Skip to main content

J's Coming

Eleven years too late to log this.. I must written this the Feb 2001. Seems like a past life..and in a sense it was. This is meant to be my "return gift" to J for Mother's Day. As every year, she is getting anxious about getting me the perfect gift can't imagine what would be perfect enough.

I was getting used to having the magic inside me, the daily wonder, deep emotional stirrings unlike anything I had ever felt before. In the meanwhile a more material business of looking for a new job was at hand. The interview was a little different this time. A recruiter met me for lunch at the Red Bull Steakhouse – the nearest place from my work. And then a couple of phone interviews though the company was local. I was a little surprised. I was made an offer even before I had a chance to see the premises. R and I decided to drive down to the address (which was a seedy part of town) before accepting it. We drove down Smallman Street which is lined with old unused factory sheds to get there. The bars and pubs along the way were getting ready for the evening’s business. A general sense of gloom if not spookiness overtook as darkness gathered apace at sunset. We reached our address after circling around the block a couple of times to find a place to park.

My new office was this beat up colorless building that looked very little like the corporate America I had seen thus far. The company had started out from a woman’s bedroom a few years ago and then moved to here – a residential area that was now being converted to house small businesses. R was rather skeptical about the deal and asked me to think hard if I really wanted this.

Only a few days ago I had interviewed at a swank office on Fifth Avenue – the woman seemed very distracted and confused. The interview was more like a chat about life's vagaries hers and mine and how her whole world was thrown out of gear when her car had to be sent to a garage after meeting with a major accident.

Apparently with all the snow storms many cars were damaged and they were all lined up waiting their turn at the machine that would fix them. Our friend was a late entry on the accident scene and was assigned at the tail end of the queue. She wore this big diamond ring and some other interesting jewelry and I spent my time invaluably contemplating the intricacies of the designs.

The contrast was appalling but one factor decided me. I would be working from home three days in a week. I could not ask for more with my overpowering morning sickness, I could have killed for those few extra hours in bed. My body begged for rest. It seemed a God-sent proposition and I accepted without the slightest hesitation. After five years of quitting jobs whenever I so fancied , here I was at last, wishing to stay on at this one for ever and ever. What a few hours of bonus sleep can do for worker motivation is amazing.
We had in the meanwhile started these little apartment hunting excursions that took us all over the burbs. Beautiful journeys but not very exciting destinations. We hardly ever liked what we saw. It is an old city where people come to settle down. Homes are easier to come by than apartments are. The floating population is quite minimal. We had made a conscious decision to stay on in the North Hills as we loved the place and its conveniences.

That narrowed our choice to just a few apartment communities – most of which we had seen when we first came to here. However, on Saturday afternoons we drove down to check out the possibilities and came back almost resolved to stay on at the Oaks. It was a decision that we were not too unhappy about but we still hoped to make it elsewhere by Fall when my parents would visit me and the most important person in my whole world would come into my life. I wanted to do something new and different for the homecoming of that special someone.

Comments

Anonymous said…
A lovely nostalgic post and what a sweet "return gift". 11 is a wonderful age, my youngest daughter is 11 too.

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...

Changing Pace

This blog has been a big part of my life for the last five years. Besides giving me the opportunity to connect with a number of interesting people and share my thoughts and ideas with them, it has been a form of daily meditation for me. No matter what the day threw my way, I made a very deliberate effort to find a little quiet time to write.The process of thinking about what to write and then the act of writing itself worked as an antidote to aggravations big and small. Five and half years ago, when I started Heartcrossings both my personal and professional lives left a lot to be desired for. The only real happiness I had was in being J's mother. While that was often enough to make me forget what I did not have, I sorely needed a third place to call my own and shape in the likeness of my dreams. This blog has been where there were no limits or constraints and that was absolutely exhilarating - it is the reason I have been able to nurture it for as long and as much as I have. A lot ...