Unlettered intellectual
"An intellectual is a person who engages in critical thinking, research, and reflection about the reality of society, and who proposes solutions for the normative problems of society." -- Wikipedia
By the above definition, my mother's housekeeper / companion K, despite never having stepped even on the shadow of a school (to use a Bengali turn of phrase), totally qualifies as an intellectual. Well, maybe not the last bit - she doesn't exactly offer prescriptions for social ills, but she does reflect analytically and dispassionately on all things societal and freely shares her thoughts whenever I visit. I like how no one is out of the bounds of her objective criticism, she includes both me and herself as well as all her near and dear ones.
For instance, two years ago I made the days-long multi-marathon-flight trip to India bearing two suitcases, one of which was full of diapers sent by my husband for his bedridden mother. K shook her head mournfully at the total pointlessness of the effort, "You can easily buy diapers here," she said, "besides how long will those diapers last anyway!" Her natural sympathy stopped her words from flowing over into disdain, "Poor you, with your swollen foot, dragging the suitcases through airports!" Then came the devastatingly accurate summing up: "Well, I guess you are no good to anyone living so far away, so you want to feel like you are being useful in some way." My amusement at the way she hits the mark with these trenchant observations always fends off any possible hurt or offended feelings. I find them utterly delightful.
Another barb she lobbed my way was about giving. She was praising my aunt for her unending generosity and care for everyone, rich or poor, young or old. "The moment she hears I'm in any kind of trouble, she sends me money. She's given me some of her best possessions. Whenever I help her with a party, she first sits me down and gives me something good to eat - eat now she says, you won't have time for it later..and she never forgets to send food for my family. There is no one as generous as Bubudi." Then she paused in her narration and cast a critical eye on me, just in case I was about to put in a claim for my own generosity, "Now you give me things too ..but that's different. I look after your mother, it's in your interest to make sure I'm happy." Right K, as always, absolutely on target! I mean, there's nary a thought I have about K's welfare without its self-interested companion "who will take care of ma if something happens to K" tagging along. She is literally irreplaceable.
K has a beloved only son, a daughter-in-law she quite likes and respects and a precious grandson. Her attachment to them and the rest of her family, and what she will do for them (after giving them all verbal thrashings for causing trouble) knows no bounds. And yet, when she talks about them, there is not a shred of sentiment. "I have to care for them you know, who else do you think will take me in when I'm old?" she says. She is as likely to stand up for her daughter-in-law in an argument with her son as the other way around. When I praise her level-headed, bright and sweet-natured grandson, I see no gratification in her face. "He's not even a teenager yet," she says, "Those are the dangerous years. Let's see how he turns out."
K really loves a challenge. In her more-or-less placid daily life in my mother's neighbourhood of 4-storey apartments, the problem to be solved usually comes in the form of unannounced guests rousing K from a deep afternoon nap. These guests swear they have to be gone in 45 minutes and they absolutely cannot eat anything (an indication that they are expecting to be offered something) and, of course, there's nothing ready to serve in the house. What food, suitable for the inopportune hour, can be acquired, prepared and respectably presented in under a half hour? K never fails to rise to these occasions and acquit herself with distinction. In the middle of a funny story and general hilarity, there's a sudden pause and "oohs" and "aahs" as K appears with a tray loaded with goodies and drinks (some scrounged up from the bottom of a tin, some rustled up from neighbours, some cobbled together from breakfast leftovers but looking like someone slaved over the preparation for an entire afternoon). And later, when everyone is fed and gone, nothing gives K more joy than to recount the details of her adventure, "I knocked on her door and said 'quick, give me those bottles of juice that I saw you buying this morning in the market'" or "luckily I remembered the ball of dough I had saved in the freezer, there were just 10 minutes to go, just about enough to heat up some oil and.." etc..
There's a lot more I could say about K, but we'll save that for a later time. I'll just mention one last thing and then wrap up. It's how she thinks about being human. Typically, when people say, "I/we/he am/are/is human after all" it's to excuse or sympathize with some kind of weakness or failure, to acknowledge the complexity and helplessness of existing in this particular bipedal form. K says it with the same kind of what-else-can-one-do tone but in a totally different context, usually in response to an exasperated question like, "But X has said so many terrible things about you, why would you go out of your way to help her?" "I'm human you know." It's possible that some of it is the feeling of self-importance she gets from being the one in charge. But I've known K for almost 3 decades now. X may be mean, but K is human. If X needs her, K will help. I've seen enough to know that, for her, it's really that simple.
By the above definition, my mother's housekeeper / companion K, despite never having stepped even on the shadow of a school (to use a Bengali turn of phrase), totally qualifies as an intellectual. Well, maybe not the last bit - she doesn't exactly offer prescriptions for social ills, but she does reflect analytically and dispassionately on all things societal and freely shares her thoughts whenever I visit. I like how no one is out of the bounds of her objective criticism, she includes both me and herself as well as all her near and dear ones.
For instance, two years ago I made the days-long multi-marathon-flight trip to India bearing two suitcases, one of which was full of diapers sent by my husband for his bedridden mother. K shook her head mournfully at the total pointlessness of the effort, "You can easily buy diapers here," she said, "besides how long will those diapers last anyway!" Her natural sympathy stopped her words from flowing over into disdain, "Poor you, with your swollen foot, dragging the suitcases through airports!" Then came the devastatingly accurate summing up: "Well, I guess you are no good to anyone living so far away, so you want to feel like you are being useful in some way." My amusement at the way she hits the mark with these trenchant observations always fends off any possible hurt or offended feelings. I find them utterly delightful.
Another barb she lobbed my way was about giving. She was praising my aunt for her unending generosity and care for everyone, rich or poor, young or old. "The moment she hears I'm in any kind of trouble, she sends me money. She's given me some of her best possessions. Whenever I help her with a party, she first sits me down and gives me something good to eat - eat now she says, you won't have time for it later..and she never forgets to send food for my family. There is no one as generous as Bubudi." Then she paused in her narration and cast a critical eye on me, just in case I was about to put in a claim for my own generosity, "Now you give me things too ..but that's different. I look after your mother, it's in your interest to make sure I'm happy." Right K, as always, absolutely on target! I mean, there's nary a thought I have about K's welfare without its self-interested companion "who will take care of ma if something happens to K" tagging along. She is literally irreplaceable.
K has a beloved only son, a daughter-in-law she quite likes and respects and a precious grandson. Her attachment to them and the rest of her family, and what she will do for them (after giving them all verbal thrashings for causing trouble) knows no bounds. And yet, when she talks about them, there is not a shred of sentiment. "I have to care for them you know, who else do you think will take me in when I'm old?" she says. She is as likely to stand up for her daughter-in-law in an argument with her son as the other way around. When I praise her level-headed, bright and sweet-natured grandson, I see no gratification in her face. "He's not even a teenager yet," she says, "Those are the dangerous years. Let's see how he turns out."
K really loves a challenge. In her more-or-less placid daily life in my mother's neighbourhood of 4-storey apartments, the problem to be solved usually comes in the form of unannounced guests rousing K from a deep afternoon nap. These guests swear they have to be gone in 45 minutes and they absolutely cannot eat anything (an indication that they are expecting to be offered something) and, of course, there's nothing ready to serve in the house. What food, suitable for the inopportune hour, can be acquired, prepared and respectably presented in under a half hour? K never fails to rise to these occasions and acquit herself with distinction. In the middle of a funny story and general hilarity, there's a sudden pause and "oohs" and "aahs" as K appears with a tray loaded with goodies and drinks (some scrounged up from the bottom of a tin, some rustled up from neighbours, some cobbled together from breakfast leftovers but looking like someone slaved over the preparation for an entire afternoon). And later, when everyone is fed and gone, nothing gives K more joy than to recount the details of her adventure, "I knocked on her door and said 'quick, give me those bottles of juice that I saw you buying this morning in the market'" or "luckily I remembered the ball of dough I had saved in the freezer, there were just 10 minutes to go, just about enough to heat up some oil and.." etc..
There's a lot more I could say about K, but we'll save that for a later time. I'll just mention one last thing and then wrap up. It's how she thinks about being human. Typically, when people say, "I/we/he am/are/is human after all" it's to excuse or sympathize with some kind of weakness or failure, to acknowledge the complexity and helplessness of existing in this particular bipedal form. K says it with the same kind of what-else-can-one-do tone but in a totally different context, usually in response to an exasperated question like, "But X has said so many terrible things about you, why would you go out of your way to help her?" "I'm human you know." It's possible that some of it is the feeling of self-importance she gets from being the one in charge. But I've known K for almost 3 decades now. X may be mean, but K is human. If X needs her, K will help. I've seen enough to know that, for her, it's really that simple.
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