Life is about moving on. Hemashri shares her experiences of love and affection in a transient world, working in different offices and reflecting inwardly. Here’s the weekly column, exclusively for Different Truths.

She looked resplendent in a bright yellow silk saree! She presented her PhD thesis. God was perhaps having a relaxed day while creating her! She was the kind of person who reminds me of the saying, “Bhagwan jab deta hai toh chappar phad ke deta hai.” This radiantly beautiful woman was a teacher at the most prestigious college, my alma mater. I became her instant admirer. After a few days of meeting her, I saw it on the news that she had poured kerosene on her body and decided to self-immolate. It was very disturbing news. For several days, I felt sorrowful. Ending one’s life in such a cruel way when much safer options were available. How could she do it? I mean, how could my admirable lady devalue and destroy herself in such a barbaric way? When that first wave of shock and disbelief subsided, my anger shifted to her friends and colleagues. She must have gone through severe depression to act the way she did, which is why her friends and colleagues missed those signs and were unable to rescue her. Is this world so fake?

I was also having a difficult time during that period. After a long wait, finally, I received my posting order. This time, I decided that wherever I work, I will try to forge a genuine bond with the women I work with. The office did not have a very hectic assignment for me. Often I used to have my tea with some of my lady subordinates or colleagues. Gradually, I developed a family-like bonding with many of them.

The most inspiring among them was an elderly lady. She was a very good singer. She was a mother figure to me. She reminded me of my sick mother. She was the epitome of feminine kindness. She told me, “Madam, I have seen acute poverty. I have survived without food for days. You know I am so happy today. What more can I ask from life? My husband was a drunkard, and I had to endure it. He was sick for some time, and then he died.” She was one of those few ladies who personified happiness and contentment. She used to do meditation, and she said her strange ailment was actually cured by it. She had two sons. Her younger son married an orphan Nepali girl, who was raised in an SOS village. Her son pleaded to marry her, saying, “Ma, she is an asthma patient. If I do not look after her, who will?” She agreed. She also told me how her own relatives scorned her, saying that they had brought a rootless creature into her family. During my stay of around three years, they all became my extended family.

The younger lot in the office also appeared quite friendly. I discussed with them issues of common concern, such as creating a satisfactory canteen, a wall magazine, a picnic, and a cultural event. We enjoyed a wonderful picnic. We had a memorable cultural event once, where I launched the singing career of my life. The head of the office remained busy in his chamber and did not step out to see what was being arranged as a cultural event. The head of the office declined the proposal for a wall magazine for reasons best known to him. During this period, my husband received three postings to remote areas, and I had to manage two sets of ailing parents and our two growing children. My office was nearly 35 km from my residence. I endured traffic jams to and fro every day.

Sipping raw tea in my chamber with my staff and colleagues was a healing therapy for me. The old boss got transferred, and a new one arrived. My work assignments got lighter and lighter despite being the most experienced officer of my rank. I tried my best to remain detached from the official humiliation. I continued to discharge every assignment to the best of my ability. I could still sense that some people might not be entirely at ease with me. It was just a strange gut feeling.

The young girls in my office were like my younger sisters. They would often narrate their issues, sometimes even their personal problems. Four of them were very close to me. One of them was Sumi, who would often tell me how her mother-in-law used to taunt her all the time. She became a sister to me. One day, I told Sumi that I was coming to your place to meet your mother-in-law. In the evening, on my arrival, I touched the feet of Sumi’s mother-in-law as a genuine courtesy. As I began to converse, I told Sumi’s mother-in-law that Sumi was highly respected in the office and loved by everyone. It was genuine yet a little exaggerated, and I could see Sumi’s mother-in-law’s smile getting fainter. I was wearing a favourite saree that my husband had given me for my birthday. When Sumi’s mother-in-law complimented it, I told her this one was from my mother-in-law. This time, Sumi’s mother-in-law’s face got very pale. Sumi was smiling from behind the curtain. The next day, I asked Sumi how your mother-in-law is. She was laughing. I called this visit a “Sasu Sudhar Bahu Uddhar programme” and told the girls that anyone with a similar issue could invite me to their place.

Work became enjoyable, and I was no longer concerned about office politics. Gradually, I could sense that the new boss was trying to limit my options. Speaking comes naturally to me, and at office functions I often had to speak, which was well received by the staff. One fine day, the boss declared in a meeting that I should not speak. I asked him, “Sir, may I know why I am not allowed to speak?” There was no reply—it was the occasion of the meeting of Civil Service Day. Every report or assignment I was entrusted with was discharged with utmost sincerity. Working with hostile bosses demands the best efforts. Often, I learned from other colleagues that they appreciated my reports, but the boss never acknowledged them in my presence, nor did his rudeness ever mellow.

One fine day, I received a call from a well-wisher informing me that my boss had approached the higher authority to transfer me out of the office. I felt very disappointed but tried to remain unaffected and decided to wait and watch. After almost a month, I received an order that three officers from the present office had been attached to a newly created district. Seeing the order, I was surprised to find that the other two were the boss’s favourites. I could tell I would be released immediately, so I got ready to hand over my charge the very next day. The boss was not in his chamber that day, so I left my papers, along with a small marble Ganesha as my parting gift, and left the premises. I went straight to the new office. A small circle office (Tehsildar’s office) was being converted to a new district office. I felt relieved to leave a place where the boss had made me feel unwanted. After a few days, I received an invitation from a colleague stating that the former boss wanted me to attend a farewell meeting for several officers. It was my father’s birthday, so I declined politely and informed them that I had a personal engagement. I did not go.

Finally, three of us joined the new office. My official vehicle was recalled within two days, whereas the newly created office was set up as a branch of the old one, and we were supposed to get our logistical support from the original office. My two colleagues were allowed to retain their official vehicles. I drafted a representation apprising the discriminatory treatment and submitted it to the higher authority. The matter was taken up, and I continued to avail myself of the facility. After three months in the new office, I was transferred, and I released the vehicle when I handed over charge. The driver called me up the very next day, saying, “Madam, they said I will not be allowed to work here because I worked with you.” I called up the concerned person; he said there was no such issue. When I called the driver again, I could tell the driver was being punished for serving me sincerely.

I felt an intense pain deep within which no words could describe. Who am I to bark at every dog I meet? I decided never to visit that office again. Sumi remained in touch just like an adorable younger sister, and so did a few of them. That elderly lady called me once.

I tried to press an imaginary delete button to erase memories of the countless tea-sipping sessions, listening to those who had created a home in my heart. I sometimes wonder if it was not genuine from my side or if it was a case of unrequited affection from their side.  

The beautiful woman in a bright yellow silk saree gifted me a precious realisation: to keep forging bonds. During those years, I heard many of their agonising stories. It made me realise that no matter how many women join the job market, homes have remained the same. Ill-treating the daughter-in-law is routine and near-universal in homes. Some women would break down narrating something that troubled them deeply. Looking back, I still feel grateful to have those days to recount, but only a few of them bothered to get in touch, even in these days of WhatsApp and SMS. Maybe out of sight is out of mind, or maybe it was just one-sided bonding!

In any case, it shall always be my choice to love people unconditionally and to lose them rather than never have loved. Those three years also taught me that everyone around me has a fascinating story to share. My love for real stories also deepened in those three years.

©Hemashri Hazarika

Photos from the Internet

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Hemashri Hazarika

Hemashri Hazarika is an Officer of the Assam Civil Service since 1997. Her research on Assam Civil Service brought reforms in 2015. A first-class Postgraduate in Economics from Gauhati University, she was awarded JRF/NET by UGC in 1997. Her experience as a bureaucrat has sensitised her to human sufferings. A solutionist by passion, she takes an active interest in issues related to Governance, Development, Women, Children, etc. Reading, Writing, Speaking and Painting are her hobbies.