Peoplescape: #1 — Subaidatha
Monsoon, 2008. When I returned from school, she was there. Silent. Yet smiling. Fifteen years is a long time, but with Subaidatha, it feels like she’s always been part of the family. She came into our lives quietly, almost as if she slipped in unnoticed, but over time, she has become as essential as the air our home breathes.
Her warmth is in the everyday things she does — the way she keeps food for me when I’m not home, setting it aside like a mother would for her child, the way she scolds me for making fun of her. No matter how late I come, there’s always something waiting.
I’ve seen her and my mother argue — playfully, of course — bickering over something small, only to dissolve into laughter a moment later. It’s their way, a routine that’s as familiar as the sun rising each day. And through it all, there’s an unspoken bond between them, one built on years of companionship.
The children adore her. She’s a friend to them. Someone who scolds them with a smile and then sneaks them a treat when no one’s looking. If something special is made at home, she makes sure I don’t miss out. She’ll stash some away, just for me, as if she knows I’d feel left out otherwise. When I get home, she hands it to me with that mischievous grin, as if to say, “See? I didn’t forget.”
There’s something playful about her, too. Ask her where something is and she’ll tease you with wrong answers. She enjoys the little game before finally telling the truth. And that smile, the one that lights up her face when I give her a Kapiko mittayi (Kopiko candy), is something I’ve come to cherish. It’s the small things, like her love for sweets and potato chips, that make her feel so real, so human.
She’s over sixty now, though you wouldn’t guess it by looking at her. There are barely any grey strands in her hair, as if age decided to pass her by without leaving its usual marks. It’s in her smile, too — so pure, so unaffected, like that of a newborn.
Some people come into your life silently, and before you know it, they’re family. Subaidatha has become just that — a part of us. A part of home. And every day, she blesses us with her affection.
