a year later

This time last year I was hunting for work desperately. The whole process was made so much more difficult because of the hazaar restrictions I had. No corporate job. Only NGO. Not too far. Must be in a recognized place. Should accept me with my bizarre background and lack of experience. Should preferably be a communications based job. Should preferably be counselling…

After hunting and a lot of thinking, I narrowed the options to 3 NGOs I’d heard of. I got picked by one. My mother was dubious about the work I had chosen. “Are you sure you want to do this? You maybe biting off more than you can chew…. Supposing listening to all these depressed people brings back your troubles? You have just found your peace of mind – this may push you back into turmoil. Think carefully.” My father said “Chee! Enna vellai idhu! I can get you a nice job in ____ uncle’s office. Why do you want to do this kanna? It’ll be so depressing! Again you’ll feel upset. Why don’t you take up marketing? You like that so much…”

(I am sure most of you too would have been through that phase in life where you are very disillusioned with the world around you, where you ask some very basic and simple questions and are deeply disturbed by the absence of answers. I had just been through my own ideology crisis and was stabilizing slowly.) I thought hard after the conversation with my parents. Oh, how much I worried! Was I being a pseudo toughie? (Or much worse, a martyr?) Was I “askin’ for it”? Was my reasoning sound, or was it warped? Other than falling apart again… would I harm someone else? How would I justify this sort of job to my next organization or college? What rationale did I have? What do I think about sex? About life? About living and dying? About god? About counselling?

Once I had answers to my questions and was about as sure of my motives as I could be, I told them my decision. I was going ahead. After that they were completely supportive about the job I had chosen. They did not question my need for doing it again. So started one of the weirdest phases of my life! I was talking about sex nonstop from 930 am to 530 pm, and some days at home with my sister in the evenings as well. (Mind you, even in school and college, I was never too interested in the topic but a week of orientation had me rattling off the terms and slang fluently! :-)) My parents would listen but quietly go their way whenever they chanced to hear us tossing ideas about women, men, sex, ethical dilemmas, feminist theories, Hinduism, violence against women... They never interrupted us with inane “why are you talking about these things” sort of rebukes. At worst they were silent, at best they would join us.

I resolved that my parents should know what I was up to (like they had always upto then). I faithfully told them the day I did my first condom demonstration. My father laughed disbelievingly when I told him I had gone to ___ Bank (an international one) for a HIV awareness program, and did a condom demo for a roomful of 30 year olds. “You? They had to be told these things by a pipsqueak like you? Ha ha ha!” My mother listened interestedly to the questions they had asked… the ideas I had and what I had learnt about them from their questions that I couldn’t voice then, but was slowly working my way through at home. Talk about cool open-minded parents! :-)

They asked if I wanted to shift only twice after that. The first was when I shifted next to the laboratory, where they cultured different bacteria and handled the infected blood. I had just explained how I found it spooky to learn about the blood borne pathogens and precautions we had to take in that wing. That worried them rather a bit! The second time was when this nice offer came along… someone held out a juicy carrot and beckoned. Good pay, nice workplace (- and no sick people!). But since the stubborn mule that doubled as their daughter refused to consider it, they dropped the matter.

I’ve seen many dirty things the last one year. I’ve felt awfully helpless. I’ve seen some terrific and terrible people. I’ve learned SO much about some strange things. Had access to resources I didn’t know existed? Learned about my attitudes and myself. Listened to people around me and learned more about them. I saw shady ethics and manipulative policies and laws. I learned about my ways of looking at people, and the things I expected of them. Good things and bad things about the way I think. I learned of the different problems and ways of thinking that different socioeconomic backgrounds created…

It was also so interesting seeing people I knew personally react to the work I was doing. More than anything I dreaded that my friends would throw the “counseling” I was doing if I tried to draw them out to talk about something. They were ultra cool about the whole thing. Not one of them had an “issue” with my working in a HIV clinic. Some adults used to back off when I told them. I still remember being shaken and dragged into my room for a scold by a very concerned family friend who was aghast at the whole concept. Also the way someone at a reception suddenly took their hand off my shoulder and looked at it uneasily, and stepped a few paces back, soon cutting off the conversation after I had explained what I was doing. (All this for merely working in the place. God knows what stigma positive people actually put up with every day…)

Now it’s a year later. I am winding up work. I am quitting soon. (Speaking to my boss tomorrow - hope it goes well!) For a while I shall drift. I shall treat myself to only spotlessly clean environments, celebrate that I don’t have to wade through the filth of a hospital in rainy weather, make polite conversation when I want to be quiet… I shall have a holiday! Music, art and sunshine shall fill my summer. And again the old cycle will start…. What shall I do next? Where am I headed? Why do I want to do this?…. :-)