I couldn’t sleep the whole night, gripped by anxiety over whether I would get the job. I had attended four rounds of interviews with different people, and they are announcing the results only tomorrow. It’s tiring to sit at home unemployed. Yesterday, when I picked up a call from my friend, she pointed out how I answered on the first ring, saying it showed how ‘jobless’ I am. While I would usually argue that I picked up because I cared, and I did the same even when I had a job, at that moment, I kept quiet. I let her laugh triumphantly at my out-of-work condition.
I was on a call with another friend before lying down to sleep. She was laid off a few months ago when the start-up she worked for went bankrupt, and she is distressed that her job prospects are nonexistent. Her mother is giving her a tough time, and she wants to move out. Two weeks ago, she went home after having whiskey at my place in the afternoon, and her mother caught her drunk. The same day, before drinking, she had accidentally fallen off her scooter and hurt her foot. We thought the swelling would go down in a day and brushed it aside. A week ago, when she finally consulted a doctor, they recommended an X-ray. A fracture. Now her mother blames her for hitting herself while drunk. She couldn’t defend herself. She cries herself to sleep every day. If she doesn’t get a job soon, I am sure her situation at home will worsen. It is already bad enough at my house, having been unemployed for this long. I can only breathe freely because I am staying away from my family in this city. She doesn’t have that choice.
I reached for my mobile when the 6 AM alarm rang. I saw notifications from my apps wishing me: ‘A day of pride 🇮🇳: Happy Republic Day 🛺’, ‘🇮🇳 Republic Day Saving Parade is here! Enjoy exciting cashbacks and discounts on your favourite apps’, and ‘Happy Republic Day 🟠⚪🟢: Click here for tricolour fun’. The national anthem played when I clicked the latter. Should I close the app or stand at attention? Is anyone watching me? No, I am not anti-national. I love my country. Fifty-two seconds passed while I was lost in these thoughts.
I set my phone aside and washed my face. It’s a holiday today, so there isn’t much commotion outside. Usually, construction workers wait on the road outside my home from five in the morning until they are picked up in lorries. Today, I think they are on leave as well. Is it a paid holiday for them?
I decided to go have masala tea at Queen’s Chikmagalur Coffee. As I stepped onto the road, I saw sanitation workers busy with their duty. They held brooms in both hands, sweeping the roads swiftly. Dust was rising, and I coughed the moment I stepped out. These women bend their backs to sweep without masks, yet despite the dust, they never cough. It surprises me. What special immunity have their bodies acclimatised to because of the struggle to fill their stomachs? Can they hesitate when they have no other option? Can they protest for better working conditions? They know they are easily replaceable.
The first vehicle I saw after I covered my nose with my hand was a delivery partner rushing to deliver groceries. I remembered Goyal ji, the corporate giant who founded that delivery app, recently defending the fact that his ‘delivery partners’ work every day in the harshest conditions because they ‘love their jobs’. He also says that because of his app, the urban consumption class is, for the first time in history, coming into face-to-face contact with the working class. He claims that by looking at the pitiable conditions of the working class, the consumption class will feel guilty, motivating them to work for the progress of the poor. I couldn’t forget one quote he said: ‘Visibility is the price of progress’. Goyal is a modern Gandhi. I had completely forgotten the existence of poor, poverty and inequality before my delivery partner arrived. But I also forgot about it the moment I took the delivery. Perhaps I should order more to remind myself of the existence and conditions of the poor, so I can work for their progress. But for right now, I have to pay my rent, electricity bill, and the bank loan I took for my Master’s degree.
On my way to the coffee shop, I passed the park in my colony. I saw the aunties gathered together under the gazebo, laughing. Usually, I see them there at this hour only on midweek holidays. Not on Sundays, because they have to make elaborate meals. The whole street fills with the aroma of masalas on those days. For some reason, I recalled an old Telugu movie, Aadivaram Adavallaku Selavu (Sunday is a holiday for women). Towards the film’s climax, the lawyer, portrayed by Prakash Raj, passionately presents an argument regarding unpaid domestic labour performed by women, advocating for either a Sunday off or compensation for their household work. The movie ends with the judge declaring a holiday for women on Sunday, with husbands doing the chores. Reality is contrary. Finance Minister Nirmala Sitharaman will present the budget this year on the first of February, a Sunday. She has no holiday that day.
Budget! This reminds me that the government was explicitly making ‘Nari Shakti’ an agenda in their budget by allocating more toward women’s empowerment and employment every year. Allocation is fine, but what about the outcome? Are women getting more leisure? Are they getting the right compensation? Oh, I should stop thinking about this. I need my tea.
Finally, I reached the coffee shop, and thankfully, it was empty. Uncles were already having their filter coffee. I ordered my ‘premium queen’s masala tea’ and received it in a few minutes. I stood outside, sipping. Opposite me, a larger crowd gathered at Hotel Chalukya Samrat. The workers serving coffee and clearing cups wore tricolour scarves. There is a Kannada flagpole in front of it. It’s a sacred place for Kannadigas. Once, I placed my bag on the cemented platform around it, and the uncles immediately shouted at me to remove it. Today, to my surprise, the yellow-red Kannada flag was not flying. Instead, they had tied a tricolour flag, waiting to be unfurled. Who is going to unfurl it? How do I make sense of this?
Chalukya Samrat stands at the edge of a four-way junction. In the middle, a circle was formed by orange road delineators made of plastic. Usually, they are broken or bent by vehicles running over them, but today, perfectly new ones had been installed. A model of the Amar Jawan Jyoti was placed in the centre, showered with orange marigolds. People were taking selfies with it. Just then, an auto passed by with a tricolour flag tied to it. The flag was double the length of the vehicle. A proud Indian. I saw that the auto trampled a rat as it rushed to the other side of the road. Poor creature. Its insides were out. No one else seemed to notice, and vehicles continued to roll over it. All of a sudden, a black kite descended onto the road. The vehicles stopped the moment they saw it. It calmly picked up the remains of the rat and flew away. A few people watched the kite for a moment, then turned back to their coffee. Survival of the fittest.
After gulping down my tea, I walked home on a different route. A new cafe seemed to have opened on the next road, its entrance arched with pink and white balloons. A middle-aged woman passing by pushed her husband to pluck some for her. He pulled several for her with both hands. She looked elated. Suddenly, I thought of the plan my friend and I had to open a cafe in Kochi. He told me premium coffee hasn’t yet taken over Kerala and that it’s a good opportunity. Should I think about it more seriously? Ugh, I should get a job first.
On my way back, I passed a carpenter’s shop. He had opened earlier than usual and was making a wooden cradle. I wish well for the child who will be placed in it. Right next to it, a street dog was pooping in front of a gate with a sign: ‘If your dog poops, you scoop’. Whose dog is it, anyway?
I reached home just as an ambulance stopped at the hospital opposite my house. A pregnant woman in a black burqa, screaming with birth pangs, was taken inside on a stretcher. Tomorrow, I will likely see news about how these women are having more children to overtake my community, and how it’s the responsibility of the women of my community to produce more. Nari Shakti.
When I stepped inside my house, my phone pinged with a reminder for my college alumni meet today. I signed up a few days ago. I am sure my teachers and friends will inquire about what I am doing now. A friend told me he isn’t coming because he doesn’t want to return to college without having achieved anything. I tried to convince him then. Now, I have to convince myself. What should my answer be?
It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times- Ali Smith
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