People talk about different types of love. Here, I share the story of the pure and selfless love between my daughter and her caretaker, Lakshmi Bai.
About 20 years ago, I was posted in Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh. My daughter was just a year old, and I needed to find someone to care for her. My mother-in-law, who had been helping me, wished to return home to be with my father-in-law. That’s when Lakshmi Bai entered our lives—a blessing in disguise.
Lakshmi Bai agreed to care for my daughter from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. for ₹1,200 per month, along with breakfast and lunch. At the time, I felt it was a hefty sum, but my daughter’s well-being was my priority. Lakshmi Bai was a neat and clean woman. She came to work daily in freshly laundered clothes, having bathed, which eased my initial apprehensions about hygiene.
Before Lakshmi Bai, when my mother-in-law cared for my daughter, I had employed a 10-year-old girl to play with her. That young girl would often arrive without bathing, so I’d have her bathe, change into clean clothes (I kept a set at home), and then allow her to engage with my child. By comparison, Lakshmi Bai was a relief and a blessing.
Lakshmi Bai was devoted to my daughter and cared for her like her own child. Over time, my daughter grew deeply attached to her. She preferred Lakshmi Bai for everything—feeding, bathing, dressing, and even falling asleep. When I came home for lunch, my daughter wouldn’t leave Lakshmi Bai to come to me. In the evenings, when Lakshmi Bai prepared to leave, my daughter would cry and run after her, pleading,
“Aunty, please don’t go!”
This daily scene often drew comments from neighbors, mostly housewives, who passed judgment on my life as a working mother. It was heartbreaking, but I focused on comforting my daughter rather than dwelling on their opinions. I would distract her with toys or other activities so Lakshmi Bai could leave unnoticed.
When my daughter turned two and a half, I enrolled her in a nearby Pre-KG. The school was right behind our house. Lakshmi Bai took on the additional responsibility of escorting her to school daily. Rather than packing lunch, Lakshmi Bai would prepare fresh parathas or bread and bring them to school for my daughter. She even befriended the class teacher to gain access to feed her, something strictly prohibited.
The children in my daughter’s class began assuming Lakshmi Bai was her mother. Once, when I visited the school, the kids asked my daughter who I was. When she replied, “She’s my mother,” they exclaimed,
“Wow! You have two mommies!”
Lakshmi Bai stayed with us until my transfer to Chennai when my daughter was three years old. The bond between them was profound—Lakshmi Bai loved my daughter as her own, and my daughter returned that love with equal, if not greater, selflessness. Despite unsolicited advice from neighbors and colleagues, I never interfered with their relationship.
Admittedly, there were moments when I felt overshadowed, especially when my daughter brushed me aside to run after Lakshmi Bai. Those instances brought tears to my eyes, but I reminded myself that my child’s happiness mattered above all else. Looking back, I know I made the right decision.
The memories of Lakshmi Bai remain etched in my heart and will always be cherished by my family.