‘Confidence’ is a word that has been distributed in different proportions and flavours in my family. My mother suffers from positive confidence in future, no matter how bad the day it will be a better tomorrow. My grandmother suffers from confidence in misfortune, no matter what the day tragedy can strike any moment. My grandfather suffers from confidence in extreme realism, today might be a decent day but be prepared for rainy days predicted by weatherman from a week now. My father suffers from the negative confidence of self, only he and absolutely he can provide continuous discouragement to others and then suddenly take a U-turn to show his support. My brother-in-law suffers from confidence in efficiency, none but only he is the chosen one to do a task. Last but not the least, I have an elder sister who suffers from a combination of all the confidences mentioned above with the prefix OVER!
Like Sansa Stark (My Least favourite Character on Game of Thrones). “I am a slow learner, it’s true. But I learn”. This slow learner didn’t crack through her Ph.D. Entrance and her father wants her to become a civil servant, her sister wants her to moss out in academics and the slow learner wanted to work. Which ensued a conflict of interest, in which I realized, my happiness and mental peace should be the top priority.
After begging and lamenting for a year and a half, my elder sister via her husband made me a resume which practically reeked of their disinterest in my job hunt. My father on other hand was lamenting and irritating my mother on how I was wasting my life out as a vagabond. Like the chain reaction, my mom was crying on my metaphorical shoulder on why I should take whatever decent job came my way.
I have the deficiency of Confidence, that one pot of confidence that fate supplies to each family, was relatively empty at the time I did away with my infancy and gained some sense. Like Baloo, my elder sibling had wiped the pot clean and I was destined to be little Piglet who would follow that trouser-less bear.
After a lot of lazy job hunting on naukri.com, indeed.com, LinkedIn, newspapers and shouting out my frustrations on my friend’s ears I stumbled upon the right job thanks to my university senior. Few email exchange and one job meeting later I was sure this was the place I would love to work and when I grow old I will recite that my first job was not some desperate choice but something I will always be proud of. Once I got assured I had the job of editorial assistant and copywriter, I broke the news to each member at a time, my family did not waste a minute to shower their lack of confidence in me.
It began with my grandmother remembering that tiny creature who hated talking to people, my father showed an indecent amount of interest and then the major league questions were shot at me from my one and only sister. “If I was brave enough to work!”, “If I was stable enough to work”, “Would I wake up on time” “Will I give her seventy percent of my meager four-digit salary! And a constant reminder that no matter what, me having a job was the joke of the century with “HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE” in type, on call and video calls!
Here I am three weeks later, surviving just fine.
Though the first day of job did remind me of one of the most hated days of my life, my first day at school, I was forced, dragged, thrown into the bus! by my mother. I was crying, I hated the blue skirt and I hated nuns in their wimples! Naked faces peeking out from the wimple was scary enough for me to wet my nappies. Overall, I hated school, I hated it till the seventh standard or may be till tenth grade, I hated school none the less.
Like on the first day of school, I was on a bus, going to a place that was old and intimidating. Unlike my first day of school, my mother was not here, nor was my sister mocking me when I stepped down at the auto stand, physically she wasn’t, mentally she is sixty percent of my psyche chewing away my confidence. I waited for auto, I waited fifteen minutes under the hateful sun, when finally, my auto rickshaw came I was huffing and puffing with beads of sweat sliding down my undergarments.
Prior to my first day at work, my sister warned me not to be late, "Reach on time, if possible fifteen minutes earlier". Like the typical imbecile cow that I am, who has hardly ever disobeyed her sister, I did the same. Here I was sweating and panting and cursing myself that I won’t reach fifteen minutes early. After stepping out of the auto, I walked fast and I wanted to be on time!
Unlike the first day of school where a strict nun was dragging us crybabies inside while I yelled and kicked and the empty hall echoed my own sobs. Here I was standing in the dark on the staircase, no one dragging me, no tears escaping, all me and my silent pants of exhaustion and just a brass lock on the door of my new office staring back at me.
And on time I reached, but the door to my office was happily locked and opened exactly after another fifteen minutes
P.S- So much of hard labour was spent to earn my first lesson on of being over-punctual, anything over is bad especially when the advice comes from my elder sibling
thanking you to bear with me