Of boundaries and identity

As I lay sprawled on the cool stone floor, I asked myself- ‘How did I end up here?’ I had stared with disbelief at this dingy office that was also a makeshift bedroom for visitors two days ago when my half amused field manager casually remarked, ‘No fancy hotels here Madam’. The rats were especially active tonight though they maintained the pact of blissful ignorance. They scampered at the edge of the large room with my straw mat drawing the boundaries of our co-existence.
I remembered the meeting from earlier in the day in a small village somewhere in the vicinity of this small town where the slightly hassled but mostly gregarious women sat cross legged and discussed noisily their due loans, weekly payments and general household chores. The speech introducing me as the new Manager was already rattled off by rote. The field manager pinched his eyebrows with deliberation and licked his thumb before counting off the soggy notes received as repayment. ‘Make sure you pay on time! You don’t want Madam to think ill of this village do you now? I want change…no big big notes here from you ladies!’ he added, rubbing his index finger and thumb together in a forceful gesture.
The women looked at me successively with awe, wonderment and hints of suspicion as I manoeuvred through the meeting throwing verbatim phrases and words crafted to please and assure in a falsetto.
And then I remembered her. She was almost inconspicuous in her presence. It was as if the black burqa that covered her in entirety had also somehow consumed her. I had not noticed her sitting in the corner under the shade of the thatched roof of the village school.
‘How did you end up here?’ she asked.
As if woken from a trance, I shook myself and stared blankly at her. She revealed her thin mouth as she raised her veil slightly and asked again ‘What did you do to get here? To become a manager I mean? I have a daughter and I will make her a Manager. ’ She spoke in broken Hindi. While I gathered my wits around me, a babel of voices took over. Some hushed her to stay quiet while others elbowed her to go back to the corner whence she came. I am sure there was also someone who giggled at her naïveté. I pursed my lips and drew a satisfaction from the conclusion of an act that had almost pushed me to explain myself.
I stretched on my mat as the rats pulled at the packet that held the biscuits I had for dinner. I wondered sleepily if the burqa woman had rats in her house.