WORKING WOMEN

(Translation of meye-cakre

from Lila Majumdar’s Kheror Khata)

Working Women

I will talk about workers. Working women in particular. Everyday they occupy half of four or five trams to go to and come from their workplace. You can hear a harmonious hum from those trams. That kind of sound you can never hear from a vehicle full of men. Men may have good singing voice, but when it comes to crowd voice, it is a different story altogether. Anyway, about two decades ago, I myself was a working woman for seven years. During those times, there were no humming trams. A normal vehicle would have three or four reserved seats for ladies. From there you can only hear clatter of hoarse male voices.

It took me all of those seven years to master the art of being a working woman. Then I resigned. But since then, I nurtured a soft corner for working women. They are those neat creatures with large bags. In those bags you will find perfumes to take care of sweat odour. If you put men by their side, men look like dung beetles by the side of butterflies. That is the truth. I am just being to be honest. If someone takes it to heart I cant help it. Working women work with a lot more care and the superiors are always pleased with them. Working men used to say out of jealousy “women have to work harder, they are not clever enough to do otherwise. Can’t you see how we manage everything?”

I learned the alternative connotation of the word ‘manage’ there, it means, ‘ not doing your job without getting caught’. You can’t help have sympathy for their simplistic philosophy. Ask any married women they are experts of doing without things that are not available at hand. Never seen a man who could catch them doing the same. Suppose something cannot be done without eggs, women are capable of doing that very thing without eggs and with no trouble, and everyone expect men will agree on that.

And they say women lack brains. Frankly speaking, women are immeasurably benefited by this age-old belief of being brainlessness. Besides no species, unless they are exceedingly clever, can go on acting dumb for generations. Anyway, today I will talk about working women only.

I noticed in the office that working women always earned good name for themselves and got promotion. This resulted in a high level of self-esteem in them. Awfully high level if one may say so. So these representatives of the class that toiled in the confine of four walls for generations refused to switch the fans on or off or get a glass of water for themselves. All the would do was to ring a bell. And soon a thin chap would come in and do the needful. Animesh was our peon. Those abovementioneds were peon’s job. But all the bearers were not peons. There used to be another category called “pharas”. They were required if a glass of water or an pot of ink tipped over. Sometimes one even had to get out of their seats to look for them. Otherwise the water or the ink could drip into important papers and cause unbelievable damage by erasing valuable entries like names, dates, signatures etc. I used to write them over from memory or guess if it happened.

Once somebody’s glass paper weight slipped off causing a whirlwind of important documents in the room. We all understood that at any moment they might embark on a journey to eternity.

The working woman rang the bell, called out Animesh. Unfortunately, Animesh was absent that day and collecting flying papers was not included in the job description of the “pharas”, so they just sat still. In the end, I could not take it anymore. Collecting the papers, I put them back on the table under the glass paperweight. The working women got very disconcerted at this “what are you doing madam? This is peon’s work.” I replied, “this is nothing. Back home I even clean blocked drainpipes in the bathroom, if required”.

This reminds me, there was a bank in front of New Market. I met another working woman there. She was from the same college that I was. She seemed like a very efficient working women and a well paid one too. She was much better dressed than us. One day she suddenly asked me “what do you do when you cook falls sick?”

I said, “ I ask other servants to cook”

The working woman asked, “ and if they refuse?”

“Then I cook. Why? What do you do?” she replied “ I go and eat at my mother’s place. My husband does not seem to like it. But of course I am not going into the kitchen like a servant”.

Taking of servants, it reminded me of an officer who married a rich man’s dark complexioned, illiterate daughter for money. Then he disliked her. So he married again. In those times, it was no crime. Anyway, His rich father in law then got her daughter educated, send her abroad and got her a good job after she graduated from London School of Economics. She made progress by days. She was most efficient in her job. She later became the head of the company she was working in. Then she moved to the head office in Delhi only to find her husband working as an ordinary employee in the same office.

Later the man had to handle some tough job and strong notes from the boss and was finally transferred to Jammu or some other equally difficult place and thus the dignity of womenkind was saved.