Our Maid, The Thief

Indian culture is a maze of social customs, where appearances are put on for the sake of others, anything can be done for the right price, and "no" can always be negotiated. Drama, or should I say dramatics, are an integral part of communication, acted at will when required and accepted reluctantly by all around. Everyone is out for themself, and anyone who isn't a member of your immediate family (and sometimes those who are) must be treated with caution. If, one day, they reveal a two-faced nature, you can swear you saw it coming all along.

So when my ring, which I had accidentally left in the kitchen, came up missing this morning, my mother-in-law did a verbal checklist of possible suspects: "Me? Trustworthy. You? Fine. Love (my husband)? Trustworthy. Shahid (the other servant)? Honest man. Maid?" Here she furrowed her brow and shook her finger at me. "Dishonest. I don't trust her."

We searched the kitchen, recalled our last memories of the ring, and agreed that the part-time maid, who comes every morning to clean the kitchen, must have pocketed it. She was summoned to the house. I was soberly instructed that when she I arrived I had to start crying, wail about my lost engagement ring, and eventually threaten her with a police complaint. I assured I would do my best.

The maid arrived and was questioned roughly, while denying any and everything. I was then given my cue through a sideways glance, and while I tried my hardest to bring fury forth (and Lord knows I'm living in a house with a master of this technique: an Indian mother) the best I could muster was a worried, distraught look, peppered with genuine accusatory wrath. The maid was handed a broom and a dustpan and told to look for the ring.

And then a curious thing happened. My mother-in-law grabbed my wrist and we left the room. With her fingers pursed to her lips, she ushered me into her bedroom, a knowing look on her face, and we sat, straining to hear the sounds of the maid sweeping. About 30 seconds later there was a smug cry from the kitchen, and my mother-in-law, motioning for me to stay behind, left the room. I was summoned a few minutes later.

"The maid found your ring." She held it out to me. "Tell her thank you."

The maid was crouching on the floor, an angry look on her face, refusing to make eye contact. She was trying to play wrongfully accused but her guiltiness was spoiling her performance.

"Thank you," I muttered.

My mother-in-law then began to scold me. "This maid is a good lady. She's worked for me for one year. Not a bad lady."

Uh-huh. I knew that this was just for show, so I acted sorry for accusing her and got out of there as fast as I could. They then proceeded to argue for about a half an hour, the maid eventually crying crocodile tears and begging for her job. Despite the show I never once doubted that she was guilty. I thoroughly searched the kitchen, including the place of her "discovery" (under the flour cupboard).

After she left the mood became light. Problem had been solved, crisis averted. We all knew that she had taken the ring, just as she had taken the out generously given to her. My mother-in-law, by leaving the room while the maid searched, had used proper tactics and was proud of the outcome. Turned out she had slipped the maid a Rs 100 note after she "found" the ring as a "reward". "What? A reward for her dishonesty?" I asked. But it didn't really matter that the maid had been caught stealing; she had never been trusted and my carelessness of leaving the ring out had given rise to her temptation. What mattered was that we had gotten the ring back.

"So, we're going to fire the maid, right?" I couldn't believe I even had to ask.

"No, no, she's a good worker."

"What?!? She stole from us! I can wash the dishes until we find a new maid."

"Everyone is dishonest but not everyone is a good worker. Just make sure you keep all your things in your room. No trust."

I know enough by now to know that even if my argument is concretely backed by common sense, it is no use to argue, for I will not win. So I promised to keep anything of value under lock and key and moved on with the day.

It was another example of the charade of Indian culture. We knew she was guilty, she knew that we knew that she was guilty, yet she also knew that when she pretended to find the ring we would go along, even rewarding her for it, and she could keep her job. I can't decide if it's being dishonestly honest or honestly dishonest.

Imagine this scenario in the U.S. If a maid were suspected of stealing they would be fired, even if they gave back the ring. It seems blatantly obvious, until I begin to wonder about the chances of ever actually getting the ring back. Probably the maid would suffer the consequences of stealing but still get away with the ring. The best thing would be to manipulate them into giving it back by allowing them to "find" it, then give 'em the axe.

But that's not the way it worked out here.

I'm not glad that the maid still works for us but I am glad to have my ring. It doesn't sit well that we have a known thief working for us but she's unlikely to do it again and I'm certainly not going to give her the chance. She won't be getting any cheery greetings from me in the morning, either. Tonight I decided to make an elaborate feast for dinner and used every dish in the kitchen, burned food in the bottom of all the pans, and left melted sugar all over the counters. Maybe that will teach her a lesson.