The Pedicure

As the nail polish upon my toe nails was drying I took a deep gaze at the dirt my feet shed in the water tub. It was more dirty than Hussain Sagar which took years of dirt into itself. Just when I was disgusted looking at it something far more disgusting teared me up. He walked up to me in bright-tight checked shirt, loose grey jeans, South Indian complexion and almost no expression (the expression one has when it’s nothing but work). He quickly picked up the gold plated water (dirty) tub from beneath my feet and walked away in a jiffy. I noticed he didn’t wear a belt, his pants were held by what I know as Moldaram. He drained the water down the basin and left to clean the empty tub. With three fashion magazines resting on my recliner couch and my cleaner feet I sat their almost numb. As I saw him leave, a myriad emotions stirred up in my belly and head aiding tears down my eyes. I felt a strong rush of guilt and shame and choked my throat.

We are all much more than what we do and I wish I had a way to explain it to myself. Those 2 seconds were beyond confusing to pen down.

I demand the best and worst of people I love and loved. I am the most unkind person I know of, who claims a share of good deeds of Sharath (brother) and Archana (soulmate) and feeds of their blessings and prayers. I am also the most pampered, by people who choose to stick and few who don’t have a choice. In essence I feel completely insignificant to be asking for more.

 I must clarify the perspective and context. It’s from the perspective of an insignificant being and the context of my country.  I must mention a sub-perspective when I mention my country. My country is my home. Home, where I belong. Home, the place I come back to. The place is an integral part of my personality and sadly (to people surviving me abroad) shapes my opinions on the grounds of irrationality (at times). Homes can be dysfunctional but one defends it anyway at their own expense. I find myself doing that many times to the extent of sounding illogical. The dignity of labor at question has a huge role to play in one’s life and no can be devoid of it. Its a social responsibility we must attend to.

In France, a waiter who delivers a bad service isn’t afraid of his client shaming him loudly with assumed authority. He holds a well-deserved confidence and exudes his personality guilt-free. The society not only respects him but is also grateful for the value he adds. No, I am not making this up!

If only this was possible or executed in India we would be one step closer to the utopia. We all are enablers and victims of this epidemic and we don’t realize it. In India one’s work more than defines a person to others. To all the uncles and aunties, we, millennials, who shower namastes and pai lagoos on unimportant occasions, we are nothing more our current status. They remember us as – “oh she? The one who works at Infy? Oh he? He is in US and married? Oh them? Who managed to open their own business? Oh us? Winners?” We all are slaves of our impressions and we fail to realize this.

It’s hard to map the incident to my analysis and it might not be absolute..... but it’s one to force the reboot.