Laid Off

I felt cheated when I got laid off after Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy on Monday, September 15, 2008. I felt cheated because it was not a surprise.

I remember the coffee-room gossip. As far back as August 2007, ‘Oh boy, is this the beginning of the end?’ In early 2008, when Bear Sterns collapsed, we were still saying the same thing.

We stayed put. With hindsight, we were like moths seeking a flame, greedy for a speedy death.

That last weekend, life depended on unknown people, ‘Hey, Bank of America is going to bailout Lehman. We will be saved…’

On that Monday, I reached office earlier than usual. Colleagues, never seen at that hour during normal times, were busy copying files and revising their old-forgotten résumé. My boss sat alone in his office looking out through a window probably thinking about his lost big fat bonus. I did not have to think about that.

I became part of a world-wide subculture. There were guys like me in Detroit, London, Tokyo, even Wall Street. I am different, I know. Those guys were part of some statistics, influencing policy and stimulus packages. Who will consider a sweat shop guy as a data point?

The first week, relatives came home to express their condolences. They sat with bowed heads, whispering to each other. In their eyes, was I laid off, or laid to rest with cotton in my nose and coins on my eyes? Maybe not the coins … it is good to save for a rainier day.

My father-in-law accosted me before the others, ‘Are you really jobless?’

I nodded.

He persisted, ‘But, were you with Lehman?’

I shook my head.

‘Tchah! If only you were with Lehman, I could have told that to my friends. What’s the name of your company?’

I told him the nice desi name. My father-in-law walked away, shaking his head sadly.

My relatives offered advice. My friends called for the details. When I mentioned to them that I planned to visit, they made themselves scarce.

My wife keeps me informed about their enquiries. She mimics and mocks well, ‘Is he there? Don’t call him. Has he gone for interviews? Has he tried job portals? Isn’t he even applying? Where is he hiding?’

I made myself more useful at home though I was told that it is unnecessary. I prepared for my kids’ PTA meetings. The teachers listened to my wife and ignored me. I lost my cool once. These days, she goes alone.

My wife says it is my ego. Sometimes, she calls it low-esteem. I hope it is that. It would be tougher if it is because people have nothing to say to me. I used to have the same problem with divorced people. There is little common ground. What do you say to a guy for whom every day is Sunday?

I keep in touch with some of my old colleagues. One is facing foreclosure, a few have got some job, another is getting divorced, no suicides, so far.

A few months back, my youngest one asked me, ‘Are you now a home-maker?’

My wife hushed the kid with a stern glance. Maybe, she heard it as home-breaker.

I can’t tell them that I write, can I? In my circle of family and friends, hardworking men don’t write for a living. They don’t do that for fun either. I don’t write for fun or living. It helps me to kill time.

There are supposed to be five stages to dying: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

These five stages apply to being jobless, too. Just in reverse – acceptance, depression, bargaining, anger and denial.