Sexism in the work place

Just returned from a flying visit to England to renew visa's, passport's and acquaintance's with family and friends. Everything went incredibly smoothly considering the British passport office and the Indian embassy were involved and I had a chance to spend some time with my Marvellous mum and dad who have had a real rough trot of late.

For those who don't know, on top of having to deal with the loss of their beloved boy's to India ie Rafa and Silli, they have also had the unwelcome news that my mum has breast cancer. Dark day's indeed in the Conde house and yet you would never know anything was different. My mum has re invented the word brave and my dad has shown a love, dedication and resolve to help mum through it that most men could only dream of producing.

My mum started her chemo on Friday at 12 midday and was shopping at 3pm! We left them on Saturday with mum feeling a little nauseous but still smiling and determined to beat the cancer and dad, as usual by her side to help her on the way. A more inspirational and remarkable mum and dad I couldn't wish for and though separated by a few thousand miles we are with them scrapping all the way.

Love you both.

So to our Delhi return. I have to say both 'A' and I felt that it was like returning home which is so nice. The journey back was relatively trouble free, though I did feel gutted that I couldn't spend 5 hours at the bar as I did on our outward journey! We returned to a perfectly clean and tidy house, milk and water in the fridge and the a/c on courtesy of our house keeper Indu. Pretty ideal isn't it? Oh to have a housekeeper I hear you cry. It must be so great to have 'staff' you all snarl through gritted teeth! Well this is where the trouble starts!

It would appear that from a fairly stress free 4 months with the 'staff', we have returned home to uproar. The housekeeper is not happy and it seems the malcontent may be spreading. 'One out all out' banners have appeared at the front gates, along with an oil drum fire that they are all huddled round with fingerless gloves on (made the last bit up obviously, fingerless gloves are so 80's and don't go with sari's)!

There is however a feeling of 'strike' in the air and all 4ft 8 of Indu is like the guns of the Navarone! While we have been away the water supply has failed in the house and the staff quarter's - I know, I know staff quarter's sound dreadful but it is better than servant's room which is how it was originally described to us - and it would appear there has been several thousand builders around to try and sort it out and every single one has managed to offend her. She mentioned to 'A' that she is:

"Aware she is only a little women and shouldn't have an opinion but that man is very much too proud of himself"!

On this occasion it would appear that the man in question is at least not me. It is the builder, but most of the time I do seem to be the one feeling the wrath of Indu. On regular occasions Indu and Mia, our sweeper - yes I know it sounds terrible but everyone has one - seem to get their head's together and confront me over something or another. They remind me of the 2 Polish girl's working in the Cafe on Harry Enfield's tv programme, who constantly make him feel uncomfortable. The only difference being, with us the tension is not sexual but sexist!

I get the feeling that they think I am just a lazy, misogynistic, male chauvinist pig that spends his days on the computer, downloading degrading image's of women while his lovely wife goes to work. This is quite common amongst Indian men,so I can't really blame them for thinking that but I am working hard to change their opinion.

For the time being though things aren't good. A perfectly civil "morning Indu" can be returned with a look that say's 'stop undressing me with your eye's you evil rapist scum'. She still insits on calling me Master despite numerous requests to the contrary. I imagine her talking to the rest of the staff and saying:

"Can you believe the scumbag still makes me call him master in this day and age"?

Whenever I ask her anything she pretends not to hear but when 'A' repeats the question she gets a reply. 'A' thinks she has hearing problems and struggles with the pitch of my voice. I reminded 'A' that she is not a dog and I am not Brian Blessed. She speaks queen's English most of the time to 'A', yet struggles to put a sentence together around me unless she is criticising something I am doing with the boy's.

"Too hot for them to be outside", "too dangerous for them on the road" "too many times you feed them food they don't like" are common criticism's

It might all be a bit of paranoia but she is civility personified to 'A' and I just can't seem to win her over. I now see this whole issue as perfect opportunity, I shall ride to her rescue on a tidal wave of water like a monkey wrench wielding Richard Gere,save the day and become her hero!

Hold on, is that sexist?