About the Book

Ambuja is darting around the kitchen, chopping, mixing and juicing. She is cooking in a rush, simultaneously making breakfast, lunch and snacks for the five members of her family. Masala chai is brewing in a large pan, to be ladled out to people as and when they ask for it. She remembers that the washing machine needs to be switched on if the washed clothes are to be hung out to dry in the next thirty minutes and she runs to the service area. Her son, Sonu, is playing in the yard and Ambuja’s eyes dart to the clock—it is almost 8 a.m. and she must get him ready for school. The school van will shortly arrive and if Sonu is late, the van driver (and the other parents) will give her an earful in person and on the Mommy WhatsApp group. Her parents-in-law are sitting on the veranda, their calmness in striking contrast to Ambu’s frenzy. They are variously reading a newspaper and stringing some flowers.

She is particularly in a hurry today because she plans to attend a job interview. After a five-year break, Ambu, who used to be a programmer for a leading IT product company, is planning to return to work. Securing the acceptance of all her family members, she has spruced up her CV, spoken to a few former colleagues to understand the latest trends and applied to several job postings. One company has responded and she is thrilled to stand a chance. She has planned her outfit, requested the local autowallah to pick her up at 9 a.m. and also arranged for her friend to manage Sonu after school. She’s almost done preparing lunch, as she woke up at 5 a.m. to ensure that there would be no compromise with regard to her family’s lunch during her absence. She is now filling a thermos with tea for her father-in-law’s mid-morning cup and the fruits are washed and cut for her mother-in-law.

‘Is my breakfast ready?’ asks Dev, her husband, as he peeps into the kitchen, his eyes sweeping over the maze of vessels, semi-cooked dishes and vegetable peels overflowing the counters. He has promised to clean up the kitchen after she leaves and seems to be assessing the extent of the work. ‘One second,’ says Ambu, as she piles the poha she has made onto a plate and begins chopping onions to layer over them. She could have avoided the onions today, but then poha itself was considered a ‘lazy’ breakfast and if she cut corners even with this, she would have an argument to tackle. As she hands over the plate, she hears Sonu wailing. She rushes out to find that Sonu has hurt his elbow on the corner of the table and, in the process, spilled his glass of milk onto his uniform. There is no time to chastise him today, she tells herself, and she runs to the cupboard to fetch another pair of clothes. Hearing the commotion, her father-in-law walks in and begins calming Sonu.

As Dev emerges in his dish-washing apron with a pan and scrubber in his hand and fusses around Sonu, Ambu’s mother-in-law leaves the half-finished string of flowers and proceeds to assist in getting the little boy into the new uniform. As she starts feeding him, Ambu’s father-in-law also joins him at the breakfast table. Ambu begins serving him the poha, along with a mint chutney and pickle. The school van has arrived. The driver honks and then honks again, impatiently, registering the added minutes. Ambu sweeps up Sonu along with his bag and hands him into the extended arms of the van conductor, who shuts the door with an extra loud thud.

Ambu then recognizes the rumble of hunger in her own stomach and realizes that she has not had anything to eat or drink since she woke up. Quickly having a few spoonsful of the poha, which she downs with a glass of buttermilk, Ambu hurries to the bedroom to change when she overhears snatches of a conversation. ‘Such unwanted stress on the whole family!’ ‘What is the need for her to work? Isn’t Dev earning enough already? It is not as if we are poor.’ ‘We all rushed around and finished things today but is this what we have to do every day?’ ‘I thought after Sonu’s birth she would become a housewife.’ ‘Educating girls these days is a challenge—they become obsessed with their careers.’ ‘I am unable to understand this concept of a career for women. Who is putting these thoughts in her head? This poor fellow has to wash dishes now.’ ‘In our days, women would be the pillar of the family, helping everyone—today, everything is upside down, everyone has to help her.’ ‘Women’s careers—is that even a thing?’

Ambu sits down on the bed, her heart heavy with sadness. ‘Women’s careers—is that even a thing?’ she reflects. I refer to this situation as the ‘entoptic phenomenon’ of women’s issues. Have you noticed tiny, squiggly, floating substances when you look at the blue sky or bright light? The visual experience resulting from the interaction of light with your retina causes the floating spots and is termed the entoptic phenomenon. Those images are created internally; they are not external objects. They exist only for you. And what I see is different from what you see. Even if you and I stood in the exact same position and looked at the light from the very same angle, the way light is processed within my retina is different from how you see it. My squiggly figures are different from yours. In the exact same way, the problems that a woman like Ambu—educated, well-informed, possessing the relevant skills, yet unable to carve a space for herself—perceives in her career are entoptic and unique to her. India’s history, societal views, family values, the woman’s own experience, the point of time in India’s history and the economic development that she finds herself in—all of these determine the entoptic career she witnesses. You or I will not be able to see the same thing. Her career is indeed a ‘thing’ and this book attempts to see how her career ailments can be resolved.