4. MOVING TO THE JUMPING BOARD (YEAR 1970)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 4 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book from Chapter 01 onwards.

It was the summer of 1970, and the afternoon was hot. The mercury was soaring high, and the usual crowd on the roads of Lucknow, the City of Nawabs, had disappeared. The rickshaw pullers had parked their rickshaws on the roadside under the trees and were taking a much-needed nap.

I started from the Lucknow University campus, riding my bicycle leisurely. The scorching sun and the unusually high temperature had no effect on me, and I was enjoying the ride. The usual sense of urgency was missing that day, and I hummed a song as I cycled back. There was no hurry to reach home. I was returning from university after writing the last paper for the post-graduation examination. Since this was the last paper, a weight had lifted off my head, and a pleasant feeling of liberation had set in.

I reached home, opened the gate and put my bicycle on the stand. From the window, I could see my father concentrating on some official papers while seated in the living room. It was the second Saturday of the month and a holiday, but he was busy with his official files.

As I entered the room, without lifting his eyes from the file he was reading, he asked, “How was your exam?"

“Easy! Everything that I had prepared particularly well came in the question paper," I replied excitedly, as I had written the answers exceptionally well.

“This was your last examination, right? Good! What do you plan to do now?” He put down the file he was reading, raised his head, removed his reading glasses, and leaned back on the easy chair, still holding his Parker fountain pen.

“I have not thought about it, Papa. Right now, the only thing I can think of is catching up on some sleep,” I suddenly felt exhausted. Keeping awake night after night and studying hard for the MA examination had left me sleep-starved for weeks, and I yearned for some rest.

“Why not join Varma Institute for typing and shorthand classes during the summer vacation?” He suggested in his usual sombre style that came with years of working in the civil services.

“Papa, I am not going to become a typist. I will have a stenographer taking dictations from me when I take up a job,” I sounded conceited.

Among all my siblings, I was the only one who could take such liberties with him. He looked at me and smiled indulgently. He knew his daughter well and was aware of his ambitions for her.

“Hmmm…. In that case, how about enrolling for a PhD?”

“No, Papa, please. No PhD for me. I think I have studied enough. I want to take up a job now,” my tone was a little firm.

Trying to change the subject, I quickly said, “Papa, would you like to have coffee? I am going to brew some for me.”

Without waiting for an answer, I rushed to the kitchen.

I was weary of proving myself continuously year after year, and now wished to break free from the shackles of books and studies. Little did I realize then that the need to prove had become an indelible part of my life script and was going to trail me all along my life

Triggered by the dialogue with my father, I prepared an Employment Look-out Register and started scanning newspapers daily. The job market was in a total slump and provided few job opportunities for a twenty-year-old post-graduate. Undeterred by the unfavourable employment scenario, I started sending applications wherever I saw an opening. The advertisement was neatly cut and pasted in the register and, details of the applications were meticulously noted in the register.

Sooner than anyone in the family had expected, I started receiving interview calls from various degree colleges in far-off small towns. The first interview call was from a post-graduate college in Ambala, but my father did not allow me to go there. This was the college that had given him his first job as lecturer in Economics Department way back in 1946. 

There were a few other calls too, but my parents would not agree to let me go to those places in the hinterland of Uttar Pradesh. They were not against my working there but were worried about my safety and security. Unlike me, they knew the hazards of a young single woman staying alone in a backward town.

Finally, there was an interview call from Dayanand Women Training College in Dehra Dun for the post of lecturer in Political Science, which my parents allowed me to attend mainly because his elder brother lived there and I could stay with them.

Without losing a moment, I pedalled to Charbagh Railway Station on my bike to book my train tickets for Dehra Dun.

(To be continued.....)