Bringing it all together

As a stay at home mom, it was fairly easy to look after my lil one, run the household, do some freelance work and have enough time for myself. Now it’s time for me to get back to work because my daughter doesn’t need me as much. As liberating as the thought was up until a few weeks ago, I realised after one interview that with freedom comes not just responsibility, but fatigue as well. It’s been so comfortable to stay safely cocooned within the walls of my neat and tidy home that the idea of commuting to work seems such exhaustion!

I called for a cab the morning of my interview and tried saying “just keep coming down the same road” in broken Kannada, broken Hindi, fluent Tamil and English. But nothing helped: he didn’t make it down the five kilometre stretch even after an hour and a half.

Next, I hailed an autorickshaw and the driver asked me quizzically if I would pay above the standard metre charges to take me a third of the distance. Well, nothing new, so I said yes and hopped onboard. We reached the agreed spot and he said, “You can’t get down here......these auto drivers will charge you more!” The irony was entirely lost on me because I just wanted to get to point B on time.

I must credit him though for being kind enough to see me off safely in another autorickshaw. I heaved a sigh of relief and called the HR personnel to let him know I would be delayed by almost an hour. I sat back and realised we weren’t waiting for the signal to go green, rather I was witnessing what my husband sometimes skips breakfast to avoid: peak hour traffic.

Making a mental note not to snort at him for refusing to wait five minutes, I glanced out, taking in the scene. Just when I began wishing I’d skipped breakfast too, the auto edged forward and the Bangalore-savvy driver managed to weave in and out of smaller lanes and eventually got me to my destination and even offered to wait and bring me back home. 

I gladly stepped out and rushed towards the building, but had to grind to a halt for the umpteenth time. Would my modest heels get wedged into the metal speed bumps at the entrance?

“Go ahead, Madam,” encouraged the auto driver in some exasperation. What he probably wanted to say was, “Aren’t you late enough as it is?” True, I thought and bounded across in one leap.

After filling out the paperwork, I sat back and waited for both the interviewer and fatigue. Oddly enough only one turned up and I was lucky it was the interviewer. I soon realised it wasn’t like getting back on the horse or bicycle – not just because I can’t do either – it just felt familiar: the high backed chairs, the conversation and the feeling that this was something I don’t need superhuman strength to do. 

Going home

I live about seven hours away from my hometown, but I sometimes fret over it like it's a million miles away. And there’s a special joy in packing to go home: I pack my newest clothes just to stop my mum’s mad dash to the store to pick up new clothes for me; I bake for my brother-in-law who is a one-man cheering squad when it comes to my cooking skills; and pretty much carry everything I can squeeze into three or four fair sized airbags and trolley suitcases for a week long stay.

At first the reception back home was just as enthusiastic. My mum and sister would let out a thrilled squeak and embrace me with kisses. My father though has always been the same: he would smile stiffly and help me in with my bags. Once inside, the heavenly smell of food I haven’t toiled over fogs part of my senses.

If I've mentioned already how much children change our lives, I must now lay emphasis on how much your world changes with them. The welcoming crew has changed its tactic a bit. Of course, there’s that reassuring squeak, but I realise after a while that I’m not in anybody’s arms. The two of them are busy fussing over my daughter. Oh they acknowledge me alright – an excited nod as they run inside with her. May I mention my daughter now has that same satisfied look on her face that was once mine?

So I turn to pay the cab driver, but there’s still one thing about the picture that hasn't changed a bit: my dad’s still waiting by my side to help pay for the cab and walk me in with my bulging bags. And once inside, did I mention the smell of heavenly food?