Clothesline

My new neighbor moved in six months back. The new should actually be pronounced as ‘new’ (with quotes) – everyone and everything gets outdated pretty fast these days. The old ones stayed for less than eight months.

There is just a low wall that separates our houses but we have not had a chance to meet or see each other. It is partly because our hours and choice of space do not match. Nocturnal and diurnal office or personal hours, left wing of the house on the left and the antipodal right wing on the other side – it is easy to miss.

 There is an area where we could meet. Our balconies at the back face each other and that’s where we have our clotheslines. From the clothes there, I have deduced that there is only one person and that it is a young woman (utmost, mid-thirties). I am even quite familiar with her routine and it is not difficult to figure out her personal or professional life from what’s on her clothesline. Weekends – informal casuals, pyjamas and nightdresses; Monday and Thursday – formal Indian wear, most often churidaar and occasionally sari; Tuesday and Friday – formal Western wear; and, Wednesday – casual Western office wear. I have never seen her innerwear on that clothesline. I don’t hang mine outside either.

If I am really interested, I could know more about her through my maid. My maid and the neighbor’s maid seem to be comrades-in-arms. But, my mode of communication with my maid tends to be a monologue and rarely goes beyond her curt statements, ‘She (neighbor’s maid) is getting Rs 200 more than me’, ‘She got a bonus this week’, ‘She is on leave’, ‘She does not have to clean all the bathrooms everyday’ and so on. So far, I have managed to express with silence and a nod or a shake of my head my agreement or disagreement with her implicit demands. I could ask her for details about the neighbor. Her comrade must have shared that with her long back. (At times, their world seems like a shadow world that seems to know everything about our world, as if we were just actors for that close audience to observe and discuss.) It might shock my maid if I depart from our normal mode of interaction. Maybe, the neighbor shares a more vocal relationship with her maid and she has asked about me.

I am quite liberal as far as maids are concerned. I do treat them the way I treat my junior colleagues in office, professional with minimal but sufficient interaction. In fact, I believe I am more than liberal as far as pay and leave are concerned. I have remained rather old-fashioned only with regard to cooking and clothes – I do not involve my maid there, not even in picking up the dry clothes from the clothesline. I remember visiting an old friend at her place. We were having a good time together talking about old times. Then, she asked me if I would like tea and I said yes. When she called out to a man-servant ‘Bhaiyya, do chai’, the visit went for a toss. I did sip the tea but piss would have tasted better. It does not really make sense but that’s the way it is. In my house, it has to be my cooking. In another’s place, it should be that of the host. I have been to my maid’s house when she invited me for some festival and enjoyed a feast there. (Was it for Ugadi? Well, that’s when I got to know that my maid’s husband is in an asylum, her son in high-school is protective of his mother and studying well, and her daughter is a clerk in some government office.) I should change with the times but somehow, I can’t.

Today, I had to talk to my maid about the neighbor. Since Saturday, for nearly four days, I saw the same clothes on the neighbor’s clothesline. With each passing day, my curiosity and anxiety increased. I thought of climbing over that short wall, ringing the door-bell and enquiring if all is fine. At night, I could see lights go on and off in that house and so, I knew that she or someone was there. By Tuesday, I was quite sure that she must be sick. Tuesday night, I hardly slept.

Yesterday, on Wednesday, I nearly spoke to my maid. But she went about her speedy ways pretending not to hear or assuming that I must be talking to myself. Last night was another sleepless night.

Today, I repeated the question to my maid, loud and clear, ‘Do you know if the lady next door is fine?’

‘How should I know?’ she replied insolently.

‘Your comrade, I mean, your friend there…’

‘She has been on leave since Sunday. She came back only today.’ She followed that news about her comrade’s generous leave from work with an accusing or complaining look. I ignored it.

I went to the back and looked at the neighbor’s clothesline. The old set had been removed (finally…I nearly let out a sigh of relief), and I could make out at least three days’ washing on that clothesline.

I confronted my maid on my way back to the front. I could see that I was making her uncomfortable with my new voluble nature.

 ‘She has washed lots of clothes…worked lots today and for long, it seems…’ I gave that pointed jab to my maid. She ignored it.

My ‘new’ neighbor and her clothesline will not interest me again.