The washing man

At 7am each morning he knocks on my door to collect my washing.

He wraps it in a towel and brings it back the next day, clean, pressed and smelling like the streets of Kolkata.

He is grateful for his job, it was his Fathers before him, and his Grandfathers before his father.

He is a family man.

His family live 400miles away and he sees them 20 days a year when he has time off.

He sends his son to school, but the system is corrupt so the teachers sit around smoking all day while the kids run wild. He pays for daily balanced meals for his son, but the teachers serve him dhal and rice every meal and pocket the difference.

He complains to the authorities about this but the teachers bribe the authorities and nothing changes.

He sleeps on the streets each night and sends what money he can back to his family.

He is friendly and gracious…
At 7am each morning I wake up annoyed at the knock on my door

I scurry around collecting my washing feeling annoyed that my clothes get so dirty in this place

I’m lamenting the fact that I have a few hours of work to do this morning before I take the afternoon to rest in the comfort of my air conditioned room

I have a beautiful family

I’ve spent the last month travelling the world with my family, taking them to Disneyland and enjoying the beautiful sights of America

My kids left a private school we lived down the street from and are now doing school by correspondence from WA. The cost for this (which is voluntary) is $60 pa. and they use their personal computers to connect to online lessons and resources.

We will soon set up our new home in Berhampore, with our family needs, including a washing machine… so we won’t need a washing man

I am rich beyond measure.
And this my friends, is what we call juxtaposition