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.