The Great Man's Wife

An old post I wrote after meeting someone. It was lying in draft. Had forgotten to post it, God knows why!

The Great Man's Wife spoke with the faintest hint of an accent. All those years of first doing her masters in the US and then spending a considerable amount of time living and working there had left their mark on her speech. Her home was open, big and for the want of a better term, earthy. Red brick walls on the exterior, limewashed walls with the right niche hollows in the interior, plants spilling tastefully into the living area and the lawn giving a view of the greens outside. The outdoor furniture was simple but possibly expensive and you couldn't miss the discreetly kept but too prettily painted to be missed terracotta kitchen waste composter. The drink was organic as were the biscuits.

I nibbled on all that health as she told me the story of how her business came along. Though it wasn't as much business as 'economic empowerment.' as she repeated. The Great Man's Wife enlisted women from villages in the outskirts of Bangalore to transfer her much researched creativity onto silk stoles, blouses and on special customised requests, usually from her expat friends who 'understood and appreciated these things' sometimes even on a jacket, a wall hanging on a sari.

Thanks to the soothing combo of the garden breeze, juice and often heard words, I may have been part asleep as she spoke but did catch words of vital importance like 'at the grassroots level,' 'self-sustaining' "at the ground level,' 'preserving heritage,' and so on.

It's good work no doubt but I do wish it was done without the congratulatory self-pat on the back, that is meant to be invisible but yet, is visible enough. And then I thought perhaps I am getting too cynical, that even with the kids abroad, the huge house in the middle of the city and the works of art dotting the walls, she does mean it when she says that at heart she still is very middle class. That she belives in giving as much as she has got. That even now, everything she does is centred around the Great Man and his approval.

And somewhere through the chink, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I spotted a rather lonely woman.

Clarity, thou art hard to find...

Yes, even after 34 long years. Ok, may be I should make the number of years lesser because I'm sure I didn't try looking for clarity at four or 10 or even 15. At 20, maybe. In fact, I was quite sure I had found it. I was going to be a journalist. At that time, it was an all encompassing word, no shades attached. I had a job I loved and a clear head. This is where I belonged. At least for the time being. Until I found another newspaper or magazine that paid me better. Simple. Full and final.

Well, life, at least the so called professional part of it is not so final after all. Because here I am, 14 years down the line, confused as hell despite knowing where some of the answers are. I know that I do not want a full time job. The answer to that is in my guilt ridden mind and heart on the days I have a long assignment and have to pick A up late from the daycare. I know I want to freelance. But to what extent? Do I take whatever comes my way, work late nights, make my money and be happy? Or do I choose only the kind of stories that I really want to do even if those are few? Do I network and try to revive long lost contacts even if some them are masters in the art of cold shouldering or do I make myself believe that work will find me and sit tight no matter how implausible that may sound? Well I try it all. I take up crap edit jobs that make no sense except bring me a decent enough cheque which I promptly go and spend at the Strand Book Sale on vast amounts of books for myself and the child. I trudge halfway across town to meet a social worker for a story that will pay me lesser than the cab fare. I wonder whether to start a content writing service with a friend. I wonder whether to keep myself free, writing only what actually makes me feel good and not being the hyper when-will-I-be-busy-again kind of cranky person I usually am. And I wonder when will the focus, the clarity finally stop being elusive. Maybe when I do.