The carefree college days just flew away. Suddenly it was the day of reckoning. A believer in fate, I never bothered to plan--especially for this unpalatable occasion. But when classmates started disappearing and only phoned to tell how busy they were in their careers, life lost its charm. Time hung heavy on me—but I was helpless. An introvert to the core, I fared extremely poor in public relations. Public relation is a key factor in employment sector of the state I belong to. Friends suggested few names. But the very prospect of meeting the ‘Bosses’ for job recommendations dampened my spirit. Cursing my fate, I sat idle doing nothing to change it till the inertia of rest was broken by destiny.

In the university canteen which I kept visiting even after the results were out I met Jasmina- a senior.  She told me that a college of Karnataka had vacancy for a teacher that would suit my qualification. Sending a biodata was the only requirement. The temptation was great.  Well, I didn’t have any great affinity for the noble profession. Till then, most my waking hours was spent with heroes and heroines   of novels and movies.  The residual amount left for academics just allowed me to scrape through the exams. I was dead nervous. But when I expressed it publicly, Jasmina had sent an inspiring note.

“Don’t worry. Degree is essential knowledge is not. Once  a teacher, nobody will test your knowledge. Moreover, what are those yellow pages for?”

 So overcoming my doubts, I got ready for the challenge. Ma tried to dissuade me but when she understood that was the only possibility for her daughter to become a workingwoman she became team. Opposition came from unexpected quarters. Untimely flood severed the North- South link and railways had to give us full refund of our tickets. But I persisted. Once the link was restored Ma and I started for our ignoring suggestions of most our relatives.

The long 48-hour jour journey with a change of train in between was less than encouraging but Ma faced it bravely. But as the auto jerked and jolted us to our destination on bumpy uneven roads surrounded by barren hillocks, there were visible signs of nervousness in her face. We had entered a totally unknown territory. Communication was tough. I spoke Benglish whereas Ma spoke only her mother tongue—Bengali. She believed Bengali being such a sweet language should be understandable to at least a few. Alas! The reality was quite the opposite. Even I had to repeat my Benglish at least three times before the Southies got any meaning out of it.

After joining the job, I fixed a support system for myself within the new working atmosphere, but my struggles were far from over.  Displaying the spirit of an independent woman, I had tried to dissuade Ma from accompanying me but the first few days in Raichur made me realize the utility of her presence. People of that small town were comfortable with the concept of an earning woman, but were not at ease with the idea of her staying and roaming single. They were not so comfortable with the idea of two ladies   staying in a hotel without any male guardian.

 Ma kept swaying like a pendulum. At nights, when the hot-spicy vegetarian meal brought tears to her eyes, she wanted to go back.  But when the hotel manager greeted her with a forehead dabbed in sandal paste in the morning, she was overwhelmed with the display of devotion and chivalry. However one afternoon when we had gone for a stroll in the city, her opinion had showed a strong negative shift. The very sight of the roadside liquor shops had terrified her soul. An avid reader of Bengali novels, she had conceded the privilege to the romantic broken-hearts but to accept it as a part of normal life was something beyond her. Her aversions had turned to horror when one day, an employee of the hotel emboldened by the liquor made a small romantic advance towards me. She ordered me to pack up and requested the manager to procure us the return tickets for Calcutta.  Finally, the kind hotel manager came to my rescue. He fixed a resourceful man to help us find a safe accommodation near my working place.

 The house, the broker had taken us to, looked like a fort from outside but the interior was   beautiful. Later, I learnt, the owner had to compromise on esthetics under compulsion.  The real purpose of the sturdy boundary wall and multiple collapsible gates was to buy time from the ill-mannered income-tax officials who once visited the place without proper permission. The one room suite offered for rent, caught my mother’s fancy as it looked protected within the mansion but had the facilities to function independently. House owner had built it for his eldest son with special care and he was to occupy it after marriage. In the meantime, the father did not mind giving it rent as “Laxmi — the restless Goddess of wealth showers blessings only to those who use the resources with due respect.”

It was a tough interview.  Salvo of questions about our caste, income, food habits and marital status were fired. Like Ma, the house owner spoke only his mother tongue. They assessed each other from the external appearances while broker with his broken English and fluent Kannada ran the show.  Much later when I had gained knowledge in the local tongue and developed some rapport with the ladies of the house I learnt that he had played a much bigger role in my life than I had given him credit for. That day he had described my mother as a wealthy lady, who did not wear costly silk to mislead the thieves and deceptive individuals. Without batting an eyelid he got me engaged with an imaginary cousin, who was enrolled for a medical degree in some unknown western country. But when my marital status showed no signs of change, I had to answer lot of questions about those intentions of that aspirant Medic.  There was only one way to cut it short. With a heavy heart, I made him fail in his examinations and repeat the course!

But that day the broker was my savior. Thanks to his ingenuity and Ma’s chaperoning, I was accepted as tenant.   After of trial period of one month when I dropped Ma back to Calcutta, they had already accepted me an innocuous weird appendage of their aristocratic household.

 The few days at Calcutta were well used.  Losing no time I started calling the friends and telling them how desperately I wanted to see them but was unable to do so because of the busy work schedule. They congratulated me on my phenomenal achievement and made time to meet me. Ruma went a step further .She wanted to visit the place.

Ruma was the    elite in our group.  Born in London she had spent the first six years of her life there. Ironically the foreign–born Indian girl had suffered the worst humiliation for dark complexion in her own country, once her parents had started the looking for a suitable son-in-law.  Her father was a reputed scientist. The proud man never subscribed to the “institute of corruption.” He had donned many influential positions but could not put them to use for betterment of bank balance. But his pride was shattered when one after another family rejected his first born on frivolous grounds. He had failed to cover her lack of fairness with a hefty dowry. In Ruma’s birth-chart the planet of India must have occupied an inferior position. Here she was afflicted with asthma that could be controlled through steroids. Mighty West Bengal board had awarded her a second division certificate in higher secondary examination though her teachers rated her brilliant. Ruma was bitter with the “Great Indian Civilization” and was trying for USA. So when she wanted to pay homage to the amazing place that accommodated an influence-less single woman from a different linguistic territory in its employment network, I was more than eager to accommodate her. Her parents were worried about the asthmatic girl traveling in dusty sleeper class compartment but none had the heart to stop her.

 I was a born introvert. Initially, my world was restricted to my college campus. Little did I realize that Runa had come with a mission; to see me established with due social importance. So losing no time she started working on my immediate neighbor—the house-owners family.  Armed with her powerful Hinglish, she attacked the younger generation and tried to impress them about the simple looking geniuses who happened to be staying in the very household as their tenant.

Alas!  The ladies of the business family were not interested in either the scientific world where her father was an authority or the important US scholarships for which Ruma was an applicant. Only the anchors TV shows   and actors of soap operas aroused their interest. Desperate, Ruma decided to go the Roman way.

  One afternoon when she was resting in the comparative comfort of their drawing room suddenly her cognitive prowess became hyperactive. Stopping the casual chit chat she became deeply engrossed in observing TV show. When the show was over, she casually announced that it was her father before the TV camera conducting the session. Around evening when I came back from college, I found the atmosphere changed. There was new respect for the ordinary girl who had an uncle influential enough to be on TV. Suddenly we were real people with direct link from the dream world.

Ruma left shortly after to attend an interview for a US scholarship. She did not have the time to introduce me to her media-savvy father. But queries about my VIP uncle continued.  I stayed in that house for seven long years. Later I picked up the language and the family accepted me on my own right. But I never visited them during their regular TV hours, lest my VIP uncle appeared on screen and his dear niece failed to recognize him.  

NB-- yellow pages are lecture notes yellowed with age.