Separate but Equal?

Graphic by: Nilam Digankar

A reflection on how we treat domestic workers

“ Didi, since you asked what I wanted as a gift, I’d love a new pair of shoes,” is how my conversation with Neha, my housekeeper, started. Diwali was coming up at the time and I was eager to buy her a useful gift. “The ones that I buy are too flimsy, could you get the same pair you bought yourself last week? I really liked them and they’ll probably last longer,” she asked, and I was so relieved that after a lot of resistance, she finally decided to tell me what she wanted.

So, I planned a day for us to visit the mall across the street from our home, together. “Be ready to go around 3pm, today,” I told her that morning, to which she immediately exclaimed, “I can’t go with you!”

“Why not?” I had asked, puzzled by her response.

“The store is too fancy, they won’t like me being in there,” she explained gently. “Also, I’m afraid of the escalator,” she added.

At the time of this conversation, I was just a couple of months into my move to India (I am of Indian descent but have only been living in the country for a couple of years). Still oblivious to the norms, hearing this stunned me and broke my heart at the same time. But most of all, it opened my eyes to many of our constructs and habits that stand as a barrier against people we hire for help— a kind of separate but equal relationship. I’d quickly learn how subtle actions (and sometimes, lack thereof)  that we often engage in, add to this narrative.

I’ve noticed numerous similar discriminatory practices that are very normalized in our society— I felt equally distraught learning about the segregation of elevators for labor and maids installed in many apartment buildings. I observed many families keeping separate utensils for their hired help. I noticed the surprise on our guards’ and gardeners’ faces when I acknowledged them and said “Hello!” whenever I was passing by— apparently not many others were doing that. I’ll never forget the numerous times an Uber I booked was canceled when the driver saw that Neha was the sole passenger.

Infact, even within our home, it took a lot of coaxing to convince Neha to even consider sitting on our couch, she always chose the floor when I’d be sprawled on the sofa chatting with her. This was clearly a learned behavior from her previous employment– Shekhar Gupta explores this observation in his 2018 piece ‘Even in an empty Delhi metro coach, middle-class Indians make their maids sit on the floor,’ published in The Print.

Think about the essential role that domestic workers play in all our lives. Those carrying out the work, from our drivers to our nannies, conduct tasks that the rest of us depend on to function. We are nothing without them. If you take a step back and analyze this, I think you’d be appalled, too. Angered that we’re still creating spaces of divide, in both subtle and obvious ways, spaces that make our essential contributors feel less than and unworthy.

Like Anand Giridharadas bluntly states in his 2008 article in the New York Times  ‘Exploring India’s Prosperity Through the Eyes of the Invisible Men,’

“India may be changing at a disorienting pace, but one thing remains stubbornly the same: a tendency to treat the hired help like chattel, to behave as though some humans were born to serve and others to be served.”

Crazy to think that in 2021, this still applies.

To me, it makes no sense. Neha’s my partner in crime, someone who literally shares the burdens of keeping up with my daily life, and yet, even just sitting on my bed or simply hugging me felt like a privilege to her. It makes me uneasy to think she believed I was the authority on how she should be treated, that she expected that I would  naturally keep a certain distance between her and I, just because I was technically her employer. Especially when, I literally would not make it in Bombay without her by my side. Infact, after the passing of my grandfather and before my marriage, she was the only family I had with me.

In my case, I would never be able to even think about holding a job if I didn’t have Neha managing the house while I’m occupied. She is the reason I’ve been able to build a home here. She should know her value, that’s my duty to her.

Maybe we, as a society, got comfortable because it’s the way things have always been in this part of the world, but when societal practices like these become outdated, I think it’s our duty to reflect and change them. We know better, we know that with power and privilege, responsibility must follow. And it doesn’t have to be a grand gesture, it all starts at home.

For Neha and I, it’s been about empowering her. Whether it’s my grandpa teaching her how to read and write English to expand her means of communication, before he departed, or me pushing her to wear what she wants and speak her mind no matter the situation. None of it took a lot of effort. Infact, it’s always just been about treating her equally, as a human being— amplifying her opportunities and showing her that she can take up her own space and expect respect, from me and the rest of the world, even if we each take on different jobs and roles to survive.

When we finally made it to the mall that day, Neha was extremely nervous at first. It took her a good 10 minutes just to enter the store. By the end of our purchases ( we ended up buying several pairs of shoes) Neha was confident in asking the staff exactly what she wanted and thoroughly enjoying her shopping spree (like we all do!). And even though my accompanying her made her more comfortable, I don’t think I should have played that role at all. We’re still working on that.

Regardless though, in just one hour, by simply being welcomed at the mall across the street from our home, Neha felt more worthy.

The best part?

We took the escalator to celebrate!