Running out of the house to work with two children invariably meant leaving the house in shambles. Returning home at 6 p.m. to a house that a hurricane had run through in the morning, I was faced with the task of feeding a hot meal to hungry, tired children. It was a recipe for disaster. I had shunned the cans of tomato and frozen meats that would have made life easier and was trying to live up to my mother’s standards of a clean house and a nutritious meals for the family. It was getting close to impossible without help. My spouse was largely MIA (Missing in Action), tired or traveling. Tensions on the division of work at home were mounting. Battle lines in the war on the domestic frontier were being drawn. “Was getting help worse than getting a divorce?” I thought begrudgingly.
Kashmir and her Punjabi Recipes
It was about that time that Kashmir, wearing a pink salwar kameez, gold hoops in her ears, and ballet flats on her feet walked into our lives. She had come to cook us traditional Indian fare. A parent at my son’s kindergarten class introduced her to me. Kashmir had been cooking for them for a few years by then. They had gotten her number from an advertisement she had pinned on the wall of a local Indian grocery store. Straight from the kitchen hearths of her village in Punjab, her food had a rustic taste. The kitchen sparkled twice a week as she scrubbed diligently. While Kashmir worked as a babysitter to a four month old, her own children were farmed off at birth to her mother-in-law in India. She carried pictures of her three-yearold boy and one-year old girl. “My son is so handsome. He takes after my husband,” she once said, pride shining in her eyes as she held out the picture. Her husband worked at an Indian restaurant as a waiter. But she was not to last. Kashmir, with her endless energy and Punjabi recipes vanished from my life after a short stint. It was only while her regular client had been on holiday in India that she had been able to cook for me and she was too busy to take me on as a client. Many families around me didn’t seem to need help to fight their battles on the domestic frontier. Mothers, fathers and children stepped in to share the chores in order to keep the meals healthy and homes humming efficiently. It was surprising to note, however that recent International Labor Organization (ILO) estimates based on national surveys and/or censuses of 117 countries, place the number of domestic workers at around 53
million around the world. Additionally, the ILO states, experts say that due to the fact that this kind of work is often hidden and unregistered, the total number of domestic workers could be as high as 100 million. In developing countries, they make up at least four to twelve percent of wage employment. The Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938, which Congress enacted to ensure a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work, excluded domestic workers from its protection. Thereby not recognizing domestic work as real work and leaving domestic workers as part of the informal economy.
The Daily Grind
At a meeting of my book club, I broached the subject of domestic help. How many times do you use the services of a maid to clean the closets, fold the laundry, make the beds, and help in the kitchen? I asked. “Our maid comes over three times a week and we have a cleaning service once a week,” said one woman. “I pay $18 an hour, far above the minimum wage of $8.” Many Indian American households pay anywhere from $12 to $24 as the hourly rate and use the services of the worker twice or three times a week for a total of 6 to 8 hours per week. Some members share the services of a worker thereby assuring the worker of enough number of hours to make her trip worthwhile. “The drive from Hayward to Los Altos is a long drive. Once my cook comes here she wants to work for at least eight hours before heading back. I make sure that my maid has enough clients. Three of my girlfriends and I share a cook,” said a Los Altos resident. “It would be impossible for me to go to
Battle lines in the war on the domestic frontier were being drawn. “Was getting help worse than getting a divorce?” I thought begrudgingly. work if Sonia was not there to help me with the cooking and laundry at home,” said a Cupertino resident and teacher at De Anza Community College. Where do you find help if you are not part of a group of friends who share a maid? “Craig’s list,” said one. “Advertise in a Spanish magazine,” said the other. Sometime after Kashmir left I advertised in both places, online and off-line. My phone rang off the hook for three days straight. I had soon shortlisted some young ladies.
Helping with the American Dream
The first woman who came to my house was escorted by her husband. The couple was well turned out. They had a beautiful home, he said, which his wife kept in ship shape. Now that they were empty nesters he thought she could put her exceptional housekeeping skills to work outside the home. They were United States citizens and spoke reasonably good English. The woman seemed a reluctant recruit in my battle on the domestic front, having been volunteered by her husband, so I had to pass. The second woman who responded to
My life-saver, Kashmir, in my kitchen April 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 11