Dear Reader,
This is the second post in the "Welcoming Christmas... In a T-shirt" series. To help you with the continuity, you could refer to Post 1
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That first week was merciless. With work making us travel
the length of the city, and brokers making up for the breadth, my head was a
cacophonous haven for all the taunts and warnings I’d ever been subjected to: “Jab naukri karne lagoge, tab aate dal ka
bhaav maloom hoga.” “Ghar pe rehti hai toh ek ungli bhi nahi hilati. Akele
rahegi tab pata lagega.” “Jab khud paise kamaoge, tab uski asli keemat pata
lagegi.” I’m sure some of you are smirking as you read this. And why not?
Every Indian parent has this book titled “Cutting Remarks That Will Stick: How
to Deliver for Maximum Impact”. Maybe I missed out on the book meant for the
kids.
Day by day, house by house, building by building, my hopes
of ever finding a home in this maze they call Mumbai diminished. What increased
was a heart-felt dislike for its roads, buildings, cars, people, noise, air,
being. Yet, to be fair, between sessions of cursing the company for not
providing us with accommodation and cursing the Gods (who wouldn’t listen) for
putting me in this situation, I did see sparks of kindness and genuine concern.
They might come in the form of a broker’s contact shared by a colleague, or a
half-day leave sanctioned for house-hunting. In those days when brokerage and
rent agreements were all that I would dream of, even such random acts held
great significance.
What really confounded me however, were the “systems” or
“policies” or “guidelines.” The systems forbade the Company from providing us
with accommodation, the policies (unwritten/unpublished then) deemed any
practical solution to our housing problem as unethical, and the guidelines, I
suspect, were guiding the interest of a select few. Even in that chaos, I
couldn’t help but wonder how systems completely take logical and humane thought
out of the equation. In the system, I am reduced to a number… employee number,
candidate number, case number, patient number, registration number, marks you
got on a subject. You, dear reader, might be smarter and might have realized
this earlier, but it hit me real hard how I’ve always been only a number. It
started right from the time the youngest edition of me was just released in the
world’s markets: Baby Number.
Moment you open your eyes and let out that blood-curdling
wail as newborns do, you’re tagged with a number. The number deems
insignificant everything that defines you as an individual. And when that
individuality is lost, what motivates the person processing these numbers to
give his best? To try and see context? To try and see how each number is unique
in its own right? You guessed it right… precisely Nothing. And hence, public
apathy is born.
**Personally though, I would want to see how China’s Social
Credit System pans out. That, after all, is the ultimate system ruled by
numbers and rankings**
Enough ranting about systems though. What’s important is
that despite the world’s evil plans to make us sleep on the pavement, we
managed to find a place we could call home. It stood proud and tall at the top
of a not-so-tall building in the middle of a just-a-little swanky neighborhood.
All things said, it was a place we instantly fell in love with. And this is
where, with drum-rolls, I introduce my flat mates. Two ladies, each so different
from the other, yet beautifully similar. One that loves make-up, the other that
believes in natural beauty. One that dances with only very special people, the
other that usually leads on the dance floor. One that isn’t interested in gossip,
the other that has the scoop on everyone’s lives.
Mind you, this was also my first time living in such close
confinement with specimens of my own gender. Things were bound to get
interesting!
**The girl, who had been busy typing on the laptop, looks up
from it and directly into the camera. She can’t help but wink to the world.
Well ok, it might not be as good as Priya Prakash Varrier, but it is good
enough to convey the message. Screen turns black, focusing on her and the wink,
Bugs Bunny style**
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