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']]}I am awake even before the alarm on my cell phone starts buzzing. Actually I don't think I've slept too much during the entire night. Today is a crucial day for me. I say a quick prayer to God-pray to him that at least today I can enter the interview room. The last 6 times I could not even enter the lobby of the office building. While waiting in the queue outside we were told that the positions had been filled up.
I watch the news while I eat my breakfast. A minor riot seems to have broken out in the city overnight. It started because of some primary school admissions. 2.76% of the seats were reserved for a particular sub-caste. As there were only 100 seats available in the school the principal took a decision to round off 2.76 and enrolled 3 students in the school. This angered people of another caste who felt that this was grossly unfair and that they were being marginalized in the school admission process. A minor scuffle broke out between angry parents belonging to the two communities. Over the last few hours the situation worsened and at the moment the police were trying to get the situation under control. Hearing this, I reminisce about the good old days when riots were only between Hindus and Muslims.
Anyway, I make a metal note to avoid the conflict stricken area while dropping my son to school. I look across the table to see if he's eating his breakfast. He doesn't seem to like school too much. Almost everyday he complains of being bullied by his classmates. Says that he is bullied because he belongs to the "upper caste". Seems that his teachers don't interfere either. They tell him that he has to pay for the deeds of his ancestors. He often asks me if I have oppressed or ostracized anybody and I have to explain to him that he is suffering for what happened 3000 years back. He doesn't seem to get the logic though.
As I put on my tie in front of the mirror I find myself praying again. "Oh God, please give me a chance to interview". The continued failure at finding a job has dented my self-confidence. But there just aren't too many jobs anymore. It all started with the government introducing a 10% quota in the private sector. As the years went by successive governments kept increasing the quotas. They said that this was the only way India could move forward. An inclusive society they said. Fed up with the quota system the multinationals gradually started shutting down their offices. After that even Indian companies started shifting their operations to China. They said that it was easier to recruit people there. Now there are very few job openings left. My caste only has a 4.5% share of the jobs reserved for it in the corporate sector. There are thousands of people who line up for one job. I must rush so that I have a spot in the head of the queue. That way I stand some chance of getting to the interview room. In the last few months the positions got filled up without even making it inside the lobby of the office.
Just before I leave the house I put on a yellow badge on my arm. All members of my caste must wear must wear this badge. Some people say that it's like the badge Jews had to wear in Nazi Germany but then the government disagrees. It tells us that we must wear the badge so that they can distinguish how much of the reservation pie we deserve. Without the badge we would all appear the same. I personally think the badge saves you from being beaten up by people of your own community in one of those sudden riots.
I drive my car out of the parking lot onto the roads. It's 7:45 but traffic is already building up. The lane next to me is absolutely clear and I'm tempted to swing onto it and floor the accelerator. But I tell myself that I can't afford to get in trouble with the cops. I must stick to the lane which has been demarcated for my section of society. The vacant lane next to me is reserved for the poorer class. Once in a while I see a Ferrari or a Porche zip past me in that lane. "Lucky guys", I say to myself. As a Mercedes comes to a halt at a red signal I seem to recognize the guy driving the car. He was in the papers a few days back. He is the son of a very powerful politician. His great-great-great grandfather lived in abject poverty. His family has been truly uplifted by the reservations. Now they get super premium fuel at subsidized rates. In fact he was in the newspaper because of an incident at a petrol pump recently. He went to the media claiming that he was ostracized by the petrol pump attendant just because the minister's son belonged to a poor section of society. It seems that the pump attendant asked him to wait in line with the others in order to fuel his Mercedes.
As the lights turn green he zooms ahead while I inch forward. I start worrying about the impending interview. Wanting to distract myself I switch on the radio. It's playing my favourite remix tune.
I watch the news while I eat my breakfast. A minor riot seems to have broken out in the city overnight. It started because of some primary school admissions. 2.76% of the seats were reserved for a particular sub-caste. As there were only 100 seats available in the school the principal took a decision to round off 2.76 and enrolled 3 students in the school. This angered people of another caste who felt that this was grossly unfair and that they were being marginalized in the school admission process. A minor scuffle broke out between angry parents belonging to the two communities. Over the last few hours the situation worsened and at the moment the police were trying to get the situation under control. Hearing this, I reminisce about the good old days when riots were only between Hindus and Muslims.
Anyway, I make a metal note to avoid the conflict stricken area while dropping my son to school. I look across the table to see if he's eating his breakfast. He doesn't seem to like school too much. Almost everyday he complains of being bullied by his classmates. Says that he is bullied because he belongs to the "upper caste". Seems that his teachers don't interfere either. They tell him that he has to pay for the deeds of his ancestors. He often asks me if I have oppressed or ostracized anybody and I have to explain to him that he is suffering for what happened 3000 years back. He doesn't seem to get the logic though.
As I put on my tie in front of the mirror I find myself praying again. "Oh God, please give me a chance to interview". The continued failure at finding a job has dented my self-confidence. But there just aren't too many jobs anymore. It all started with the government introducing a 10% quota in the private sector. As the years went by successive governments kept increasing the quotas. They said that this was the only way India could move forward. An inclusive society they said. Fed up with the quota system the multinationals gradually started shutting down their offices. After that even Indian companies started shifting their operations to China. They said that it was easier to recruit people there. Now there are very few job openings left. My caste only has a 4.5% share of the jobs reserved for it in the corporate sector. There are thousands of people who line up for one job. I must rush so that I have a spot in the head of the queue. That way I stand some chance of getting to the interview room. In the last few months the positions got filled up without even making it inside the lobby of the office.
Just before I leave the house I put on a yellow badge on my arm. All members of my caste must wear must wear this badge. Some people say that it's like the badge Jews had to wear in Nazi Germany but then the government disagrees. It tells us that we must wear the badge so that they can distinguish how much of the reservation pie we deserve. Without the badge we would all appear the same. I personally think the badge saves you from being beaten up by people of your own community in one of those sudden riots.
I drive my car out of the parking lot onto the roads. It's 7:45 but traffic is already building up. The lane next to me is absolutely clear and I'm tempted to swing onto it and floor the accelerator. But I tell myself that I can't afford to get in trouble with the cops. I must stick to the lane which has been demarcated for my section of society. The vacant lane next to me is reserved for the poorer class. Once in a while I see a Ferrari or a Porche zip past me in that lane. "Lucky guys", I say to myself. As a Mercedes comes to a halt at a red signal I seem to recognize the guy driving the car. He was in the papers a few days back. He is the son of a very powerful politician. His great-great-great grandfather lived in abject poverty. His family has been truly uplifted by the reservations. Now they get super premium fuel at subsidized rates. In fact he was in the newspaper because of an incident at a petrol pump recently. He went to the media claiming that he was ostracized by the petrol pump attendant just because the minister's son belonged to a poor section of society. It seems that the pump attendant asked him to wait in line with the others in order to fuel his Mercedes.
As the lights turn green he zooms ahead while I inch forward. I start worrying about the impending interview. Wanting to distract myself I switch on the radio. It's playing my favourite remix tune.
Sare jahan se accha Hindustan hamaraaaa!!!
