The votes are in

I didn’t register to vote this year for lack of a valid address proof. I deeply regret missing out on being part of the community and exercising my right to vote, but I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I realised almost everyone else around me made it a point to get registered and vote.

While the ballot boxes fill up with promises for a new regime, the anticipation to know who leads India into her next phase is just as exciting. While one leader promises reforms across the country that he has successfully implemented in one state, another promises to bring young Indians to the forefront.

I would love to see both these ideologies strung together as well. We’ve flourished in so many portals over the past decade: a booming BPO centre, a more modern and evolving infrastructure, and above all, bringing more and more people out of poverty with our growth. Yes, the challenges of a developing economy are still very much apparent in our social structure, but the effort to overcome these hurdles is just as apparent.

Bringing together technology and development seems to be the challenge here and for a country that relies less on its exports and more on agriculture, manufacturing and industrial sectors, BPO and health tourism, we’ve ensured stable development. This crucial crossroads we are at is what makes these elections all the more significant.

I’ve never seen everyone around me look so determined about what they want for our country. It’s not merely change that we crave, its stability, advancements and population welfare. Accessibility – in terms of availability of healthcare, government grants, education and other prominent mainstays – has been elusive, but will this be our turning point? A higher ground? It’s not just the media and the political campaigns that encouraged everyone to be a part of these elections, it is the hope to see a government that executes more than it promises. A cliché maybe, and yet it’s just what we want.

Here’s to those capable hands and minds that have guided us in the past and to those who will continue to take us to greater heights! 

Promising days ahead

Growing up in Madras, summer heralded its arrival with flowers looking a tad worried about their survival in the heat and with even the birds reluctant to take to the skies.  Of course, the biggest hint was always those summer showers – blatantly promising a blissful and cooler summer, but we always managed to scale new, horrifying heights temperature-wise.

Amid the water shortages, power cuts and the inevitable flying tempers, there’s still something charming about summer. Could it be the endless tubs of ice cream in the freezer? The lip smacking mangoes and watermelon you find everywhere? Alright, moving away from the edible: the games that keep you completely hooked on TV?

For me, the IPL’s a blessing. I can get away with murder with my husband between 4 pm till bedtime when the games air. I can explain the need for “summer clothes” and shop before he realises too late that I already did that last month. I can douse him with a few glasses of watermelon juice and say, “Oh, if you are full, do you want something light for dinner?” Faced with the bitter choice of a conversation with me over a dinner menu and the last two crucial overs in the game, he often nods enthusiastically even for veggie salad.

Whether it’s watching Raina send the ball flying across the field in every which direction possible or watching Rafa and Djokovic fight over every single point in the French Open, you too end up picking up a bat of some kind and heading out the door. Salads and exercise: did the scales just stop groaning under my weight?

And if all that’s not enough, I can let my daughter soak merrily in her bath for an hour while I manage to do what many of us consider a luxury these days: read. It’s also the only time of the year we ever really think about getting away for the weekend. Ahem, room service and soaking in a pool all afternoon kind of makes me a better mom too.

So there you have it: good books, resorts, food, shopping and sports – summer can’t be all that bad! 

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.