The internet, it is said, is inherently a democratic medium, a great equaliser, making knowledge and information available to one and all; notwithstanding your class position in the social structure
The internet, it is said, is inherently a democratic medium, a great equaliser, making knowledge and information available to one and all; notwithstanding your class position in the social structure. Nowhere has this been more apparent than in my domestic life. I'm an actor and have three cats, and the sheer combination of these two factors means I employ in my modest 2 BHK, a small army of help. There are two maids — one for cooking and one for cleaning — there is an 'emergency' maid, driver, maali, istri-wala (who comes too often), car-cleaner and bhangaar-wala. There is also my hair and make-up team for shoots, my personal assistant or 'boy', who floats in and out of the house depending on when we shoot. It's ridiculous, but I run a small feudal kingdom (benevolently, I'd like to believe).
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The internet has seriously disturbed the employee-employer equilibrium in my house. It started with Aunty, previously my cook, and now, emergency maid, asking me to book 12 Mumbai-Kanpur train tickets (return) for her and her family. They had to go to gaanv for a family wedding and her son had told her tickets can be bought on a kampootar. I obliged. The news travelled, and a few weeks later, the cleaning maid came, handed me a s R500 note and asked me to book two tickets, for her and her boyfriend, for the film, Sairat. I rolled my eyes, but then felt guilty, because why should we, the well-off, have the monopoly on leisure or dating. So, I obliged. Now, everyone in my small army knew the kampootar could do anything. Soon, I was making invoices for my driver to submit his bills for shoot-payments, activating his online banking services, ordering gifts and household items from shopping portals for the maali, whose wife had given birth to a son in the gaanv. Once every two days, I was doing something for my staff online, and they'd hand me the couple of hundred rupees that the products they'd bought would cost, and say "Chhuttaa nahi hai, Didi, adjust kar lena!"
For a few moments, every day, the internet and the kampootar would turn employer, into employee! Truly revolutionary.
Social media added a new dimension to social relations in the Bhaskar household. I now had a new set of expectations to cater to. My houseboy Ganesh was in a massive sulk for a few months.
"Kya hua Ganesh?"
"Hum aapsey gussa hain."
WTF, I thought. Now, I must deal not only with the boyfriend's tantrums but also the houseboy's roothhnaa!
"Kyun, kya hua?" I asked.
"Aap humko Salman Khan sey nahi milaaye."
"Arre kahaan sey milaa detey? Hum log Karjat mein shoot kar rahey they. Tum yahaan Bambaii mein ho."
"Toh driver ji ko toh milaa diye!"
"Arre nahi milaaye hain."
"Milaaye ho! Ooh apney Phacebuk par photu lagaaye hain Bhai ke saath."
Damnit! I thought.
A few months later, the cooking didi complained that the cleaning lady had got a picture with Sonam Kapoor and posted it as her WhatsAapp display picture. Another time, my valet sent me a stinker of a comment on a Facebook post where I'd expressed gratitude for winning an award for Nil Battey Sannata. "Thenk you 4 4getng me. Garib ki koi izzat nahi hoti."
I hastily tagged him.
A few days ago, I met my teenage-onwards crush Shah Rukh Khan. In the course of the evening, I acquired a boomerang (a GIF video) of SRK and me grooving. It was a cute one, which I posted on my social media handles.
The next day, my driver and cleaning maid came up to me.
"Medam ek baat kehnaa hai," started the driver."
"Kya hai?"
"Aapki tarraki ho rahi hai, toh hamaari bhi honi chaahiye na?"
"Matlab?"
"Aap Shah Rukh Khan ke saath naach key aaye ho, toh humko ek photu toh bantaa hai na unkey saath."
On saying this, the cleaning maid indignantly showed me my own Boomerang clip.
That's it, a vein popped in my head. Enough of this internet-inspired equality, I thought, bristling with a feeling of victimhood-of-the-well-off.
"Jaa chai banaa mere liye," I barked at the maid.
"Pehley piromise karo Shah Rukh ke saath photu dilaaogey," she retorted.
"Mujhey bhi," the driver said.
Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll!
"Theek hai meri ma! Ab chai pilaa degi?"
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