Laili

In the wee hours of a cold winter morning, she knocks vigorously on my door. I stumble towards it in my somnambulist state and she greets me with the most radiant grin. Her hair tied neatly in a bun, her sari draped clumsily around her a good five inches above her feet, she walks in purposefully and then questions with some authority on why I haven’t surfaced yet. Not in a condition to engage in conversation I scurry back to my bed. I catch a glimpse of her do the unthinkable, she discards her woolens like unnecessary baggage and picks up the broom. She seems to be on a mission; quite like Arvind Kejriwal is, armed with the same weapon! I am by now buried under several layers of warmth thanking my stars for not having to earn my bread in such brutal circumstances. Moving rapidly from room to room she enters mine and without any hesitation she opens the balcony. The cold draft that charges into the room makes me dig myself deeper into the layers of blankets covering me as she lets out a chuckle. “ Did you know it rained last night but surprisingly it’s not that cold, I wonder why”,  “today is colder than yesterday, because it’s windy,” “its so foggy today, I couldn’t see my neighbor’s house, but I feel the sun will be out by noon” ,“ Do you think it will snow someday?” Even before I can get to the morning newspaper she has delivered her rustic but reasonably accurate version of the weather bulletin.  In her very endearing way she gets me to peep out of my covers to respond to her. And then just as I am drifting back to catch some more sleep she turns up with the basket of clothes tucked under her. “Only these many clothes for washing?” She asks in a tone of admonishment.  I look at her completely bewildered “More you ask? It’s so cold, why do you want to wash even these? Let it be.” She looks at me equally flummoxed. “No I won’t get time during the day so I will wash them now” she responded.  I ask her if she has been missing sweeping my dad’s room since he is sleeping. “No don’t worry, he wakes up by the time I’m done with the rest of the house.” She has it all worked out. I don’t need to say or do anything. I wake up to a house that’s nicely swept and cleaned and never has a day gone by when I haven’t thanked the Lord for her presence in my life. In the evening on my walk, I’m greeted by the same cherubic smile as she struts swiftly to her next place of work. When the weather clears a bit and I am in a more wakeful condition, I plan to ask her. “Laili, what drives you every morning, to start a day of drudgery and monotony with such unbridled joy and enthusiasm?” I wish I had even half her untiring spirit.