Our Mindset Episode 27
Auntie (Mami) couldn’t really afford to hire help. Their only income came from farming. Her eldest son had a job, but his salary had to support his wife, three kids, and the household expenses. Auntie’s pension barely covered the telephone and electricity bills, Mangu’s mobile recharge, fuel for the bike, and his grooming expenses. Mangu wasn’t interested in work—his routine involved wearing neatly ironed clothes, fueling up his bike, taking a couple of rounds in the field in the morning and evening, and then roaming around aimlessly all day. The milk from their buffaloes was kept entirely for home use.
Their income was low, but their expenses were high. They lived in a small two-room house with barely any space to sit due to the clutter. Leftover vegetables from dinner weren’t eaten the next morning. After every meal, Mangu needed rock sugar and fennel seeds. Auntie used toothpaste like they show in advertisements—just a tiny bit on the brush. Their tea was made with a lot of milk powder, enough to make multiple cups for a poor family. Every person had their own separate pack of biscuits; if someone didn’t finish, ants would take care of the rest. Each clothing item they washed produced enough foam to fill a whole tub. When she went to the market, she filled her bag more with snacks than vegetables, yet she always bragged that her children never ate junk food.
When we visited, they had just sold their corn harvest. But that money went into paying the laborers and reviving the fallow land. When Uncle (Mama) was alive, they had free help—his nephew worked for them for eight years. Back then, they used to sell milk from five or six buffaloes, and their farmland was thriving. That lifestyle had made them accustomed to a high standard of living. Uncle, however, spent his earnings on his second wife—on her home, food, and even liquor. After he passed away, they had given their farmland to a worker to cultivate.
That evening, Balu had just returned from the market, and as usual, he shared these stories while chatting. The family never adapted to their changing financial situation—they were still stuck in their past habits. Auntie wanted the same comfort she had before, so she once again called her nephew to work on the farm. Like giving candy to a child, she would hand him a hundred rupees and three kilograms of wheat on market day. Listening to all this, I firmly decided—I had to leave this place as soon as possible.
As we talked, Balu’s father told him, “Take your cycle to the village, deliver the milk, and by the time you return, keep chatting with her.” I started preparing dinner while Balu asked about my likes and dislikes. As soon as my fiancé left, a man with his face covered started circling the area, humming the same tune over and over. Balu would glance at the road and then at me, smiling. My suspicion was confirmed—it was the same man who always rode past with his face covered.
I asked Balu, “Isn’t he one of the Patils from your farm?” He nodded. From that day on, whenever I heard that song, I didn’t even need to look at the road to know who it was.
When my fiancé returned, I bid farewell to Balu and whispered, “Tell your sister-in-law—I’ll be coming to work tomorrow.”