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| An Edenic Maldivian Island |
It’s amazing what people do to provide for their families. Today, at the idyllic island resort in the Maldives where I’m staying, I discovered that the gentleman who does our housekeeping speaks Hindi – so of course we were soon chatting away like old acquaintances.
The housekeeper is originally from Bangladesh and has been working on this picturesque island for many years now. His wife and children live back in his village in Bangladesh. He makes a good salary and sends back most of it to his family each month, so that his children can go to school and have a shot at white-collar jobs, at a brighter tomorrow – a chance he and his wife never had.
“Do you like it here?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s beautiful and they treat us very well, but –” there is a flash of pain across the housekeeper’s face and suddenly, I am terribly sorry to have asked him such a question, a question that doesn’t bear thinking about for solitary migrant workers all over the world. “It’s hard,” he continues, “living away from my family. Sometimes, a year and a half, even two years, go by before I can visit them. It’s difficult, not being able to see the children for so long.”
What can I do except listen and nod, my heart silently breaking for this man, with his weather-beaten face, his slightly-different Hindi, and his impeccable bed-making and towel-folding skills? It’s such a familiar story: men and women, unable to eke out a decent living in their own countries, migrate to other lands where the money is good, the living quarters are small, and home and family are reduced to memories that keep you going.
(Surely, sometimes, in the middle of the night, those who are parents must be gripped by some sort of panic: Are my children all right? What if something has happened to them? Do they miss me? Do they even remember me? What if they’ve forgotten? Oh god, I’m too far away to look after them, please keep them safe.)
I remember that my housekeeper does not have easy access to the wondrous gadgets and devices that make long-distance relationships bearable for people like us: smartphones, international calling cards, WhatsApp, BBM, notebooks, iPads, Skype, FaceTime, GoogleTalk, Facebook, Picasa, and so on and so forth. And I feel so horribly guilty, with my wasteful plethora of gadgets scattered all around the hotel room….
I wish I could have said something wise and comforting. In all probability, though, I would have just sounded patronising – trying to provide commentary on a situation I have no key to. Just as well then that I nod and say, “I see. Okay… Well, thank you for doing the room. It looks great. Shukriya. ”
The housekeeper looks relieved, smiles and walks away into the palm-fronded paradise that is this tiny island in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
On days like this, I fervently hope there’s a method to all this melancholy madness.
