This morning, my maid servant suggested that I should buy one of those long, beautifully embroidered white silk dresses for myself this Diwali. I told her how I wasn’t particularly interested. Hearing that, now she’s almost ordered me to buy one. And she said, “Buy a white one. And don’t wash it in the washing machine. I’ll wash it for you, whenever you need.”
She doesn’t have to be so sweet. She doesn’t have to care. Not for the sake of a pay-raise. Not for a favour. Not even for the heck of it. I’m not her child. I’m not her neighbour. I’m the one whose dishes she does for a living. But she is sweet, and caring, nonetheless.
I still don’t intend to buy that dress, but I deeply appreciate the free-spirited woman, and of course, her love for me.