“Sarah Ma'am, I am a graduate and still contractual. Do you think they will eventually convert my employment status to a permanent position?” he asked, while setting my water bottle and glass. I had just reached work and was looking for my mug of coffee and not a conversation. He blankly looked at my desk, as I settled into my routine. “You can ask. I think they require post-graduation; but I am not familiar with the recruitment process and think you should just ask HR,” I lazily answered.
We stay quiet for a few moments.
“Barre school se parha huga aap ne, A-levels kiya ho ga, yahan sifarish se hunge”, he says. “No, I am not from there. You always forget. I went to Saint Michael’s, in Clifton,” I remember hurriedly answering him. Wondering which barra school he thought I was from, did he really think that I had executed multiple under the table transactions to reach where I am today. I doubt I look and / or act shady — in his defence, though, looks can be deceiving: but, what did he take me for?
“Acha! You must be bright…,” I detect a hint of sarcasm. I smiled. I may not be bright, but I worked hard to eventually stand on my own two feet. Somebody wanted him back in the kitchen – as I noticed his colleague waving at him. “Thank you, Sarah Ma'am…” He quickly disappeared.
That wasn’t the first time we had spoken, and neither was it the first time that he had confused my class origins. There were many like him on the floor, in their blue uniform – largely invisible; although, in the monotony of our routines, their uniforms did stand out. I recall being a bit annoyed with him for not taking my hints that I don’t maintain any class pretensions and tried to tell him that I come from a modest background and that I work as hard as he does, to make a living. Obviously, I did not have the courage to say this to his face.
He would shut himself away, if I ever asked him about his life. I would often feel that he disclosed information on a strict need-to-know basis. I often tried to wonder the type of dreams that he dreamt in our office setup
Resuming work one morning after a brief absence, he was back. As a rule and to date, I reach work early every morning, well before most people actually start coming in. So unsurprisingly, there were few people on the floor at that time. He was relatively free and pulled up a chair near mine. “Baji, what are your plans?” he asks with his usual curiosity. “I am applying for a scholarship and will hopefully leave for my MSc, provided I get both the funding and the visa” I answer while switching on my machine at work. His eyes lit up as he exclaimed “Wah! You will get it, your visa… don’t you worry. But why don’t you look happy?” I smiled and tried telling him that it’s not really a big deal and that there are others who are also leaving to pursue their MSc’s and that I just got lucky. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. We both laughed. He didn’t accept my attempts at modesty. “So, what are your plans?” I asked him. “I don’t really make plans”, comes a curt, but brief response. Did I have the courage to ask why? No, and proceeded to check my emails from the off that I had taken a day earlier. He took his leave and started pushing his trolley full of teacups towards the kitchen.
That wasn’t the first time something similar had happened. He would shut himself away, if I ever asked him about his life. I would often feel that he disclosed information on a strict need-to-know basis. I often tried to wonder the type of dreams that he dreamt in our office setup. All my employers, thus far, boast of creativity and meritocracy as core values – where each continually strives to be recognized as a benchmark in their business: through customer focus, teamwork, service and innovation. And admittedly, that office did aim to instill a sense of ownership and leadership in its employees — permanent and contractual. In the process, we were also encouraged to create an environment that brought out such qualities in all possible stakeholders. This got me thinking. Do environments have a trickledown effect? Does 'this' office staff get affected by it? Were there others like him? Suddenly, he seemed many, many miles away from me. I couldn’t answer any of these questions, yet I always thought I was 'like' them: this triggered a sense of shame and perhaps embarrassment.
As I now write, I recall that I quickly looked around to see if anyone had 'caught' me. Nobody seemed to care. And fortunately, nobody knew; relief. As I read each of my pending emails that morning, I simultaneously finished my musing. I pulled out my daily deposit report and analysed any significant movement between each consecutive date.
With that, my day had now officially started.