Sights of Chennai pass through the window of the taxi as I am being driven through the city for a half-day sightseeing tour. A woman is sitting on the pavement, her daughter by her side, both of them stripping wires – extracting valuable copper from its worthless plastic shell. The mother’s face is calm. Her deep wrinkles indicate that she’s in her fifties… but the intensity and brightness of her eyes reveal that she must be a lot younger. I can feel this woman’s aura as the taxi passes by. She holds no anger or resentment, only stillness. In her eyes the world is just how it should be. A wave of sadness goes through my soul. How can I complain about anything in my life when this beautiful person is living such a precarious existence? How can it be so difficult for me to find stillness when she seems to experience it so effortlessly?
***
My company’s office is located in a modern 10-floor building. High speed Internet, ultra-chic conference rooms, glass walls and doors, laptops everywhere, and the invisible yet essential diesel generator that kicks in every time the power grid goes down. Still hit by jetlag, I head for the kitchen to get another coffee. Without a word, she sees that I need a clean cup and gets one for me – then pours me coffee and offers me some sugar. Not because she’s in a good mood or because she thinks I’m cute… but because that’s her job. After the coffee makes its way through my body I make my way to the bathroom. He is probably 18 years old and his job is to make sure the bathrooms remain spotless – so he spends most of his day in there, cleaning toilets and wiping water drops in sinks.
In western countries cleaning crews usually start their shift after everyone else has gone home. Their lives hardly ever intersect with the lives of the people they clean after. I feel awkward, almost guilty, if I happen to be in the office when they come in: I don’t like to be reminded that someone is cleaning after me. Here there is no escape – the lady pouring the tea/coffee and washing the cups, the boy taking care of the restrooms, and legions of other people are among us, hiding in plain sight. I seem to be the only one noticing them, acknowledging their presence, making eye contact, thanking them. They seem embarrassed, they’ve grown used to being invisible to the people they serve. If I stayed here long enough would I stop noticing them too?
***
Breakfast at the hotel – a full buffet is laid out in front of us lucky guests… and two cooks are standing by to prepare any food we have in mind. Fast, efficient, polite and efficient waiters make sure our every need is met. As I sip my coffee, a waiter serves food to a local family – December is peak wedding season due to relatively dry weather, so the hotel is filled with wedding parties. The father tells the waiter that his dish is not prepared the way he likes it. He demands that another one be cooked per his exact instructions. I am not sure what bothers me most: that this wealthy man is so demanding? That he behaves as if the waiter was a slave? That the waiter takes the blame and the harsh words with an apology instead of throwing the plate at the guy’s face? My superhero self stands up and punches the rude man to teach him respect for his fellow human beings. My homo sapiens self just sits and stares. I wonder what makes certain people so sure that they are superior, and what makes other people accept to be treated as inferior? As I try to process the anger that rises from my guts, it occurs to me that the breakfast Nazi will get what he deserves. I create a movie where the cook spits in his food and pours a few drops of laxative in his coffee, and the waiter (who probably has two jobs) rubs the guy’s pillow on his crotch as he makes the bed. Come to think of it, these invisible minions who make our breakfasts, clean our rooms and serve our drinks have much more power than it seems…
Cedric, 6/05/11
(Chennai trip in December 2010)
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