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If you take a black-and-red-striped Nataraj pencil and sharpen it manually with a cheap plastic sharpener, the shavings come out in curly pale brown strips with a scalloped edge, like an elegant sari with a colorful border. The genuine delight I experienced by this simple act had been missing from my previous experiences of sticking yellow number two pencils into the booming bulky electric power sharpeners in the U.S. This is what I remember from my first day at work after returning to India.
It was not particularly difficult to land a job interview. But, getting through the interview proved to be quite an interesting experience. The interviews were typically Indian in form and content. In one instance, by the end of the day, I had been asked almost every question that would be considered illegal in the U.S. My five-page curriculum vitae lay unread on the glass-topped heavy desks of distinguished-looking, mostly male, managers. They did not hesitate to ask me my age. This was followed by questions such as, “What does your husband do? Do you have children? Do you own or rent?” I was interrogated about every aspect of my personal life not listed on the CV, details that had little relevance to my previous work or future potential.
At this point I have to mention that I don’t work in IT. My expertise does not lie in the computer industry, although I was employed by a large multinational company in California for over six years. As a person who left India right after college, I worried about what working life in India would be like.
In the Dec. 8, 2003 issue of Business Week, the cover story “The Rise of India,” describes GE’s John F. Welch Technology Center in Bangalore. The authors point out the similarities between GE’s upstate New York R&D facility and the one in Bangalore. My workplace is almost exactly identical to those descriptions. Right from the uniformed guard at the gate who waves me into the state-of-the-art laboratories, what struck me first was that once I entered the lobby of the building, there was no difference either in the ambience or the technology at my fingertips. I could send emails to Singapore, teleconference with Europe, and videoconference with North America.
Comfortably seated on my swivel chair in a centrally air-conditioned office, it was easy to forget that I was in India. Of course, I continue to be surprised by the fact that all my colleagues are Indian and it’s Hindi pop music that is piped into the office areas! But what has stayed constant is that in India (as in the U.S.) I am the lone female in most meetings.
For me, one of the other pleasures of going to work is the formal dress code, which means salwar-kameez and saris for women. Dress pants are permitted but not jeans or t-shirts—either for the men or the women. So, I add beautiful saris to my collection and I love the fact that they get worn as well as worn out. This is in sharp contrast to the dozens of fancy saris that stayed pristine for years in my dust-free closet in the U.S. My Indian clothes lay untouched, relegated to the back of the closet, unless I chose them for rare gatherings with fellow Indians. Here I stick the bindi on my forehead each morning, slip into comfy chappals, and head out the door confident in clothes that complement my Indian looks.
The subsidized cafeteria offers a vast spread for lunch. It is all vegetarian and is served in stainless-steel thalis, tumblers, and katoris. Seasonal fresh fruit is available daily but every so often there are gulab jamuns or laddoos that reliably indulge my sweet tooth. Best of all, there is saunf at the end of the meal. I am disappointed to find that the number of official holidays is the same as that in America. The big difference is that the holidays now coincide with the festivals that I celebrate.
People refer to each other formally, ever aware of of titles and hierarchy. In the few months of working here I have been called “Dr.” more often than in the eight years since I earned the privilege to be addressed with that prefix. “Please call me Ranjani,” I say repeatedly, but people persist in calling me Madam. Much as I dislike this title, I am glad they don’t call me Aunty.
There is a strict pecking order at work. It takes me a while to get used to the enthusiastic office boy who brings me bottled water, swats mosquitoes, and single-handedly runs between departments as a specialized courier. However, there are certain other habits that are easier to acquire and I join my colleagues enthusiastically for numerous cups of chai and coffee that are supplied premixed with milk and sugar.
I have a five-day workweek that I religiously adhere to. But the workdays are longer than what I was used to in the U.S. It is ironic that the reason I have to stay late most often is to conference with people in North America. With all the advanced technology, I wish someone would find a solution to make it easier to for people living in diametrically opposite time zones to connect.
In India, some of the standard perks offered by employers include amenities like residence telephone and mobile phones, effectively putting employees “on the job” for all hours of the day or night. In most offices, meetings are called at a moment’s notice and priorities change overnight. For an ambitious person, the prevailing atmosphere provides unlimited opportunities to succeed. For me, the challenge has often been finding that elusive balance between home and work commitments. It took me years to get to that point of equilibrium in the U.S. and now I have to start all over again in India.
Generally, face time is highly valued and it is discouraging to see output being measured primarily by the number of hours put in. However, there is one exception to this rule. On certain days, people can leave work early regardless of grade or title, so long as the primary condition is met—the Indian team is playing a cricket match somewhere in the world!
