Will She Be Mine?

by Subir Banerjee

  Nursing my wounds of an unsuccessful love life, and the agony of being scathed in professional life in my very first job, I started applying to job vacancies in the private sector with mixed thoughts, and eventually landed my next job at an American office in Bangalore, Eleny, which was the offshore unit of a company manufacturing computers and operating system related software tools. With over sixty thousand employees worldwide it was enormous compared to my last organization which had had staff strength of just over five thousand.

  The person who interviewed me was my first boss in the private sector, called Ramesh. The interview was interesting and typical of many such interviews taking place in the information technology industry. The first change I noted was there were usually only one or two interviewers at every stage of the interview process in the private IT sector, unlike the gang of nomads milling around in government interview boards.

  However, interviews in a growing number of these private IT offices seldom judged a candidate's competency. Some of these encounters were more of a tussle the interviewer waged with his own self to prove himself more capable than the candidate he was interviewing. Such hiring managers took the liberty to frame questions based on browsing the net or gleaning jargon from overhearing others, but had no way of judging if the candidate's response was correct. Many such managers happened to be leaders in the industry.

  “You graduated quite a few years back,” Ramesh pointed out as my decisive interview began. “Any particular reason why you didn't take up a job immediately after graduation? I notice from your resume you joined your first job only two years back, at the government imaging department- after three years of graduation.”

  He had done the arithmetic well. I wanted to congratulate him on his mathematical ability, but focused on the question.

  “There were personal reasons,” I replied, trying to calculate his level of curiosity. The question sounded more like an icebreaker. I’d come across similar innocuous queries in a couple of my other interviews too in the private companies so far. "You might have noticed I did get a coveted marketing job at the campus right after graduation. Also, as you rightly said, I'm presently working at a prestigious government agency for about two years."

  In other words I’m not jobless. He nodded idly, easily diverted by my claims. He muttered the name of the company that had offered me the marketing job at graduation and searched my resume for the name. The guy must be daft. There was just one job on my resume so far, the one at the government imaging center. One didn't list offers in resumes, only showed tenures at the workplaces one had actually worked in.

  His eyes were big and glistened with curiosity but I could detect little by way of understanding in them. It didn't occur to him to ask why I didn’t join the marketing job I got at graduation or persist with my job at the government agency beyond a brief span of two years. Maybe he was simply not interested. His next question sounded equally aimless.

  "Are you the only son?"

  At first I felt lost. The question came out of the blue while I was engrossed in thinking how stupid he was. His query came a little early for an interview that had still not tested the candidate’s experience against the basic technical requirements specified in the job description.

  "I've a brother, and also a sister. Both married," I replied, trying to figure out the relevance, or direction, of his questions.

  I would have liked to go on and rant about Shalini as well. Only she wasn’t a member of my family yet. From the present appearance of things, it was extremely difficult to predict when she’d become one, though I hoped she’d think of me more favorably if I succeeded in treating her sister well. I hoped there wouldn’t be another relapse of the stupid fever like the last time, undoing all my efforts.

  "What does your brother do?"

  Crap! What had my brother's job to do with my prospective job?

  "He works for a book publisher."

  "Oh," Ramesh said disdainfully with a touch of superior air as if to say 'poor guy mustn't be earning much'. "And your father- is he working too?"

  Had we gathered to discuss my family tree? This guy needed to meet my family members one by one and check out their credentials for himself, about what each did, if he was so interested. He appeared more curious about their activities than in my abilities for performing the role we’d gathered to discuss. He seemed intent on whiling away time.

  "Yes," I nodded, not deeming it necessary to get into further details. "Do you have further questions?" I asked, clearing my throat, daring him to continue with his aimless quest. It didn't seem the guy had the guts to take affront.

  My question hung like a challenge in the silent room for an instant. Had I gone too far with my bravado? The question I’d asked usually fell in the domain of interviewers to ask the candidate towards the end of the interview after they were done.

  "Oh, yes, yes," he nodded vigorously. I was right. He showed no sense of affront. "Do you know the C language?" It seemed he’d suddenly remembered the technical requirements of the role for which I was being interviewed.

  "Yes, I've done programming in it,” I replied casually.

  That wasn’t entirely true. I’d read a few programs written in books and also typed out a few sitting in front of a shared computer terminal at the course I’d enrolled in Delhi prior to shifting to Bangalore. That was the extent of my knowledge in C. At my government job, I had mostly used FORTRAN for programming, but felt confident of grappling with any task thrown my way, in any programming language. The confidence was important. Looking at Ramesh's face, it only multiplied. I had picked up FORTRAN on the job and would do it again with C if the need arose. First I had to get the job.

  "Good," he said in an undecided tone. After a few more 'yes', 'no' type of innocuous questions, he embarked upon telling me a little about the company hiring me. He spoke with an air as if his father had set up the company and bequeathed it to him on a silver platter. As an afterthought I decided even the most doting of fathers wouldn’t make such a mistake.

  “Do you have a passport?” he asked at length, towards the end of the discussion.

  I shook my head. “I never went for one as I didn't want to go abroad for higher studies. That was the primary reason my friends at college got their passports made.”

  “Well, in this office, we frequently travel to the US on work, on business visa mostly. I'd advise you to get your passport ready at the earliest.”

  The outcome of the 'interview'? He hired me! I couldn't fathom the merit of his questions or how he divined my capabilities or lack of them from the number of kids my brother had, or how old my father was and whether I knew C. He didn't challenge my knowledge of C at any time and took for granted whatever I claimed. Why did he hire me? There was no connection between his questions in the interview, the job description and my programming abilities.

  I’d pegged him slightly wrong. Had it been his father's company he might have worried a little about its losses and scrutinized candidates more closely. The scene was infinitely better. He had no worries. His work experience boasted of big brands like Eleny. The demand for resources was overpowering in the burgeoning IT industry in the country. He could simply walk into another job at will if things went bad for him at his present job.

  Anyway, I was happy with the offered salary. It was three times what I got at the imaging center. In retrospect, I felt I’d been a beggar so far and felt bad for the rest of my friends who were still stuck in the rot in my previous organization.

  Before I left the government organization, Dwapayanan threatened me in indirect terms that people who left defense organizations to work for private companies sometimes got slapped with breach of confidentiality law suites.

  I laughed. “My aunty is in the union cabinet,” I said airily. “You must have heard of Mrs. Kumar?”

  He wasn’t entirely sure whether to believe me or challenge me. Would an MSITian bluff? There was indeed a Mrs. Kumar in the union cabinet of ministers at that time, though
she was in no way related to me. But he didn’t know that. He played it safe and tried a different approach.

  “Private jobs have no security,” he said disdainfully. “If you stay with me, I promise to promote you every year. Your career growth under me will be unprecedented. Plus, you’d get a chance to do your PhD.”

  I was unmoved by his promises. It was the government sector and even I wasn’t such a fool as to believe my boss could override all processes to promote me on an annual basis. It didn’t happen to someone like me who belonged to the general category. My first promotion after a year had been a provision allowed by the existing processes that Ananthkrishnan had foretold in advance when I joined, to move me from an ungazetted to a gazetted post. But it wasn’t an annual process to be repeated for every post. Anyway, Dwapayanan wasn’t about to give up. He proceeded to try from a different angle.

  “Do you think we get no offers from the private sector?” he asked. “I personally receive feelers from private players from time to time, but I know of people smarter than either of us who lost their jobs without notice in the private sector.”

  I had a faint smile in my eyes as he spoke. He was quick to detect the mirth on my face and intensified his attack.

  “You're not yet married. Think how embarrassing it would be for you if you got fired from a private job after marriage. It would hurt your family and parents and also embarrass you in the eyes of your in-laws. It’s difficult to live a life of uncertainty which the private sector presents.”

  “I’ve no such fears,” I said at last with a carefree air, determined to thwart all his attempts to demoralize me. “The department I'm joining in the private company is headed by my maternal uncle- my mother's brother.”

  He felt quite lost now. If he disbelieved me, it didn't show on his face. Suddenly the hardworking boy who finished his official assignments well in time claimed to possess powerful relatives at every place where it mattered- one of whom was in the union cabinet of ministers while another headed an organization in a private company. I hardly cared what he thought as long as I got away from him in one piece.

  My college friend, Saurabh Pal, or PS as I called him, visited India around this time for his sister’s wedding. He had earlier written me a letter at my Delhi address which I asked father to read out over phone. It was still the age of snail mail. In his letter he provided me his father’s India phone number where he’d stay during the trip. I counted the days for his arrival and accordingly called him up a few days later.

  It was a good get together, although over phone. His father stayed in Kolkata, close to the Eastern boundary of the country, whereas I was posted in Bangalore, closer to the southern tip. He could have flown down to meet me, but perhaps didn’t have the time, or feel the need. On the other hand I couldn’t afford a weeklong trip to visit him by train, since I couldn’t afford the faster mode of air travel. In India, train travel had always been by far cheaper than air, though it took over 24 hours to travel one way to where his father stayed compared to three hours by plane.

  Among the other things we discussed, he proudly mentioned some of his escapades with women in the US as proof of his masculine prowess, starting with someone called Kathy. Only I seemed to be lagging behind on all fronts in life. I made a mental note. I had to pick up speed fast. We talked just once as he left India soon after, providing me with his US telephone number and also his email id. I didn’t have my personal email id yet, but had the option of creating a free id on the internet to keep in touch with friends like him. On his next trip to India he promised to meet me, wherever I happened to be. It was prohibitively expensive in those days to call the US from India, so he said not to worry. He’d call me from there whenever I got my own telephone.

  I’d soon get one, I decided. It was time to move up the value chain in life. After serving my notice period at the imaging organization, I happily bid my colleagues good bye to join my ‘maternal uncle’ in the private sector. With a chuckle I wondered if my mother’s brother had ever seen the insides of an office. He was a farmer by profession.

  It was my first opportunity to work in a multinational company. I remembered Shalini had started working at a multinational bank quite a while back. This was where the money lay, though I was way back in the queue.

  My new office’s central hall was impressive and a refreshing change from my last job. In contrast to the dingy confines of my previous office, this one was entirely air conditioned and well lit, spread across four floors with a terrace at the top. The hall in each floor was divided into small cubicles less than 5 feet high. Each cubicle seated four. The managers had a row of differently sized cubicles to themselves, each seating one. Their cabins also had windows with hinges that could be opened to let in fresh air if one so desired.

  This arrangement of traditional windows with hinges that could be opened to let in fresh air was something I never again saw in the other centrally air conditioned offices in my later years in the IT industry. The latter offices were all like tombs, though air conditioned. A quick lookup in the net reported modern offices to be precisely that- no better than airtight tombs, with sealed glass panes passing for windows, sometimes causing breathing problems to occupants who sat for prolonged hours, due to unclean air filters, clogged ducts and air exchangers.

  I thus joined my first private sector job at Bangalore, but continued keeping tabs on Shalini as closely as I could. I called up her house shortly after and luckily she was at home to take my call this time.

  “I heard Ragini’s better,” I said, keeping my fingers crossed.

  “Her fever’s gone,” she replied to my delight. “Your medicine worked like a charm this time, doctor, though it took a while to act.”

  “Anyway, better late than never. It’s a relief,” I said honestly, hoping the experience would promote me in her eyes. “I’ve good news too. I recently changed my job.”

  “Joined a hospital this time, did you, doc?”

  She sounded as if she was smiling upon hearing the news of my job hopping, possibly out of relief that she’d remain in Delhi, peacefully devoted to her job while I’d continue far away in Bangalore, messing up other people’s lives. She didn’t discuss her sister’s illness any further or my contribution to curing her. She didn’t ask why I had looked up my new job in Bangalore instead of scouting companies in Delhi. It seemed like she just didn’t care.

  It was disheartening, unless I was imagining things. She’d said nothing explicitly to indicate her lack of interest in my activities, but somehow her careless attitude pulled me down. She didn’t even ask when I’d visit Delhi next or showed any eagerness to meet me. As far as she seemed concerned the episode of her sister’s illness was a closed chapter. She’d probably soon forget my role in the matter too.

  I felt dismayed, reliving again the rejections I’d encountered at her hands when she turned down my various proposals for marriage. Nothing much seemed to have changed since then. Then what had she meant by saying I didn’t earn when I proposed to her the last time? I’d assumed it was a hint for me to start earning before proposing- that she was otherwise agreeable to my proposal, and would wait for me. I sighed. Maybe, I’d misunderstood. She wasn’t the waiting type, being too practical and worldly wise. There was no solution in sight to my hankering. Perhaps, it was time to put my hallucinations behind and try to get over her. She had rightly said outside her training institute that I shouldn’t cry over her- but I didn’t know how to do it in practice?

  I sometimes suspected she was far too mature for me, and perhaps better grounded in reality too. She also got a fatter purse for her efforts at her banking job than I’d managed in either of my two jobs so far. Comparisons never cease with humans, especially the inane curiosity to know how much the other person earns. I considered it an uncivilized trait and usually restricted my curiosity to my boss's salary- when I deemed him less competent than me- which, unfortunately, was often the case.

  At Bangalore, I pushed my way into crowded
buses to reach my new workplace in the mornings. In the evenings, while returning from office, I didn't mind the sweat. But the mornings got messy. I didn't like reaching the office drenched, spending the next few hours in a sticky, wet shirt, waiting for it to dry in the air conditioned atmosphere.

  Bangalore was slowly getting crammed with IT offices in the 90’s and started drawing hoards of workers from other states as well. At present, people from other countries also travel to this city for jobs. Like most other states, Bangalore's masters never planned roads for the growing traffic. That way, modern cities in the country had a way of growing accidentally, without planning or foresight. At a certain point in any such city’s prosperity that flourishing companies brought, the rulers often took the opportunity to join hands with builders in a nexus to mint money in the name of development. Few thought of the masses beyond paying them lip service.

  The result was miles of traffic jams and sweat. AC in the cars brought little respite. Such transient comforts were fast outlived by the perennial hardships. I once read in the newspaper of a businessman having a heart attack while waiting for his turn to clear the traffic lights. But I was young with no such fears. There was an entire future waiting for me.

  Ramesh had told me during the interview to keep a passport ready, so I applied for one and learned that the application procedure included police verification at the address I resided.

  On a Saturday, a policeman turned up and rang the doorbell at my apartment. When I opened the door, he stared at me from head to toe as if I was an entity from outer space.

  “Rajat Kumar?” he asked at last.

  I nodded, quickly flashing my driving license.

  He turned it over and handed it back unimpressed. “It has a Delhi address,” he said as if it were a crime, and looked around. Then his gaze returned to rest on me superciliously, as though I was dumb and unintelligent to fail to understand his hints. “It’s sunny outside and I'm thirsty,” he said.