I still can’t fathom how I gathered the guts to quit a well-paying job, about a year and more ago. I’d reached middle management level both at office and home, the age of my kids having crossed the single digit. Yet, I felt a void, a constant feeling that I am not doing the right thing. So, I took the most logical path and resigned my job.
The son is now in Class 10 and the daughter in Class 6. They are fairly independent beings, depending on me only for those mundane things they feel too lazy to do on their own. For example, the son would eat the banana and never bother to throw the peels in the dustbin, so I did that for him regularly. You see, I’ve time on my hands now! Similarly, the daughter would misplace her books, quite often — not that she studied regularly — and I would be the go-to person for her, at the last moment, that is, just before leaving for school, while arranging the books in her bag as per the timetable. “But Amma, you’ve enough time now,” she would say, if I protested.
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I had actually thought I would help the children in their studies; that I would teach them Math and English, at least for an hour every day; that we would spend time talking about interesting things happening around us; that I’d play badminton and tennis with them in the evenings and that we’d watch interesting programmes on TV together.
Too much of wishful thinking, right? What to do, I am a die-hard optimist. When I asked the son whether he needed any help in academics, he gave me a stunned expression. “I can manage,” he said, and tried to sound polite. However, his expression gave away his intentions. It conveyed to me in clear terms that he hated such intrusions.
The daughter too. She started correcting my accent and preferred talking to her friends on the phone for any doubts about lessons. There was no question of spending time together. The son liked the laptop more and the daughter, her tablet, and cosied up to them. Meanwhile I spent time cleaning cupboards or brushing away the dirt from the grill door.
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The same was the case with outdoor play. They preferred playing with each other and relegated me to the role of an umpire who should pronounce judgment in their favour.
When they reached home from school, I served them hot, nutritious food. When I was away at work earlier, they often ate cold lunches that I kept on the table before I left for office. When they scattered their clothes around, I folded and arranged them neatly. When they misplaced books, I searched and found them. When there was a late-stay at school, instead of worrying about who will bring them back home (as the school bus would not be available beyond normal hours), I picked them up. I ensured that they wore immaculate clothes and sparkling shoes. Now, I had the time even to worry about those little pimples that sprouted on the kids’ faces. When they missed classes, I ended up writing notes and record books. Though I disliked it initially, I ended up watching ‘Romedy’ and ‘National Geographic’ (instead of Hindi serials) with them.
These are some of the reasons that make me wonder whether I was right in quitting that cushy job. The other day, in a fit of despair, I let out my angst. “I’m not of much use to you,” I told my son. “Don’t you think it would’ve been better had I not quit the job?”
My son, who was busy tying his shoelaces, looked up. “But Amma, that feeling is priceless,” he said.
“Which feeling?” I yelled, ready to give vent to more of my desperation.
“That comforting feeling that you are there for us, always, is priceless,” he said, and rushed out to catch the school bus.
To lose around 75,000 bucks every month, for a ‘feeling’? Still, my son’s words melted away all the bitterness in me.
Maybe I did the right thing in quitting the job.
krianuradha@rediffmail.com