My
life seems to be a series of stepping backwards, or sideways, to move ahead. I
first stepped away from the rat race when I left what could have been a
lucrative job in software to start working in the development sector. Nine
years later, I have stepped aside again, to spend my time doing things that I
feel I would like to do – spend time with my mother, volunteer with NGOs doing meaningful work, catch up with friends, listen to music, do a lot
of quilting and crochet and read for the rest of the day. All this will of course
be interspersed with some household chores that don’t need mentioning, as those
get done anyway, with or without a career.
My
first day away from work, deciding to first finish off the ‘chores’ part of the
day, I walked into a supermarket to stock up on provisions at 10 in the
morning. The entire place felt strange, as the aisles were mostly empty. The
few customers were mostly senior citizens, some of them accompanied by a
middle-aged escort, and one or two young mothers, probably catching up on
chores in the gap between dropping a child off to school and picking them up
again. My first feeling when I saw the other customers was, ‘does this mean I
also have nothing more important to do in the morning? Am I making a mistake by
opting to not go to work?’
Then
I looked around at the huge store, at the shelves stacked with goods and the
relative silence that came with a music-less, announcement-free store.
The
attendants were all busy chatting while re-arranging the items on the shelves,
finding enough time to admire each other’s clothes and jewellery before the
day’s work picked up and kept them on their toes. In one corner, a group of
youngsters were familiarizing them with the offers for the day. ‘Remember, you
need to mention that there is a basket free with 2 kilos of apples’ was the
instruction given to one youngster who was nervously fiddling with a mike that
he would probably wield later in the day.
Until
a month ago, I had been travelling so often that the airport staff in my
hometown had become acquaintances, to the extent that one of them waved me away
when I reached for my ID proof at the entrance, saying "Don’t worry Madam, you are a regular
customer." The Priority Pass allowing me access to airport lounges had been
given the pride of place in my wallet. I
loved that life while it lasted, but now, as I tucked away the Priority Pass
into a remoter part of my wallet, and installed the Spencer member card in its
place, I realised that I definitely had a lot to look forward to, and life was
going to continue being wonderful.
