everyday help of maids here in this country, but if I had them, I wonder if I will ever get them to do things for me that I can do for myself, or are just plain avoidable.
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