Suspended animation

Am not sure even if these two words describe the state I am in. Am a woman. Married. Am I a housewife? Noooo. I work from home. For peanuts. In between my umpteen races between the kitchen and computer, computer and door, door and phone...

I work endlessly. I write away. And wonder why I am not earning a salary. At times I envy my neighbours. Housewives, who religiously make efforts to fit into roles assigned to them by their families, friends of families, stereotypes and the like.

Yet, an hour into conversation with a neighbour, I find reality hitting hard at me. For a non-believer of discrimination on the basis of caste, she insists that caste should exist, that a mistake by someone in a lower caste is more punishable than if committed by someone of a higher caste. When I retorted that day, that all are equal in the eyes of God, she didn't know what to reply. Playfully, this friend just hit me and left the place. She said arguing with me was difficult.

I returned to my PC, shocked at what she and her peers would have been taught by their parents in her village. Of those prejudices that get instilled so early in one's life that despite technological progress, and celebration of the Indian economic growth story, they gnaw at us on all sides.

I am a journalist. Without a job at the moment. Waiting to get called after many applications. At times I celebrate my unemployment. At times I cry over it. At other times, I reason it out, rationalise, and make peace with it. I think of the numerous things I get to do now, because of this luxurious tag. Yet, I know I am not meant to be home-stuck. And not out there in the city. The city called Mumbai. The city busy remembering four digits - 2,6, 1, 1. Read 26/11.

Am I a Mumbaikar? Yes I am.

Will I ever belong to another city. I want to. I doubt if I will. For, Mumbai has become so much a part of me that falling in love with any other city just as easily will be difficult.

Yet, I am not in Mumbai now. I am to move out. And find myself in another empty apartment, another home to make before I set out looking for jobs. Another city. Another people. Thank God it is still, an Indian city I will move into.

So here I am. I don't belong to a city (reality bites). I don't belong to a job. I am in between homes. Juggling roles. Hanging in the air. Is it bliss? Am I being naive?

Not sure. But there's a parachute I am clinging on to - hope.