The other side of working from home

“You are so lucky,” grumbled an acquaintance at a party. “No commute, no boss, no office politics. I would love to lounge around in pajamas and work when I want and how I want.” “It is not that easy,” I protested but he was carried away by his own misery and refused to believe me.

 

I work from home. The key word is WORK but what seems to stand out is home. It seems enviable to many, especially the men who are denizens of the corporate world. Working from home conjures up images of leisure, freedom, and flexibility. You don’t have to get up to an alarm and rush around getting ready, gobble up a hurried breakfast and brace yourself for the traffic. Instead, you can take your morning breath to the computer which will not complain about your hygiene or dress sense. Shower in the afternoon, if you feel like a shower at all. And when you need a break, just shout out to the spouse/servant who brings a hot cup of tea made just the way you like, along with some fresh pakodas. What’s not to like?

 

When I decided to quit a full-time job and become a consultant and a writer, I believed that working from home would be a blessing- the ideal solution that would let me work at my time, be with my daughter and keep a gentle eye on the goings on in the household. I saw myself deftly juggling a rolling pin and Rolodex, seamlessly switching from the keyboard to the blackboard. Ours is a small household of 4 including my full-time help who is the cook and housekeeper. I could easily manage. I don’t cook or clean. I do have some flexibility and freedom. Yet working from home requires truckloads of discipline, oodles of self-motivation and nerves of steel.

 

I can recall a day last week when I thought I would have a productive day at work. A typical day when I am not in a workshop or client site begins at 6.30 in the morning when I get up to send my daughter off to school. The husband and I have a brief chat on the plan for the day and he leaves for office. I do my yoga and/or walk, breakfast, shower and move to the study which doubles up as my place of work.

 

I have plans for this day. I need to complete a proposal to a client, attend a conference call, send a couple of emails and write at least 500 words for an article. So far, so good.

 

At 10.30 a.m, I switch on my laptop and start with the proposal.

 

” Didi, Colin nahin hai.” my cleaning maid pokes her head in. I make a note in my list of Things to Do.

 

I remember that she had not dusted the sideboard. I notice a stray cobweb. Instructions are given.

 

Back to the proposal.

 

The intercom rings. I rush to the phone and pick it up only to have it disconnected. Where is the maid and why is she not picking up the phone. Just as I settle down again, it rings again. I ignore it.

 

My housekeeper announces that someone is coming with a parcel. Turns out to be a courier with my husband’s credit card. I am asked to produce identification to receive the credit card.

 

I manage to get type up something on the design of a workshop that I am proposing. My mobile pings. It is already the time for my call.

 

“Didi, gas khatam hua,” says the help. 5 minutes to the call. I tell her to change the cylinder. It is stuck she says. We push and pull and fix the thing together.

 

I get on the conference call. In the middle of the call, the maid enters and gesticulates wildly. She holds her nose and makes some gagging sounds. Something is not right. I can’t focus on the call. Finally, I am done.

 

I rush out to discover that there is a leakage of some sort from the gas cylinder. The kitchen smells of LPG. There is a defect in the new cylinder. She is in the middle of cooking and we are out of fuel. I call some neighbors and someone kindly offers me her spare cylinder. I call the Gas agency but no one picks up. I make a note in my Things to do.

 

The cleaning maid comes in to tell me that she is leaving. She wants a day off. No, I almost shout. You take too many holidays. It is my son’s school meeting she says. They have called the parents. Her husband is quite useless in this matter. I negotiate for a late arrival. She will try, she says, making no promises. I relent, one working mom to another.

 

Back to the proposal. Is it already lunchtime?

 

I get into my wannabe Multitasking avatar. I am halfway through lunch and The Lowland. The Lindt chocolate in my fridge beckons. I ignore it until it becomes an insistent shrill summon. The book is interesting. I continue with a few chapters after lunch. Surely, I deserve a break of half an hour. I promise to myself that I will finish my proposal today. I still have time.

 

2.30 p.m. I go to the bus stop to pick up my daughter. We discuss what happened in school.

 

We have Bio test tomorrow she says. And there is some Hindi project. Something needs to be researched and written about Chanakya. I think school is a great institution but I have my reservations about homework. Especially the kind that makes the parent work at home.

 

Start reading Bio. I will finish my work and we will revise.

 

I check my emails and see that there are two new ones that need to be answered.

 

My daughter comes in to negotiate. I will study Bio and you can research my project, she starts. No way. I have too much work to do. We discuss what she can write about Chanakya. One thing at a time, I insist. Finish Bio and then we will do Hindi.

I need to finish the proposal. I notice an email reminder for my credit card payment. I add it to my Things to do.

 

I get an unexpected call from a client. She wants to discuss the dates for a workshop that had been planned for the month. They may need to change it. As we discuss options, my daughter mouths something to me. I shoo her away and try to shut the door. She glares at me and marches off. The maid shouts from the kitchen- something about jeera or Kheera. I ignore her. Finally, I finish my call and step out- Can’t I even talk for a few minutes in peace, I say but no one cares to respond.

 

My daughter looks at me accusingly. You forgot. I told you the light in my room wasn’t working. Now I can’t study. Damn. Didn’t I put it in my Things to Do? I call the electrician.

 

I reconfirm the dinner menu and give the maid money to buy cucumber for the salad from the shop in our condominium complex. I check on the state of bread and eggs and find we need to replenish that too. Why does she tell me these things at the last moment?

 

Is it evening already? I have to make the last page of the proposal. I have to check the research on Chanakya. Why do 12-year-olds need to write about Chanakya in Hindi? Why do they also need a printout of a picture which can be seen anytime on Google Images?

 

I open up the Google Hindi website on Chanakya and toggle between that and my proposal. In the meantime, I am also giving my daughter some questions to answer in Bio. My husband calls and asks if I have paid the electricity bill due three days back. Pay it yourself, I want to shout. I make a mental note to make an actual note in my Things to Do.

Is it dinner time already? My husband is home. Horrible day, Terrible traffic he says. You are so lucky you don’t have to go out to work every day!

 

I glare at him.

 

We do dinner. I am almost done with the proposal. I tuck my daughter into bed. It is only 10.15 p.m and I feel terribly sleepy. I drag myself back to the computer and send off the proposal. I still have the article to write but my brain has gone into a deep freeze. I can’t get a word out. I read a few pending emails.

 

I shut down the machine and decide to go to bed. My husband is checking Facebook. Other people seem to have interesting things to do and say. What did you do today? He asks. I rack my brain. I finally sent off that proposal to ABC, I say. That’s it? That’s all you did the whole day, his look says but he wisely restricts it to an ‘Uh-uh.’

 

Another day of work has gone by. My Things to Do list has grown exponentially. I shouldn’t complain. I know I have to be more disciplined, more assertive, more focused, more tenacious. Someday, I will get there. Someday I will also get myself a little office-away from home.

 

This article was first published on IBN Live’s blog