Though curved like a question mark, she walks without a Zimmer frame. Will she ever veer from the narrow, nonsensical dirt road? She earns, mopping, scrubbing, laundering, and currying. She’s often gifted with rice, tea powder, jaggery, sari, soap, and so on. Thanks to the munificence of her mistress. She saves and stores, living in parsimonious penury. She loses her delicious delights in spending tension. A schlock existence – everything safely decays in her store. There’s certainly a spark of work (even at the dog-end) of her life. But when will she live on the earth? *First published in The Literary Hatchet, and then in Native Skin.