Chapter 4

Wishful thinking is so potent that even dreams succumb to the pressure of granting your choice to you. I wish I had dreamt of my parents agreeing to my moving out. But even dreams elude me. What I was dreaming about was running furiously only to fall into an abyss. How ironic was it!

A gentle hand was stroking my head and I could not make out whether I was dreaming or wide awake. A pat on my back and the familiar voice shouting my name, "Abhilaaasssha wake up now," was confirmation enough that I wasn't dreaming. Mother India was sitting next to me. I could not fathom the emotions that were flitting across her face. She was part angry and part subdued.

I was on my two feet in an instant (not that I had four but for mothers, you can generally try) fearing an outcome that would haul my journey to Mumbai. I was badly shaken up by my father's refusal (not an outright refusal but kind of... he who has never asked any questions to me and agrees on everything and anything I say...asking questions implied an outright rejection of my ideas) and I was dreading the answer. My mother looked at me with tender eyes only to ask, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

My expression was blank because I could not clearly understand how to answer this. Was this a tricky one? I just replied hesitantly hoping against hope that I don't screw it up big time.

"Mother, I really want to go for this internship. I know it seems superficial and I am running away from this city and responsibilities but believe me it is nothing like this. I know I haven't made an attempt to apply for an internship anywhere here, but mom it's really not about the city but about the opportunity." I said all of this with so much emotion that it could have really worked in my favour.

I cleared my throat and added, "Just trust me...please. I am asking for a chance, I want to see where exactly do I stand. And besides how long can you guys keep on protecting me under your umbrella? And if you guys are worried about losing my way or indulging in some hanky panky... trust me I am not going to falter ever on that. I swear on you."

"Have you decided where will you stay? How will you survive in Mumbai without family?"

The next question just knocked the wind out of me. "What is the stipend you are receiving?" I could detect the hint of a yes in her questions but I did not want to be too optimistic about it. I wanted to clinch the deal and seal my fate.

"How can I decide any of these without you guys agreeing to my going to Mumbai? But I have a plan for handling these things. The FMN channel's office is in Lower Parel. So, I was thinking of putting up at Jivy bua's place. It would be more or less like staying as a paying guest but at Jivy bua's place."

"And according to you, Jivy bua will welcome you with her arms wide open." She rolled her eyes and snapped at me bringing me out of my (not so) awesome plan.

"I don't know. I will pay her a fixed monthly rent." I said nonchalantly.

"What is your stipend?

"I don't know".

"How much can you afford to pay?"

"I don't know."

"Then, what do you know?" She was clearly agitated with my I don't know answers. Was I losing this? I didn't want to get on the wrong side with her early in the morning. I followed her into the kitchen. She busied herself with the mundane routine of every day, making chapatis, vegetables, rice and curry to go with it. Starters and Desserts were only occasional affairs otherwise the menu was pretty much the same.

She brought out the pan, added flour, salt and oil into it and mucked her hands. While she skillfully kneaded her fingers to create the perfect dough, I impatiently drummed my fingers in anxiousness to cook the perfect story to feed her. I was itching to begin the conversation again but my mouth dried up with the dread of screwing this up, with no logical answers to her very practical questions.

"Don't sit on my head. It won't help." She spoke her words with such clarity that I was out of my reverie in no time. I was startled as well as dejected. I slumped my shoulders and began moving out with heavy feet. My mother saw my pathetic condition and took pity on me. "Abhilasha, it isn't a piece of cake, what you are suggesting. I want you to be prepared, find out how you will survive in Mumbai and I promise I will give you a chance to go." I didn't want to look over-excited and so nodded my head in her direction without as much raising my head to see her expression.

"I trust you Abhilasha and I really want you to prosper but I want you safe too." I smiled genuinely, appreciating the kind words of motivation my mother spoke. I walked out but not with some words of wisdom that would haunt me forever. "I hope it's not the glitz and the glamour that has enraptured you." I did not wish to answer that because I wanted to prove that to her through my actions.

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I bathed and dressed up in no quick time, gobbling food to help me survive the ordeal of the day. I was a girl on a mission. I wanted to be ready with a plan that would convince my parents of my aim. And so, I began with grabbing my mobile phone, diary and a pen and decided to begin working on my agenda as quickly as possible.

I opened the letter of approval and scanned through to look for important details with respect to my responsibilities and duties as an intern. I also looked for any information with respect to the stipend, accommodation but the stupid little brain of mine was correct in assessing that nothing would be offered and provided. I looked for a number to contact in the office to understand more details. The letter though signed by the Editor himself mentioned the name of the intern coordinator with no details of how to get in touch with her with respect to our queries. The first round of planning was a complete disappointment. I started chewing my nails in a nervous fret only to be reminded I was harming my own self and not anyone else.

This was a dead end. And then it clicked Jigar could be of help in securing the number of the right person. I immediately picked up my phone to dial him, but our last conversation had really put me off and I didn't want to bother him again.

I was going through an inner turmoil and that raged through me blinding me. I was naïve to go to my parents with this letter without a plan. Jigar was right to be worried sick for me because I was a girl with no plans. But I was determined to prove them wrong and decided to Google my way out of this mess. I typed the name of the news channel and searched for the phone number of the office. It was a cakewalk. I landed with three numbers and I was satisfied with my progress.

I dialled the number, extremely nervous about how to carry on the conversation. I decided to articulate my questions and responses before I called. I practised for nearly ten minutes, picked up the phone and dialled the number. It rang several times with no answer. I heaved a sigh of relief on escaping a torturous situation. However, my inner self loathed me for unable to gather the courage to strike a simple conversation in the office over the phone and get details on the internship program.

The next time I called up the second number. It went through immediately and was picked up by an owner of a sweet voice. She talked to me softly and yet appeared firm and confident. Unlike her, I croaked into the phone with the words, "Hi! I am Abhilasha and I am looking for some information on the internship program."

For a moment I thought the lady would ask me to check the number I have dialled but no such thing actually happened. Instead, she asked me to hold the line until she connected me to the concerned department. After holding for ten minutes, I heard a firm male voice asking me to identify myself and the purpose of calling. This time I sounded much better, though not smoother and relayed the same information that I had earlier. He asked me to hold the line till he could transfer me to the concerned department. I waited for an excruciating ten more minutes but to no avail and next time when I found the voice talking it asked me to call on the direct line rather at the reception.

I was fuming at the impudence of those people and upset that I had no authoritative bone in my voice to drive them to work in finding me the correct person I wanted to talk to. The next time I decided to speak more confidently and as an experienced person rather than a novice. And then it clicked to me that I could directly ask for the line to be transferred to the intern coordinator rather than beating around the bush. So much for being the topper with no logic. I quickly opened the letter once again to look for the name of the coordinator- Rasika Deshpande. There I found it. I rejoiced at my small victory and this time called the third number on the list to ensure I would pass off the first two.

The phone ringed and as soon as it was picked up; I very confidently enunciated that I was hoping to talk to Rasika Deshpande. Experience from failure is the best remedy for life. They asked me to wait as they transferred the line directly to her desk or cabin. The line was vehemently busy, and I said a quick prayer in the hope of getting through her without any hindrance. After around five minutes, I heard a very ensuring and empathetic voice of a middle-aged lady apologizing for keeping me waiting. I quickly gained my momentum and very confidently talked to her about the internship program.

"Ma'am that was not an issue. My name is Abhilasha and I am calling from Kolkata. I was recently accepted for the internship program with your news channel and have received the letter yesterday. I am looking for some details for the program to plan my trip to Mumbai accordingly.

I could suddenly sense the shift in her voice, from downright warm and apologizing to suddenly prosaic and terse. "No problem, please ask."

"Ma'am I wanted to know what is the duration of this internship."

"Ideally, we expect interns to work for us for three months because that is the minimum, they take to understand the functioning as well as learning the different aspects of the news business. But in certain cases, if the intern is doing well, we ask them to take it up for six months but it completely depends on the choice of the said person to take the opportunity or not."

I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat at the mention of three months. I was not hoping this internship to be of more than one month or to the max of 6 weeks and here she was talking about 6 months. I quickly recovered from the shock and proceeded to enquire about the stipend.

"We don't offer any stipends to our interns, but the travelling cost for work-related projects and food cost incurred for the same is taken care of. If the intern is good or well extraordinary, we offer a stipend of 10000 after the completion of three months."

My palms started to sweat and my eyes began to mist at the thought of having to let go of this opportunity completely. Working without a stipend was nearly impossible. I could not expect my father to support me. The idea was totally horrendous and something my parents would never agree to.

I choked and had to clear my throat before asking my next question. Rasika perhaps understood my discomfort at the revelation and empathized with me because this time when she spoke to answer my question, I found the warmth returning to her voice.

"Ma'am, when do you expect the interns to join the office?"

"On the first of the next month."

I heard a commotion in the background, and I felt Rasika leave the phone. I could have kept the phone because there was nothing more to ask, but I found it rude to hang up without a customary goodbye and a thank you for helping me out. When Rasika returned I heard a gruff in her voice, and when I curtsied with the customary thank you and goodbye, I just remembered a question.

"Sorry to bother you but just wanted to know if the company has any accommodation or helps..."

Rasika didn't let me complete my sentence and intruded, "Well, we do book a suite at Taj Mahal Palace Hotel for all our newbies at their own cost."

I was red-faced and it seemed like I was slapped in my face. I did not even bother to say goodbye and hung up. With tears stinging my eyes I called up Jigar because he was the most soothing balm on wounds like these.

After several calls being unanswered, I understood how we stood with respect to our argument last time. He hadn't taken it down too well and would not succumb to my apologies so soon. Why do men hate the streak of independence in women? Why? Who knew I was going to find out the answer very soon?