The personal impact of a recession can bring out the best or the worst in people. In my case, it was both. But on balance, whether it good or bad, I still haven't been able to figure it out. Only time will tell, I guess. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Let me start at the beginning. My name is Prerna and until a few months back, my husband Dhruv and I were living the vaunted Indian middle class dream. We were both working in mid-level positions in the same small but influential financial corporation. In fact we met as colleagues, became friends, then fell in love, and then got married. We had decided to postpone having children until I got promoted to a managerial position. So two decent incomes without any children translated into a pretty comfortable lifestyle. We had both grown up in families with financial troubles, so when we had a good income, we spared no expense at acquiring any luxuries. A sea-side 2 bedroom rented apartment in Juhu equipped with every luxury from a flat screen TV to a washing machine and even a drier. An expensive foreign-made sedan. Frequent foreign trips in Europe and East Asia. And of course, the services of a drive, a maid and a cook.
The problem is, we started living more like middle class Americans than middle class Indians. And by that, I mean, we racked up quite a debt. Our salaries were decent, but not lavish enough to pay for all these luxuries out of our pocket. So almost everything had been financed by loans, and most of our incomes went in paying the monthly installments, credit card bills, and the rent. The thought of saving for a rainy day did cross our minds occasionally, but Dhruv and I always said that we'd start saving once we get promoted to senior positions and our salaries grew really big. After all, the stock markets worldwide were booming, our bonuses every year were growing, our stock option value was multiplying, and our company was considered one of the rising stars in the financial sector. So we thought that as long as we were both young, we should enjoy our lives, and start saving later. The later, as it happened, was really bad.
In late 2008, the meltdown hit. Almost overnight, our company went belly up. Our shares in the company were not worth the paper they were printed on. And both Dhruv and I found ourselves unemployed. Even after that rude shock, we waded in our delusions for a few months. Surely, we would get a job elsewhere. Of course, we probably wouldn't have the convenience of working in the same office, having lunch together, and commuting together. But given that we had worked in such an awesome firm, we would find jobs soon. We sent our resumes to all the big banks and financial institutions, and continued charging our expenses to our credit cards.
Three months later, our credit cards were maxed out and neither of us had a job. We had been called for the occasional interview, but the niche nature of our previous jobs meant that there were few positions available in the top firms. And neither of us wanted to "taint" our resumes by working in a second tier firm. So we kept our fingers crossed and prayed to the lord.
The next month is when we really found our backs to the wall. We had only enough money left in our joint account to pay two months rent. We could not make any of our installments, from the car to the flat screen TV to the fancy three door fridge. It was impossible to pay the massive credit card bills. And of course, we had no money left to pay the driver, maid or the cook. That is when we were forced to take a realistic look at our situation. That is when we truly understood the meaning of the proverb "beggars can't be choosers".
There was however, a small sliver of hope. One of Dhruv's old bosses, who had also lost his job, had been hired in a mid-level privately-owned bank that had been largely unaffected by the meltdown. There was a position on his team, and he called up Dhruv to ask if he was interested. Normally, Dhruv would have laughed at the idea of working in what we called the "lalaji" firms. The salary was barely half of what he made at our old firm. And the company was in Powai, so the commute from Juhu would be horribly long. But like I said, beggars can't be choosers. So Dhruv took the job.
In one week, we were living "downgraded" lifestyles. With a heavy heart, we returned the car, the flat screen TV and all the other fancy gadgets that demanded monthly installments. We told our servants that their services were no longer needed. At this point, if we had no debt, we could have still lived reasonably well. But the credit card bills were massive, we had to live well within the lifestyle Dhruv's new salary could have afforded us. So the unkindest cut of them all - we had to leave our darling apartment in the posh seaside Juhu building, and rent a one bedroom apartment in an old building in Kanjurmarg.
Although Dhruv asked his boss to look for a job for me in the company, his boss said that simply was not possible. My experience was in a different sub-sector and there was no way I could be hired by them. So I was still unemployed, still sending out resumes, and waiting for the occasional interview call. But fortunately or unfortunately, thanks to our new low-brow lifestyle, that did not mean I was sitting at home with nothing to do. I had been forced into the life I had always dreaded - the busy housewife. We could just about afford a maid for washing the clothes and the dishes, but I had to clean the house and cook. Even though it was a small house and it was just the two of us, a decade-long break from any kind of housework meant that it all took up most of my day.
Things got worse in other ways too. Experiencing financial troubles for the first time, we started bickering about every little thing. Fights between us, once a rare twice-a-year phenomenon, now became an almost daily thing. We fought mainly about how to spend or not spend the little money we had. But also about other things. Working in the same company meant that even if we worked long days and nights, we were close to each other. But now, when Dhruv had to work late hours, and I had to sit at home waiting for him to return, it started annoying me. Dhruv started getting annoyed by how "housewifely" I was acting. It was the nadir of our previously rosy relationship.
That wednesday, it felt even worse. Dhruv and I had a long three-part argument before he left for work. First, he got upset at me for spending too much money on food, by buying imported chesses, expensive baked goods, and such. Then I got upset at him when he told me he would be working the whole weekend. And then we both got upset, blaming each other for the situation we were in, blaming each other for not wanting to save any money when times were good. Dhruv stormed off to work without touching his breakfast, and I sat there, ready to burst into tears.
Once I got over the fight, I realized that it was now almost 10 and the maid had still not come. She usually came to our house at 8, so she was two hours late. I prayed that she was not taking the day off. I really was not in the mood to wash clothes and do the dishes by myself. Another hour passed and still no sign of the maid. That got me worried. I decided to ask around. From what Ratna told me, she worked in only one other apartment in our building. Some old man in 43A on the fourth floor. So I trekked up to the fourth floor to check if Ratna was there.
The door on 43A looked different than all the others in our building. First, it was spotlessly clean, unlike other old dust-ridden doors in the building, including ours. Second, instead of a doorbell, it had an ornate brass knocker on it. And third, instead of the small cheap plastic nameplates on the other doors, this one had a big copper plate, and etched in it was the name "Lt. Col. H.D. Mehra, Retd."
I grabbed the knocker and hammered it a couple of times, and immediately a booming voice shouted, "COME IN!!" Surprised, I pushed the door slightly and it swung back a little. "COME IN I SAY!!" the voice boomed again, and I pushed the door open and walked in. Inside, I saw two old men sitting in armchairs, facing each other, looking downwards. As I took a few more steps, I saw that they were staring at a chess board laid out on the coffee table between them. The men paid no attention to me as I walked up to them.
"Excuse me, I stay in..." I said, but one of the men, bald with a thick handlebar moustache and a pipe in his mouth, held up his outstretched palm as if telling me to stop, so I stopped mid-sentence. He kept his hand up, so I stood there silently, shifting on my feet for a few seconds, and then finally started looking at the chess board too. It was clearly an expensive "designer" chess set, not a tawdry plastic one you see in stores. The board was made of wood, probably mahogany, and had hand crafted patterns along the edges. The big pieces looked like they were made of ivory. Next to the board was an ancient-looking chess timer. Under the timer were two crisp 100 rupee notes. I admired the ornate board and pieces for a few seconds and then started examining the game itself. The moustache-pipe guy, almost certainly Col. Mehra, was playing with black, and seemed to have gobbled up most of white pieces, played by his opponent, also an old man with a heavy white beard and neatly combed white hair.
"Just one more second." the colonel said, picked up a rook, took it to the last row, placed it there and hit the clock. He then looked at me and asked, "Yes, young lady, how may I help you?"
Instead of answering his question, I kept my gaze on the chess board and instinctively drew my breath inside audibly. The colonel and his friend heard me and started looking at the board with puzzlement. Meanwhile, my brain registered his question, and I replied,
"I stay in 32B, and my maid Ratna hasn't come to work yet. I was wondering if she came to work here today.
Let me start at the beginning. My name is Prerna and until a few months back, my husband Dhruv and I were living the vaunted Indian middle class dream. We were both working in mid-level positions in the same small but influential financial corporation. In fact we met as colleagues, became friends, then fell in love, and then got married. We had decided to postpone having children until I got promoted to a managerial position. So two decent incomes without any children translated into a pretty comfortable lifestyle. We had both grown up in families with financial troubles, so when we had a good income, we spared no expense at acquiring any luxuries. A sea-side 2 bedroom rented apartment in Juhu equipped with every luxury from a flat screen TV to a washing machine and even a drier. An expensive foreign-made sedan. Frequent foreign trips in Europe and East Asia. And of course, the services of a drive, a maid and a cook.
The problem is, we started living more like middle class Americans than middle class Indians. And by that, I mean, we racked up quite a debt. Our salaries were decent, but not lavish enough to pay for all these luxuries out of our pocket. So almost everything had been financed by loans, and most of our incomes went in paying the monthly installments, credit card bills, and the rent. The thought of saving for a rainy day did cross our minds occasionally, but Dhruv and I always said that we'd start saving once we get promoted to senior positions and our salaries grew really big. After all, the stock markets worldwide were booming, our bonuses every year were growing, our stock option value was multiplying, and our company was considered one of the rising stars in the financial sector. So we thought that as long as we were both young, we should enjoy our lives, and start saving later. The later, as it happened, was really bad.
In late 2008, the meltdown hit. Almost overnight, our company went belly up. Our shares in the company were not worth the paper they were printed on. And both Dhruv and I found ourselves unemployed. Even after that rude shock, we waded in our delusions for a few months. Surely, we would get a job elsewhere. Of course, we probably wouldn't have the convenience of working in the same office, having lunch together, and commuting together. But given that we had worked in such an awesome firm, we would find jobs soon. We sent our resumes to all the big banks and financial institutions, and continued charging our expenses to our credit cards.
Three months later, our credit cards were maxed out and neither of us had a job. We had been called for the occasional interview, but the niche nature of our previous jobs meant that there were few positions available in the top firms. And neither of us wanted to "taint" our resumes by working in a second tier firm. So we kept our fingers crossed and prayed to the lord.
The next month is when we really found our backs to the wall. We had only enough money left in our joint account to pay two months rent. We could not make any of our installments, from the car to the flat screen TV to the fancy three door fridge. It was impossible to pay the massive credit card bills. And of course, we had no money left to pay the driver, maid or the cook. That is when we were forced to take a realistic look at our situation. That is when we truly understood the meaning of the proverb "beggars can't be choosers".
There was however, a small sliver of hope. One of Dhruv's old bosses, who had also lost his job, had been hired in a mid-level privately-owned bank that had been largely unaffected by the meltdown. There was a position on his team, and he called up Dhruv to ask if he was interested. Normally, Dhruv would have laughed at the idea of working in what we called the "lalaji" firms. The salary was barely half of what he made at our old firm. And the company was in Powai, so the commute from Juhu would be horribly long. But like I said, beggars can't be choosers. So Dhruv took the job.
In one week, we were living "downgraded" lifestyles. With a heavy heart, we returned the car, the flat screen TV and all the other fancy gadgets that demanded monthly installments. We told our servants that their services were no longer needed. At this point, if we had no debt, we could have still lived reasonably well. But the credit card bills were massive, we had to live well within the lifestyle Dhruv's new salary could have afforded us. So the unkindest cut of them all - we had to leave our darling apartment in the posh seaside Juhu building, and rent a one bedroom apartment in an old building in Kanjurmarg.
Although Dhruv asked his boss to look for a job for me in the company, his boss said that simply was not possible. My experience was in a different sub-sector and there was no way I could be hired by them. So I was still unemployed, still sending out resumes, and waiting for the occasional interview call. But fortunately or unfortunately, thanks to our new low-brow lifestyle, that did not mean I was sitting at home with nothing to do. I had been forced into the life I had always dreaded - the busy housewife. We could just about afford a maid for washing the clothes and the dishes, but I had to clean the house and cook. Even though it was a small house and it was just the two of us, a decade-long break from any kind of housework meant that it all took up most of my day.
Things got worse in other ways too. Experiencing financial troubles for the first time, we started bickering about every little thing. Fights between us, once a rare twice-a-year phenomenon, now became an almost daily thing. We fought mainly about how to spend or not spend the little money we had. But also about other things. Working in the same company meant that even if we worked long days and nights, we were close to each other. But now, when Dhruv had to work late hours, and I had to sit at home waiting for him to return, it started annoying me. Dhruv started getting annoyed by how "housewifely" I was acting. It was the nadir of our previously rosy relationship.
That wednesday, it felt even worse. Dhruv and I had a long three-part argument before he left for work. First, he got upset at me for spending too much money on food, by buying imported chesses, expensive baked goods, and such. Then I got upset at him when he told me he would be working the whole weekend. And then we both got upset, blaming each other for the situation we were in, blaming each other for not wanting to save any money when times were good. Dhruv stormed off to work without touching his breakfast, and I sat there, ready to burst into tears.
Once I got over the fight, I realized that it was now almost 10 and the maid had still not come. She usually came to our house at 8, so she was two hours late. I prayed that she was not taking the day off. I really was not in the mood to wash clothes and do the dishes by myself. Another hour passed and still no sign of the maid. That got me worried. I decided to ask around. From what Ratna told me, she worked in only one other apartment in our building. Some old man in 43A on the fourth floor. So I trekked up to the fourth floor to check if Ratna was there.
The door on 43A looked different than all the others in our building. First, it was spotlessly clean, unlike other old dust-ridden doors in the building, including ours. Second, instead of a doorbell, it had an ornate brass knocker on it. And third, instead of the small cheap plastic nameplates on the other doors, this one had a big copper plate, and etched in it was the name "Lt. Col. H.D. Mehra, Retd."
I grabbed the knocker and hammered it a couple of times, and immediately a booming voice shouted, "COME IN!!" Surprised, I pushed the door slightly and it swung back a little. "COME IN I SAY!!" the voice boomed again, and I pushed the door open and walked in. Inside, I saw two old men sitting in armchairs, facing each other, looking downwards. As I took a few more steps, I saw that they were staring at a chess board laid out on the coffee table between them. The men paid no attention to me as I walked up to them.
"Excuse me, I stay in..." I said, but one of the men, bald with a thick handlebar moustache and a pipe in his mouth, held up his outstretched palm as if telling me to stop, so I stopped mid-sentence. He kept his hand up, so I stood there silently, shifting on my feet for a few seconds, and then finally started looking at the chess board too. It was clearly an expensive "designer" chess set, not a tawdry plastic one you see in stores. The board was made of wood, probably mahogany, and had hand crafted patterns along the edges. The big pieces looked like they were made of ivory. Next to the board was an ancient-looking chess timer. Under the timer were two crisp 100 rupee notes. I admired the ornate board and pieces for a few seconds and then started examining the game itself. The moustache-pipe guy, almost certainly Col. Mehra, was playing with black, and seemed to have gobbled up most of white pieces, played by his opponent, also an old man with a heavy white beard and neatly combed white hair.
"Just one more second." the colonel said, picked up a rook, took it to the last row, placed it there and hit the clock. He then looked at me and asked, "Yes, young lady, how may I help you?"
Instead of answering his question, I kept my gaze on the chess board and instinctively drew my breath inside audibly. The colonel and his friend heard me and started looking at the board with puzzlement. Meanwhile, my brain registered his question, and I replied,
"I stay in 32B, and my maid Ratna hasn't come to work yet. I was wondering if she came to work here today.