If there was one person on whom everyone at Misty Meadows depended, it was Surekha didi.
She worked as a maid-cum-cook in several houses in the community, and lived in a tiny one-bedroom outhouse in a corner of Misty Meadows.
She was always punctual, always tidy, and always dependable.
She had moved from a tiny village in Maharashtra to this little town in Karnataka after getting married.
Surekha didi had a knack for making the most ordinary meals interesting. She would experiment with new recipes, sneak vegetables that the children hated into dishes.
She introduced the residents to food from her hometown, and now all of them were quite well-versed with the names of a lot of authentic Maharashtrian dishes.
But there was a lot more to her than her cooking.
She had wanted to study and build a life for herself.
Instead, she was married off at seventeen with promises that she would be allowed to continue her education after marriage.
Clearly, those promises were empty ones.
She resigned herself to a life of working hard, making ends meet, and doing everything she could to save up for a bright future for her seven-year-old son.
She would often tell the residents, with a quiver of pride in her voice, “He will become a doctor one day.”
What made Surekha didi such an indispensable person was how much she cared for the people she worked for.
When Amritha once had a bad fall and was forced to stay in bed for weeks, Surekha didi’s face was filled with concern.
“Rest, Amritha didi,” she would say firmly. “How will you recover if you don’t rest enough?”
She brought a herb mixture from home, carefully applied it to Amritha’s injured leg and fussed over her until she was back on her feet.
The residents of Misty Meadows returned her kindness in their own little ways.
Every Diwali, there would be new clothes for Surekha didi.
And notebooks and pencils for her son.
Little gestures, but they meant a lot to her.
One evening, the residents asked her to come near the old banyan tree on the pretext of helping with some work.
When she arrived, and before she could make sense of what was happening, the children came running out from behind the tree.
“SURPRISE!!!!”
Surekha didi stood there, completely stunned.
The children had strung lights around the banyan tree and decorated it with their colourful drawings.
In the middle of it all was a sign in the cutest handwriting imaginable that read:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUREKHA DIDI!
The adults had arranged snacks and a birthday cake.
And then came along Boo with something carefully held between his teeth. One of his favourite biscuits, the one he was usually extremely possessive about.
He dropped it at her feet and looked up at her, tail wagging furiously, as if to wish her a happy birthday.
Surekha didi was at a loss for words, and tears glistened in her eyes. It was perhaps the most memorable birthday she had celebrated.
It was during these moments that she would sometimes go into deep thought.
She had lost the chance to live a life she had imagined for herself.
But somewhere along the way, Misty Meadows had given her a home.
It became a place where she was simply not the woman who cooked and cleaned houses.
She was everyone’s Surekha didi.
Someone they depended on. Someone they cared about.
More stories from the little community:
People of Misty Meadows #1: The Woman with the Book
People of Misty Meadows #2: The Young Couple with the Laptop
People of Misty Meadows #3: The Girl with the Red Bicycle
People of Misty Meadows #4: The Cheerful Uncle and His Bag of Stories
People of Misty Meadows #5: The Woman with the Running Shoes
People of Misty Meadows #6: The Dog Who Belonged To Everyone
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The Soulful Nib
