In the steaming, screaming, speedwalking city of Mumbai, power doesn’t knock. Most times, it has a key and a recurrent remark: "Aaj zyada bartan kyun hai?" One of the most under-acknowledged 'syndicates' of them all is not on Mumbai's Dalal Street but in its housing societies.

In this Maximum City, the ones who keep the chaos contained aren’t only boardroom bosses but also women with mops, rubber slippers, and an unshakeable sense of purpose - "The Didis of Mumbai".

Forget power lunches! The real executive hustle happens between 7 and 10 AM, in society elevators and stairwells. These didis run 4-5 households that aren't theirs, often more efficiently than the one they go home to. And they don't have time for baloney!

TVF got close with Very Parivarik's Maid: The Didi episode. A young couple tries to explain to their visiting parents that hiring a maid in this city isn’t just logistics. It’s a test of patience, negotiation, diplomacy and often divine intervention. To the uninitiated, this might seem exaggerated. To Mumbai residents, however, it’s realism.

Each didi has an allocated “sector”, and the territory is sacred. They know where to work, when to strike, and whom to avoid (A-602 is stingy, B-703 has CCTV, C-305 calls you on holidays). There are blacklists, borders that are delineated by mutual respect and above all, a sense of unsaid solidarity.

For instance, if Maya didi is in charge of cleaning 703-B, Tamanna didi, though just as capable, won’t step in during her absence. Not because she cannot but because she will not, unless expressly deputed by her fellow 'syndicate member'. One didi I spoke to, Shanno, smiled when I asked her how she finds work and said, “We don’t find jobs. We find people.”

Well, picture this: You upset your house help, perhaps by heavying the sink with extra plates for two days in a row or audaciously asking her to come on time, on a Sunday! Or maybe worse, you didn’t tidy up enough before she arrived, and now she has flipped out.

What follows isn't just passive aggression. Your home is "blacklisted". Within moments, they share information the way kings once shared bloodlines; discreetly but with lasting consequence.

This intel-sharing is less about surveillance and more about solidarity. In the same way Mumbai autos refuse to go "East to West", house helps refuse to cross invisible moral lines. We may think its gangstah, they call it mutual respect.

Then there are those who drift in like ghosts, quietly asking for work while dodging the wary gaze of the resident didis. But by the next day, they usually vanish without a trace. That might sound darker than it actually is, but we'll never know!

So when your didi comes late, you don’t question her. You ask if she’s okay. When she wants a day off, you nod approvingly. You pray she doesn’t leave. Because in Mumbai, the rent may be high, but the real crisis? Is when your didi says she’s going to her gaon for a week or maybe her dawakhaana for the day. You can just light a candle and pray for her return!

She will have her off days, her shortcuts, her stories. The narratives, scattered like breadcrumbs; a sick child, a prickly mother-in-law, an unannounced cousin and so on! Maybe they’re true. Maybe not. Maybe stretched, but always timed just right! She leans on your guilt, like many domestic workers who know how to press just gently enough on an employer’s conscience. It works. Guilt has power, and so does dependence.

She likely knows what moves you and sometimes, you know you’re being played. Yet you go along because this is a quiet, ongoing barter in Mumbai!

While mornings are spent managing a few entitled families, and maybe caste-coded snarks, these didis live a different life beyond the society gates. Many return to households where income is theirs, but authority is not. Chores remain gendered. Change remains cosmetic.

But that's a story for another time!

However, at its core, the househelp network in multiple Mumbai societies remains a matriarchal spectacle. They fight. They forgive. They unionise. But the highlight? Within this matriarchy, there are no ladders. Only thrones!

Every didi sits upon hers with a quiet self-assurance that is often mistaken for pride. But in a city that forgets names within moments, self-respect is not vanity. Rather, it is resistance!

Landlords may choose tenants, but didis choose homes. Essentially, you don't find a didi; she finds you. And in Mumbai, a city that worships efficiency and overworks empathy, it’s the women with calloused hands and unflinching standards who set the tone, not just for cleanliness, but for conduct. However, if you think that’s just domestic work, you’re not paying attention!