BEESA, the maid who’s family had served my father’s family for four generations, had many interesting tales to tell about my ancestors. She would tell me about the special place her mother held in the household of my great grandfather, Syed Waris Ali of Bansa. When it was time for the elder son, Syed Yusuf Ali — my grandfather and a very learned and an exceptionally handsome man — to get married, it was Beesa’s mother who was sent to my grandmother’s house on a secret mission.
My grandfather wanted to marry a beautiful woman. My grandmother, Begum Hafiza, the granddaughter of the Nawab of Gandara, was known for her mesmerizing beauty. Beesa’s mother, Choatee, joined my grandmother’s household as a servant. She stayed there for three months. After this period she went back to Syed Waris Ali’s house and told them of the great beauty and good manners of Begum Hafiza. It was only at the wedding ceremony that my grandmother’s family found out that Chotee had in fact been sent by the dashing bridegroom’s family, since those days it was not proper to go and “see” the girls as is quite acceptable today.
This was the kind of servants that one had in the yesteryear. They were trusted individuals and would take part in the most important decisions of the family .
With Beesa’s death, I found myself totally inept to deal with the reality of the servants of today. Choatay Pasha, as Beesa called me, found it increasingly difficult to deal with the new breed of servants which has cropped up, especially during the past 20 years or so. And I have reasons to say this.
I was thrown into a world to which I was an alien. Here I had to deal with the likes of Shazia. A tall, strapping girl hired to do the dusting, ironing and polishing the loads of silver my ancestors have left me. I had to deal with mounting telephone bills which were incurred as she called up her boy friends. The guards would tell me about odd looking men who came calling for her at ungodly hours. Eventually, I had to fire her.
Then I had to deal with Mussarrat. A girl I hired to do the cooking. Admittedly, she was an excellent cook. As far as she was concerned, I had to deal with her boyfriends she made out of every daily hand working at houses under construction in the neighbourhood, not to mention thefts. Used to Beesa, who was in charge of the monthly household expenditure and exacted account of every paisa spent by her underlings, I was unprepared for servants stealing off their masters.
The girl, on being caught red-handed, absconded and we had to notify the police. Afterwards, I hired Naziran. She was a dark girl with almost perfect features and huge, smouldering eyes. She was hired to look after my two children when they were much younger. Unfortunately, Naziran’s mother would bring over “uncles” to “meet” the young girl in the sweltering, hot summer afternoons. She knew very well that I was not about to venture out into the garden from my airconditioned room. Naziran was caught by my day guard with such an “uncle” on the lawns at the back of the house as the mother stood guard.
Despite the fact that I sympathize with women who are pushed to a point of survival where the difference between right and wrong disappears, I had to fire Naziran. I could not have the girl look after my children.
Then there was Rubina. Slim, fair, quite pretty. She was also hired for cooking at one time. Her mother was a great disciple of pirs. Learning upon a mischance that I am a direct descendent of the line of Syed Shah Abd’al Razzak Banswi, she would always kiss my hands and touch them to her eyes in a salute upon visiting. However, this did not stop her daughter from becoming involved with the sand contractor for a house being built next door and subsequently being in the family way.
The list can go on and on. I have tried young girls, big girls and married women to no avail.
Gone are the days of loyalty. I only wish I knew the enviable formula to sustain and handle the servants of today.
BEESA, the maid who’s family had served my father’s family for four generations, had many interesting tales to tell about my ancestors. She would tell me about the special place her mother held in the household of my great grandfather, Syed Waris Ali of Bansa. When it was time for the elder son, Syed Yusuf Ali — my grandfather and a very learned and an exceptionally handsome man — to get married, it was Beesa’s mother who was sent to my grandmother’s house on a secret mission.
