She had come in through the back door late at night adorned like a bride. Standing alone in the vast white marbled kitchen, adjusting her thick green sari bouse, the fresh smell of jasmine infused with cheap coconut oil lingered around her. She sighed, she had told Kavita not to add oil that morning, as she sat underneath her on the floor getting her hair braided; but no, Kavita always knew best, always pulled rank. The Madam will like it, she had said, it will remind her you are South Indian and she is asking specifically for a South Indian, no? Maybe after smelling you she will even ask you to cook fish curry with your hair oil, eh? And then they had burst into fits of laughter, putting Lakshmi’s heart at ease before her first day.
A small child with floppy mushroom hair peaked through the kitchen door and declared, “Mom told me to tell you she is coming.”
“Ok, thank you,” Lakshmi replied.
“But she always says that and then she never even comes,” said the child, still dangling from the door knob.
Lakshmi hesitated, remembering Kavita’s words – say less, only ‘yes’ ‘thank you’ ‘please’, no questions, they need to feel you are dumb – decided to remain silent.
The child approached her cautiously and after a few moments asked, “Is your name Monica?”
“I am Lakshmi.”
“Oh, Mom said she will bring another Monica.”
“Are you son of Madam?”
The child’s face contoured, “Nooo, I am not a boy,” she exclaimed, her eyes welling up with tears and she ran out yelling, “Mom won’t let me grow out my hair, it’s not fairrrr.”
Lakshmi’s heart raced, panicked at the child’s reaction, when all of a sudden a slim woman with a fitted t-shirt and freshly done blow-dry walked in.
“Oh you are here, take a seat,” said the woman, pointing to one of the chairs by the kitchen table. She pulled her feet up into the chair. “Did you bring your passport and other materials?”
Lakshmi sat down slowly and pulled out a white envelope from her purse. The woman went through the documents. “So you are 28?” she said.
“Yes Madam.”
“Unmarried?”
Lakshmi hesitated, “I am married but husband is back home.”
“Oh yes, the agency had mentioned that. And children?”
“No children.”
“South Indian?”
“Yes Madam.”
“Speak Hindi or English?”
“English Madam, but understanding Hindi also.”
“Cook well?”
“Yes Madam, like cooking.” Lakshmi laughed internally at the thought of what Kavita might have said to this.
The women looked Lakshmi up and down, then said in a matter-of-fact way, “You are a little heavy no? Will you be able to do the work?”
Lakshmi averted the woman’s gaze, “Yes Madam, I worked in the field with father. I am strong.”
“Ok, I’ll pay you what was agreed with the agent and you will live and work fully with us and only one trip back home in a year, ok?” said the woman.
“Yes Madam,” replied Lakshmi, feeling relieved.
“Good. Let’s go to your room and you can start in the morning.”
As she got up, Lakshmi remembered something and abruptly said, “Madam there is one thing.”
The woman raised her eyebrows.
“Sundays I have to go to church.” As soon as Lakshmi said it, she regretted it, wondering why she could not have waiting to ask like Kavita had suggested.
“I see…so, every Sunday?” asked the women.
“Yes Madam.”
“Hmmm….ok, that is fine, now come quickly.”
Lakshmi filled up with energy and quickly started picking up her stuff. Then remembering the mistake with the child, she said, “Also Madam, so sorry I am making little madam cry.”
“Who?”
“Your daughter she is crying because –”
The woman rolled her eyes, “Oh god, that child is so dramatic, don’t pay any attention, now come.”
Lakshmi waddled out behind her Madam carrying an old tattered blue suitcase. The agency had mentioned she would get her own room. To be exact, the advert had said:
Affluent North Indian family living in Middle East looking for live-in obedient South Indian maid. Will get own room.
For some reason ‘with own room’ had lingered in her head, she had asked more questions about her room than anything else, which had left the local agent a little bemused. He asked if she even knew where the country was – had she heard of the Middle East? In the end, he had given her a leaflet and told her to bring her father next time, convinced that Lakshmi was just wasting his time.
The room Lakshmi was to live in was outside the main house, in the back garden. Inside was a single bed, a wooden dresser and an old white cupboard with a mirror stuck in the front. Lakshmi took an instant liking to it. She traced the chalky white walls and wooden dresser with her fingertips and took it in. Her own room.
Excitedly she started unpacking her things – folded cotton maxis, a plastic comb, some food items wrapped in newspaper and blue plastic bags. At the bottom of the suitcase was a notepad, some photographs and her Bible, wrapped in a red muslin cloth, which she neatly put beside her bed. The photos had been taken just before she had left the village, in front of their home surrounded by glowing green-yellow banana plantations. Her three sisters and three brothers standing on either side of her old father. They all had the same smile, wide-eyed, beaming, straight from the heart and toothy. But Lakshmi was the only one with a wide gap in the upper front teeth. It will bring her great luck everyone had said. When she was chosen as the lead in the church choir everyone said: ah, see it is the luck of the tooth gap, god has given it to her. Now whenever she felt scared, she would go to the mirror and smile.
That night, after showering and changing into her night clothes, Lakshmi prayed for her family and thanked God for her new room, her nice Madam who allowed her to go to church on Sunday and for a friend like Kavita.
Within a few months, Lakshmi had found her rhythm. She had learnt how Madam liked the beds done, how the food was to be prepared, how frequently the laundry needed to get done, when to take the child, Neha, to swimming lessons and the timings for when Sir took his tea.
On the phone to her family she would tell them how Madam had taught her many new things – like how to clean brass objects and cut grass using a machine. Once every two weeks she went to the fish market with Madam who would tell her many things that Lakshmi was not sure how to respond to. She had taught Madam things too, like how to select the best fish by looking at the translucency of the eyes and how open the mouth was, just the way her father had taught her.
On the weekends, when Sir and Madam went to their friends’ homes, she would switch on the TV in the guest room and watch Antarkshari, singing along to the songs as she ironed all the clothes. At night she read stories to put Neha to sleep, but felt bad that such a young child had to sleep alone. Lakshmi herself had slept in the same bed as her sisters her whole life.
Over the next few years, Lakshmi had begun to feel comfortable in her new space and while she still had pangs of home sickness, she had adjusted into her new life. She realized that everyone had moved on – her brothers and sisters were all married now with children and had less time for her – so this was her home now.
She remembered clearly the moment she had decided to take this job, several years ago now. It had been not long after learning that her husband was with another woman and wanted to leave her. Knowing that she would have to go back to her maternal home, she looked franticly for a job as a maid abroad, asking her friends to help connect her with the right agent. She knew she couldn’t be a burden on her family, but perhaps this way, by being able to send money home every month, she was also able to maintain some dignity for herself in her own eyes.
Sometimes she wondered about what her life could have been if things were different. It was her youngest brother, Beedo, who had once asked her innocently, while they sat on a ledge, feet dangling in the air, feeding each other curd rice with their hands: But Didi isn’t it that live-in maids never have their own family, maid is a maid forever only?
Around midday, when the sun’s heat was strongest, she finished washing the dishes and made her afternoon tea to take back to her room for an hour of rest. After splashing some cold water on her face, she turned on the fan and slowly lifted herself up on the bed, sitting akimbo with her back against the wall. Most afternoons she would write in her notebook. She was working on a song for the upcoming Christmas musical event at her Church, but she was stuck now on the ending verse. Sometimes she wrote letters to her family, but more recently she had taken to writing more intimate things she could never share with anyone.
Her room door creaked open and Neha walked in and said, “Lakshmi-Bai I want to play.”
“Can not come into room like this Neha,” Lakshmi replied. Nobody came into Lakshmi’s room, not even Madam.
“But whyyyy? I am bored,” cried Neha as she waddled over to Lakshmi’s dresser and picked up a black plastic comb with hair tangled through it.
“No touching, leave it, just come sit here,” said Lakshmi, pointing to the seat of her bed.
The child went over, took out two sweets into the palms of her little hands and asked “want one?”
“Your mother not liking when you eating sweets like this, not allowed.” But the child had already put one in her mouth and started giggling.
“Are you going somewhere?” said Neha and pointed to the green silk sari set out on the chair.
“Church Christmas event tonight. I am singing.”
“You always wear the same green sari, don’t you have any other nice clothes?” Lakshmi was silent.
“Can I come with you, I want to go to the Church.”
“I don’t know, ask your mum. And no putting legs on the bed.”
“Ok sorry! Does everyone at Church believe in God Lakshmi-bai?”
“Yes, in Jesus.”
“Mummy said you believe too much in God and that it is silly.”
Lakshmi-bai had found it strange that the family did not believe even in their own gods. Back home, even if people did not believe in Jesus they believed in something. She shuddered at the thought of what this meant for Neha, Madam and Sir.
“Not good. Not good to not believe. If you don’t believe you can not be saved.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you are believing in God, really having faith inside your heart, then one day when Jesus comes everyone who believes will fly up to be with him.”
“But people can not fly Lakshmi-bai.”
“Not flying, but floating, or being lifted up. Because of power of God.”
The child was silent in thought, then said, “I don’t think it can happen like that Lakshmi-Bai. Are you sure?”
“Possible. If believing then possible.”
“Will I go up. And Mom and Papa?”
Lakshmi was silent.
Later that evening, Lakshmi got dressed for her event and met up with Kavita and a few other friends who took the Church bus to the event.
“I thought you would bring the child?” Kavita asked Lakshmi.
“No Madam not allowing.”
“I told you. Anyway, look what I brought for the event,” said Kavita and opened her bag to several packets of Bourbon chocolate biscuits.
“You bought those?”
Kavita gave a cheeky smile and said, “No, my Madam buying so many she not noticing. Her children doing nothing all day, only eating eating.”
Lakshmi shook her head in disapproval.
“Oh ho, at least we are not stealing their jewelry eh, what is biscuits. Sometimes I am even taking their Dove soap,” chuckled Kavita as the bus jerked them up and down.
Lakshmi smiled, the Dove soap did have a nice smell. She looked out the Church bus window going past thick fat palm trees that reminded her of her village. Back home there was a wetness that made the heat bearable, but here it was all concrete and desert. The colors lacked a vibrancy, as if every leaf was covered in dust just waiting longing to be touched by water.
The Church bus stopped at a few more places to pick up more people till it was filled with maids hurriedly chatting with each other in Telegu, Malayalam, Tamil and broken English all mixed with each other into one big crescendo. The bus stopped at a red light and beside them was a shining stark white open lorry, with a group of tightly packed South Indian men standing atop its open container, like cattle scorching under the sun. The two groups silently looked at one another till their vehicles starting moving again.
“Probably laborers for the new big mall they are building. My brother also gone to work, but very bad environment. No giving food sometimes,” whispered Kavita.
Lakhsmi nodded, she had heard of some of these incidents. Beedo had suggested a year ago to become a worker as he was having money issues, but she had strongly opposed it. The idea of her little brother, with his warm hearted smile, being transported in a lorry with a look of a non-human in his eyes, broke her heart. She had preffered to just send him more money from her salary instead.
“Feeling nervous about singing?” Kavita asked.
“Little bit.”
“And also Kailash will be there,” said Kavita, smiling cheekily. “So what, that is nothing.”
“Oh, don’t be foolish Lakshmi. He is good man. You are here in this country for three years and your stupid husband is making life with other woman. Kailash has proper job in bakery here. He is liking you. God willing, you can have good life with him,” declared Kavita, with her typical all-knowing voice that both annoyed and reassured Lakhsmi.
The simple Anglican Church was crowded by the time they arrived. All the tables on the right had been set up with food that people had brought. The place was filled with smells of chicken stews, iddlis, puttus, rice and all sort of cakes and biscuits. Children were running around in the play area on the left and seats were being set up nosily in the front of the stage for the talent show.
Kailash appeared in a freshly ironed collared white shirt, beige pants and a plate of baked goods, smelling strongly of a sweetened cologne.
“I was looking for you, you arrived late. Here try these. You said you missed it from home,” he said, holding up a plate of snacks to her.
Lakshmi blushed, touched by the gesture and quietly took a bite.
“It is very good, how did you know the recipe, they don’t make it in your part?” she asked.
“My roommate is from Andra like you so he told me,” replied Kailash.
“You are talented baker.”
Kailash sighed and said, quietly, “Yes, but things are becoming difficult here. I am thinking of going back home, maybe opening my own bakery. It is not possible to do it here now.”
“Why?”
“The ongoing issue with the locals, you must be knowing.” Lakshmi was confused.
“Lots of tensions happening now. The locals, the villagers from here are not happy because no jobs, no money, government doing nothing for them, so they are attacking foreigners to create problems. Last week attacking our bakery also even though we are not the rich. But maybe easier target,” he told her.
Lakshmi’s eyes widened in fear.
“No, but I am ok now. People are saying things will get worse.”
Lakshmi was silent, trying to make sense of all this new information, thinking back now to snippets of conversations she had heard from Sir and Madam that confirmed what Kailash was saying.
A few people from afar waived at the two of them and starting walking over. Kailash leaned over and whispered, “We need to talk in private, about our future, maybe next month if you are willing. Tell Kavita and she can arrange for us to meet.” But before she could answer they were surrounded by a larger group.
After her performance, Lakshmi walked to the small shop on the side of the Church. She found a large blue book with illustrations titled “Children’s Bible”. Flicking through the pages and beautiful illustrations she settled on the chapter of judgement day with a golden engraved picture of souls ascending. She knew Neha would love it.
Later in the week, Laksmi took Neha over to the compound swimming pool. The white expat children played in one corner while the mix of other nationalities played on another side. The mothers in straw hats socialized with each other while the maids stood on the side, towel drying or feeding children as they went in and out of the pool.
“All good Lakshmi, still liking Madam eh?” asked someone from a large group of maids that approached Lakshmi.
“Yes, yes. All good,” replied Lakshmi, smiling at them politely, but keeping her eyes on Neha.
“Lolita said you are going to church every Sunday eh, wah, we are only going once a month. Lucky you. Making special arrangements with your Madam it seems?” said the woman.
Lakshmi didn’t respond.
“She changed maids at least five times before, not liking anyone, but she must be liking you. I heard she and Sir fighting all the time, is it true?”
Before Lakshmi could reply, someone else chimed in, “her child is so fat, not looking beautiful like mother at all no?”
Lakshmi was surprised by the sting she felt in her heart on the child’s behalf. All the maids stared at the child jumping into the pool and then went back to their discussion.
“My Sir and Madam fighting so much that he is not staying at home now, but less work for me,” said Lolita.
“But he Arab she white no? Too much difference difference,” said another. “But at least I am not having to cook all the time like for Indian family.”
They all laughed and nodded.
“My previous family Arbi, Kuwati. Very wealthy, big house. But I don’t like. Now I work for British only. They are ok, but not opening heart too much, everything wanting on time, but ok.”
They all nodded and started talking about the latest gossip about house number 5 to which Lakshmi paid no attention, her eyes attentive on Neha as she jumped in and out of the pool.
Later, after the worst of the heat had simmered down, she gently towel dried Neha and changed her out of the swimming costume. Instead of taking her straight home, she decided to take her for a long walk around the compound. She listened intently as the child spoke continuously about this or that, asking incessant questions that both amused and confused Lakshmi. At home, the child seemed quiet, even withdrawn, but with Lakhsmi she lit up with energy, savoring all the attention. It was the only time of the day when both were fully themselves.
Later than night, after reading from the new book and putting Neha to bed, Lakhsmi went outside to her room. The night was cool with a gentle sweet breeze that lifted her little baby hairs up. The back garden was fenced in with a white wall that traced the perimeter of the 20 houses in the compound, separating it from the outside, an enclave of foreign families and their maids. She thought back to the night and went into her room, opening the small window to let in the air, and sat down to write in her notebook.
The attack started in the silence just before dawn, when everyone in the compound was deep asleep. At first large bricks were thrown from across the compound walls, some landing with a thud on the roof of her room and another smashing through the kitchen window of the main house, waking everyone up. Lakshmi ran out barefoot into the backyard towards the kitchen door and above her a ball of fire wizzed through the air landing on a tree. She flung herself into the main house where everyone was awake and screaming.
“Go to the front room, they are attacking from the backside,” Sir yelled to everyone.
The sounds outside the house were growing louder and the bricks were smashing more windows. Lakshmi quickly took Neha into the front room where Madam was and calmed her down.
“I’ve just spoken to the authorities, they said we should stay put. It’s just a small group of locals villagers. They’ll have it under control in no time. But the neighbors are convinced a larger group has fully surrounded the compound. It’s a fucking shit show. Nobody knows anything,” said Sir in between huge gulps of air.
“What do you mean they have surrounded us! There isn’t even much security at the front gate. We can’t stay here!” his wife screamed back.
“Where would we go? There is only one way in and out of the compound. What the fuck do you expect me to do!” he yelled.
Through the window, Lakshmi saw Sir running outside to speak with some other men that had congregated there. There were a few small fires that had been catapulted into the frontside and a lot of smoke, but for the most part it seemed like no locals had been able to break into the compound. One family had gotten into their Range Rover and were circling the compound hysterically.
Neha’s mother went into a cupboard and entered the code to open a small safe, her hands shaking as she quickly stuffed golden bangles and necklaces and wads of cash into a small rucksack. “I told him I never wanted to come and live in this fucking country,” she mumbled as hot tears started rolling down her cheeks.
Sir ran back, “I just spoke with Patrick, he has contacts at the British embassy. He’s sure they are sending help to evacuate us. It’s bad, the house on the far right is on fire. The local police can’t get in from the outside, the group is too big. We need to get out of the house and move outside into the center of the compound where the tennis courts and pool are. Quick!” he yelled, picking up Neha into his arms and pulling his wife carefully past the corridor of back rooms to get to the front door.
Lakshmi followed them, lifting her cotton maxi nightgown to move faster and keep up with them. When they got out of the house they ran to the center where several other families had gathered. The men stood in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, hurriedly discussing with each other while the wives and wailing children waited on the side with their maids.
A few minutes later a loud industrial noise forced them to all look up. Two medium sized helicopters had started hovering over them. The wind blew the sweat off Lakshmi’s face and threw her long ponytail up into the air.
“Quickly, we need to get onto those!” someone screamed and everyone raced closer towards the tennis courts where the helicopters were floating. Ropes fell down from each helicopter and four men in military style uniform rolled down onto the courts.
They yelled feverishly in a mix of English and Arabic, telling everyone to get in line quickly. Sir moved his family close to the front and told the officer they were ready to go. The officer looked at him up and down and said, “No. You wait. We take first English, USA, European. Then we take you. Move back.” Neha’s dad had a seething look on his face at first, but then he sheepishly stepped back.
Everyone suddenly started arranging themselves in line as they waited for the rescue mission to begin. One after the other each family was lifted up in order of their new rank in this new situation they found themselves in.
The group of maids stood on the side in their own little circle, silently watching. Amongst them Lakshmi stood back and watched as, what she had taken to be her family – her Madam, her Neha, her Sir – ascended up into the sky without her.
Only Neha, with a confused expression, had turned back and dangled her arm out for Lakshmi. But there was too much distance between them, Neha was already being lifted up in the glowing backlit sky.
*********
The event was being held at a new worker cooperative coffee shop that her friend’s boyfriend had opened up in the east of London.
“Hi, welcome! The talk has just started so please take a seat and the photography exhibition is through the door on the right. Let me just take down your name?” asked a tall, short-haired person with over-sized glasses.
“Neha.”
“And preferred pronouns?” She paused, and said “she/her.”
“Ok great, go right in and take a seat!” they said and handed her a leaflet.
A man standing beside a projector had begun his talk in earnest. “Storytelling and advocacy must include the perspective of survivors and local communities. How do we do this with intention and integrity, without being intrusive and exploitative? What if their perspective conflicts with theorists and movement leaders?” he begun.
He was hot. She looked down at the leaflet. ‘Centering Survivors and Minorities. A talk by Tahir Mussa, a community activist, human rights lawyer, author and law professor based in London.’ She rolled her eyes at the leaflet. After attending about a hundred of these types of events ever since she started undergrad she felt her interest wane; she had been genuinely interested at the start, excited even, but it all just felt like intellectual masturbation.
“How can we, from our place of privilege ever tell the stories of minorities. How can we center them?” he continued.
She typed his name into google. Clicked on images and scrolled down. Definitely hotter in real life.
“My exhibition explores some of these themes through photographs captured during my six months living with the indigenous and tribal communities across the coast of South India. The Adivasis in Tamil Nadu, the fishermen in Andra, the rice farmers in Kerela, communities on the fringes of India’s economic growth story.”
As the talk finished Neha headed into the exhibition room, looking through the photographs that beautifully captured the landscapes of coastal India with figures in the distant. She had to admit they had an honesty and earthiness to them that she had not expected, capturing both the wetness and muddiness of the coast with the under glow and vibrancy of the green flora around it.
From a distance she saw a picture of a woman in a cotton sari, her back tilted down at a slight angle and both her feet elevated just a few centimeters above the ground, as if she was floating, her face was contorted strangely towards the camera in what seemed like a smile. A big toothy smile with a gap in the front. Her heart raced. Lakshmi-Bai. She ran towards the photograph to get a better look.
“It’s a strange photo isn’t it? It’s one of my favorites,” said Tahir, coming close to her, “It has a subliminal quality to it. I was taking her photograph and then she tripped and somehow this shot caught her mid-air in this pose. It’s as if she is about to fly off, right?” He stopped and looked at Neha intently now.
“Where was this? Do you know her name? Lakshmi?” she asked franticly.
Tahir was confused. He pointed to the caption under the photograph, replying gently, “I recorded all their names here. Her name isn’t Lakshmi.”
Neha went closer to the photograph to look at the woman’s face. No it wasn’t her, this woman was much younger than what Lakshmi would be now anyway.
Walking back to the underground station she thought back to the last night she had spent with Lakshmi-Bai, listening to bed-time stories from the Children’s Bible. She must still have it lying around in a box at home somewhere. They hadn’t spoken much about Lakshmi-Bai after leaving the country, right after the attack. Neha realized she didn’t even know what had happened to her. She had asked about her several times as a child, right at the start, missing her intensely in the first few months.
“I will get you another Lakshmi,” was what her mother had said.
