My maid scared the living daylights out of me this morning.
No, she didn’t break hubby’s favorite crystal decanter nor did she ask for yet another raise. She just stood there serenely chopping onions and declared, ‘Memsahib, Diwali is a month away’ Whaat! Four weeks from the most stressful time of the year!
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love celebrating festivals. I love celebrating anything for that matter –like losing weight, buying a new outfit, getting a new diamond, you get the drift. But over the years, this insane pressure of dealing with festivals without chipping my nail polish and losing my sense of humour, is driving me batty. And there’s simply no way to escape it.
Not even a legit reason excuse like PMS or Maid Malaise works.
‘Memsahib, this time don’t forget that I’m taking one week chutti. Whatever you want to do, you do now’
I cringe. The wretched woman’s right.
Last Diwali was an utter embarrassment.
I had forgotten to pencil in 'Spring Cleaning' in my Diwali List and had landed up hosting a fancy family dinner that went bust thanks to a bunch of eagle eyed senior citizens who spotted one two many cobwebs and mothballs for their appetite.
‘It gives the house a lived in feel, don’t you think?’ I had babbled desperately. ‘Like a medieval castle or something. Have some more basundi, I made it myself’ I fibbed desperately, hoping to distract them.
Needless to say, those starchy seniors failed to see the humour in this case.
‘Tsk, tsk, this new generation just doesn’t want to take care of their homes. All they do is get these fancy sounding careers, employ maids and party all night long! Why in my days…’ One particular nasty geriatric geezer began rambling through her life that was an endless saga of producing children by the dozen, cooking for an army and pandering to the whims of her draconian in-laws. And how she had been sooo satisfied with that…
Sure enough, this was the bugle call that brought on the War of the Women.
Within minutes my dinner table had turned into a bloody battlefield with one generation pitched against the other, each stridently shrieking forth on women’s so called responsibilities...
When a male made the biggest mistake of his life, ‘why do you women always want to be Super Woman?’
I don’t know what happened to my brother after mom and wifey were done with him that night. But I can assure you, that nothing unites women faster that a man trying to tell them what to do…even when he means well.
So, this Diwali I’m doing what my maid does, and jazz off to Jamaica…Happy Dusshera and Happy Diwali all of you!!