Crrrroooaaaakk....

That's how I sound when I open my mouth and try to talk. I form the words clearly, stress on the syllables, get the intonation right and deliver the sentence with a flourish. But, all the effort is wasted as I sound like a sick frog with a broken croak. The cough's back! And this time, I've discovered the source of my by now almost chronic ailment. The maid! Rather, my absconding maids. Now, before you get any wicked ideas about how I lost my voice, let me clarify that I DID NOT scream at the maid. Do you think I would have the audacity? With tons of vessels piling up in the kitchen sink day after day, with loads of smelly, sweaty clothes to wash and large meals to cook for an ever-hungry family, I wouldn't dare. Even when my mother complained bitterly that the maid was scratching herself all day and that she was probably not washing her hands before kneading the dough for the rotis (gross, isn't it?), I shushed her. I attributed it to her over-active imagination and her allergy to live-in maids (I was trying that arrangement out for the first time). Even when the watery daal in my bowl looked suspiciously like the broth a wicked witch would cook with frogs and salamanders to poison her victims, I convinced everyone that she was merely being thrifty. That the astronomical price of daal had compelled her to make the runny concoction and that she was being kind to our pockets. That it burnt my throat as I tried to push it down with a forced smile on my face and is probably one of the reasons for my damaged vocal cords is another matter altogether. The point is that even when I wanted to throttle her or use the choicest cuss words to chastise her, I kept mum. Such is maidpower. It makes you a dumb doll. It makes you a blind bat. It makes you a deaf doornail...no...er doormat. All because you want to be spared the mundane and pursue the creative. Well, the maid left. The next one left too and the one after that.....If ever there was an unbroken chain reaction, this was it. Like I said, I didn't say a word to the maids. My mother did. Now, now, before you pass any judgment on her, let me remind you that all mothers are like that only. Mine is no exception. She sees what I don't see, hears what I don't hear, smells what I don't smell, and speaks when I keep mum. I know now that she can't stand maids who scratch, cough, spit, sleep or get a headache and they all do exactly that. She then suspects that all of them have a dreaded disease and that they have broken into our house with the sole intention of passing it on to us. I challenge you to challenge her. It's a no-winner. She said all that should have been left unsaid (to the maids) and that has left me speechless. I cough, I scratch too (the Mumbai sun has made me break out into prickly heat). I don't spit. I sweat but use a deodorant. And I make yummy daal. So, it was decided (by my mother, of course) that I would make a great replacement, quite forgetting that I am the original who needed a replacement in the first place. At that point, I barked at all and sundry. I showed them that I could be a b*t*h. I think it's then that my throat protested and I coughed like I've never coughed before. My coughs are full of venom, anger, the helplessness of the downtrodden, the hope of a victim. And now, my voice has gone dead. I guess, all that venting has taken its toll. So, now, I am the silent sufferer from Bollywod films. Fancying myself as one helps me a bit as I go about doing my endless chores, feeling like a victim. Like the Bollywood film heroine, I hope for the day I'll be rescued from the drudgery by a shining maid in armour, who'll sweep me off my tired feet, plonk me in a recliner with a book in hand and endless cups of steaming hot tea. Till then, I'll shed a few quiet tears (I can't sing those doleful songs), write when I can, and keep praying for help that'll come without an instinct to scratch. I've done a net search on anti-itch powders and ointments. Just in case. Well, I can't be here too long. There's the floor to sweep, the dust on the furniture to wipe,  and....it's a loooooooong list. Have to go. Cough...Crrroaaak....