It has been about five months since I've been out of the professional race.
My parents are unhappy about it. My husband doesn't know what to make of it. I frankly wouldn't care.
It's not easy living on a single income for two people. I have been working on and off, and am expecting just two cheques not worth anybody's time. If those come on time, and I doubt that they will, some of the rent will have been taken care of.
I've been working since college. I was lucky I chose a profession that gave me a headrush every single day - the urgency of the newsroom, the deadlines that rattled me just once, the continuous learning process. The last two years of active work were rather subdued. I worked for a paper that was based out of Mumbai and I quit under rather controversial circumstances at the peak of the economic recession. Of course, I secured a job that paid much more than the earlier one before I quit, and that was my last professional achievement before I called it a day in May this year.
Now I manage the home. People who know me don't think that's such a good idea. Sometimes I don't think so too. Sometimes I file a story and make myself some chai in leiu of encouragement. Then I go back to doing the dishes and mopping the floors and cooking dinner. I don't think I debase myself by tending to the home.
My only crime, as far as I can see, is to leave the husband to look after the cash inflow. It's a big crime, in this day and age, and I feel like a cow.