Age is but a number. Not!

The internet is full of helpful articles on how to combat ageism during the job search. Rejig your resume, the experts say. Remove all references to your age. Focus on your skills instead and how you can provide value to the company.

Fair enough. I decided to follow their advice. After all, an expert is an expert, right? So I rewrote my resume focusing on my skills and removed all references to my age. Not that I’m Jurassic by any stretch. But I merely wanted to give it my best shot so I played along.

Unfortunately what the internet won’t tell you is that the rot lies deep. No matter what companies will mouth at conferences or releases, ageism is an unpleasant reality at most workplaces. For women at least.
At a recent interview with a young, international EdTech startup, the interviewer – a bright young thing - gushed about my resume and said the talent team were very impressed with my credentials. That made my eyes sparkle. More so, since I’d just caught Covid and determined not to let the virus slow me down in any way, I had logged in bright and early for the online interview. I had decided to ignore my raging fever and nagging headache and go for it. And the initial validation from her made me feel that perhaps it would be worth it.

But in the next couple of minutes, the interview went rapidly downhill. The woman kept trying to find out when I had worked at X company or at Y agency. I don’t see any dates here, she said squinting at her laptop where presumably my resume was displayed. Can you give me an idea of the time period?

I realized at once what she was getting at and I told her the dates without dilly dallying. As soon as she heard that I had worked at X company in the late nineties, her eyebrows all but disappeared into her hair. She ended the interview rather abruptly after that promising to get back soon.

She got back the next day saying I hadn’t made the cut. But I already knew that. Working in the nineties had already disqualified me. The next couple of interviews would be uncannily similar. The same open-mouthed surprise. “Oh, we were expecting someone much younger” or “You are far too senior for this role.”

I am wondering whether I should put an end to the job hunt. If this is the way it is going to be, I’d rather not be discriminated against. But I’m not going to stop talking about it. And if necessary, call out companies for their ageist attitudes.

What do you think? Have you faced something similar? 

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The original post appeared on LinkedIn. Read it here.

For Your Eyes Only!

photo courtesy: pixabay

The ground floor trial rooms at the clothing store are occupied. It’s the start of a long weekend and there are shoppers crowding every floor of the three-storeyed retail store in Gurgaon. A couple of women are trying on clothes (heaps of them, in fact), darting out every couple of minutes to parade in front of their men, waiting patiently at the entrance to the trial rooms, and seek their approval.

The men, some of them pacing up and down the aisle impatiently or checking their smartphones while they wait, look up when their women materialise and either nod or shake their heads. The smiles on the womens’ faces dissolve into frowns or stay firmly in place depending on the signals they receive from the men. One of them, a pretty, thirty-something lingers a little longer than the others, smoothening the shimmery top over her tummy, fluttering her eyelids.

“Is it okay Jaanu? Are you sure I don’t look fat? This colour, is it nice?”

Jaanu, a stout man with heavyset features, nods and waves her off, back into the trial room. The moment she vanishes, he  starts checking his mail again, but not before darting a furtive, embarrassed glance in my direction.

I’m beaming now, enjoying the runway fashion show.

I’m accompanying the teenager and she has disappeared into one of the trial rooms with a bundle of things she wants to try on. There’s no chance of her appearing in the doorway to seek my approval. She knows I won’t approve and neither of us like exchanging angry words in public. So I wait, skulking in the aisles, while she makes up her mind on her own. Much like I do, when I'm out shopping on my own.

I can’t help but feel astonished that all of these women cannot pick outfits without taking sartorial advice from the men in their lives. I can understand wanting to look good for someone, but shouldn’t you be able to decide what you want to buy and whether or not it would look good on you, on your own? If the man says no, it doesn’t look nice, will you just accept that verdict without a question?
That doesn’t seem right to me. And it’s certainly not something I would do!

Jaanu's better half has just appeared wearing a frothy chiffon dress. But he doesn't like it. He scowls and shakes his head vigorously from side to side. She looks uncertain, bites her lower lip and heads back indoors sadly. What a shame. I thought she looked rather nice in that dress. But no one has asked for my opinion!

Of course, I can’t help but feel slightly envious of the fact that these men have taken time out and are patiently waiting while their wives and girlfriends shop. Not just that, it’s their decision whether or not a particular article of clothing will be bought. Now, that’s an awful amount of responsibility to give someone. Even if you are in love with that person.

There is the tiny matter of the bill. If these men are the ones doling out the cash, then perhaps it does make sense? They do get to decide what they spend their money on. But it’s not an air conditioner or a fridge or a piece of crockery that we are discussing. Why do they get to have a say in what their wives and girlfriends wear?

No one (other than my mother when I was a little girl) has ever taken me shopping. None of my boyfriends when I was a teenager or my husband of 23 years. I’ve mostly shopped alone and bought clothes I wanted to buy and felt I looked good in. Whether I did or not is another matter altogether! The only approval I’ve ever sought is my own.

Is it time to change? Seeing all these women, I’m beginning to wonder that maybe I’m the odd one out.  Perhaps I should ask my husband to take me shopping next week. There is a lovely blue blouse I’ve spotted.

I’m quite sure he will think I’ve lost it. Early onset of dementia. I can almost hear him laughing at me. My jaanu is not willing at all. But then, he’s not used to his woman seeking approval for anything so can’t say I blame him!

Do you?

Unfaithfully Yours!

Of late, everyone’s favourite topic seems to be infidelity. At coffee meets, book clubs, lunch parties – after a bit of polite conversation, an awkward pause and then, the inevitable. The latest scoop on who’s dating who, and who doesn’t know. There’s just no escaping it. 

Just the other day, I was hungrily tucking into a dim sum lunch at a popular Chinese eatery when in walked a couple I knew very well. Desperately trying not to choke on my sui mai, I downed copious quantities of Coke in a hurry. You see, the reason for my discomfort was that “the couple”, in question, were not married to each other and I knew both their spouses extremely well. They even had two teenagers between them.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude but I wished, at that very moment, that I was dining elsewhere.

“The couple”, however, did not seem to be bothered. Politely nodding their heads at us, the two seated themselves in a quiet corner, as far as possible from the rest of the diners. I marvelled at their quiet confidence, arrogance almost. Not worried that they would be spotted or that word would get back to their homes. “Is infidelity on the rise in Gurgaon?” my friend whispered across the table. “People are so open about these things these days.”

I shrugged. I really don’t know whether more and more people are allowing themselves to be carried away by reckless adventures of the body and soul in the Millenium City. What I do know, for a fact, is that it’s certainly easier to do so. Have a reckless adventure that is!

A certain man (middle aged by now), wherever he is, will certainly agree with me.

Fifteen years ago, when I first moved here, all that Gurgaon had was empty spaces. Wide, open, empty spaces with or without green. A few condominiums and a handful of shops selling vegetables and groceries. One or two hole-in-the-joint eateries whose owners actually heaved a sigh of relief every time you told them you wanted the food packed to take home. No fancy malls, restaurants, lounges or pubs to hang around in. No place to have intimate dates, really. Just your own home or outside, in the lap of Nature.

Every evening I would rush home from work, make a pot of tea and sit in one of the two balconies that our charming little flat possessed. With not many buildings blocking my view, on a clear day I could see right till the airport. There was so much to take in. I loved it.

One such evening as I was getting ready to pour myself a cuppa, my husband yelled out, asking me to come to the balcony immediately. Slightly annoyed, I shouted back saying I would, in a minute, as soon as I had poured a cup for myself. He yelled out again, a strange urgency in his voice that I hadn’t heard before. “Now!”

I rushed out, my tea forgotten for the moment.

And, I will never forget the sight that greeted my eyes, for as long as I live! 

A man was hanging from the balcony of the flat, adjacent to ours. Yes, you heard me right! He was hanging, clutching onto the railings, for dear life. A sheer drop of ten floors below him. Though he had his back to us, I could make out that he was quite young (possibly in his twenties) and well-dressed. Expensive shirt and trousers.

He was facing the inside of the flat. His head bent so that someone inside the flat would not be able to see him. Unless, of course, they came out onto the balcony. Sensing movement behind him, he jerked his head round and saw us gaping at him. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible (as though he was taking a stroll in the park), he went back to what he was doing, gripping the railings, looking down nervously once in a while. In those few minutes, I could make out that he was really scared. I mean, who wouldn’t be. One false move and you are history!

  

“Should we tell the security guard?” my husband whispered, sounding worried. "He may slip and fall." I agreed. I didn’t want it on our conscience. We rushed down to inform the guard but by the time we got to the bottom of our block of flats and looked up, the man had vanished. Into thin air!

Poor, unfortunate soul who had risked his life for the love of a married woman. Whose husband had walked in on her! Just think, how much easier their lives might have been, had this romance played out today, in modern day Gurgaon. So many places to go to. To disappear to. Why, they might have even been eating dim sums next to me!

Whoever said falling in love was easy. Falling to your death, however, is another matter!