WASHING DAY

The usual radiant heat of the sun has abandoned the day again. The daily winter fight through the  cloud cover and smog is unresolved yet it is washing day.  On the pedestrian path outside a well patronised coffee and snacks establishment, just off Palika Bazaar park, a displaced family occupies space ; a charpoi ( a bed frame string with tape and multipurpose ) , chulha ( traditional wood burning small stove ) , a pot and bulging plastic bags are the meagre possession of the family along with some empty rice sacks, multi purpose, and blanket.

                

Several mangey dogs of good temper linger in the hope of scraps. They follow their tail around in circles as if looking for a soft and comfortable warm spot on the paving stones and tenderly curl themselves into a ball. Separated by a large tree near the entrance to the pedestrian underpass mum is crouched facing a step giving an earful to four small urchins crouched on it in front of her. They are dressed sparingly, less then one would expect for the temperature until the vision expands to the pedestrian railing adjoining the busy street. On the spiked iron posts hangs larger items of clothing. A coral reef of sari hangs over metres, shirts and trousers on others. This explains the ragamuffins. It is their turn.

It is bath and clothes washing day. I think it is as arbitrary a decision as any other day. Perhaps they have heard rain is on its way. Mum has in front of her a recycled building site bucket as well as a ten litre cooking oil wide mouthed container and another smaller one. A couple of cut plastic water bottles finish the laundry and washing space. A flat stone sits at an angle against the step and the clothes are whetted, scraped and bashed. Water is a premium. I cannot see any ready source which means it has travelled and will be used sparingly. Some detergent is being used. It is powerful, I know from experience as I soak my socks overnight and it always manages to bring out another layer of dye.

The children are patient. Obviously bath time is after the washing. They just niggle each other in their squat posture with a reproach every now and then. Each is responsible for hanging items of clothing along the lower section of the partition. The waste water slowly runs away towards holes in the hardened dirt around the tree. I have seen movement but until now did not realise this was a family of rats, their home under threat water damage. In the distance, crouched under a motorbike, I spy a ginger cat. It is on the hunt, though I do not think there is a lack of food as there are holes everywhere. The small squirrels scurry up and down the tree trunk along the limbs in what looks like a game of tag.

Washing process completed and clothes hanging, attention is now given to the urchins who are scoured with as much care as the clothes. The children use the nit comb on each other carefully searching for evidence to squash.

On the charpoi, what initially looked like cloth and a blanket stirs. Slowly but surely the structure unfolds and an older woman's face appears.  She has a small bundle snugly encased in her bosom. A little face pokes out, the smallest member of the family.