Home Alone

I remember this time when my refrigerator broke down. I called the authorised service centre and they promised to send a man to look at the problem. Then began the negotiations, which finally resulted in my break down. “The man will come some time this week.” “Excuse me madam but I am a working woman living alone. Can you give me a specific day?” “We said he will come.” “Madam, there will be no one home.” This carried on until she reluctantly agreed on a Monday, seven days after the complaint had been lodged. Innocently, I asked, “And around what time, so that I can make sure I am home.” “Any time between 9.00 am and 5.00 pm,” came the reply. Of course, why did I expect anything else? Every working woman must spend a day at home waiting for her refrigerator to be fixed. Stuff like this builds character, teaches you humility. After a screaming row, I finally got her to narrow the gap to 1.00 pm to 5.00 pm and then waited till 7.30 pm, when he finally showed up.

I dismissed the whole incident thinking consumer companies, particularly companies that make household goods, are not geared to handle the needs of a working woman. Imagine my horror when I discovered that banks, even the “highly respected retail-driven” foreign banks, were no better than the much-maligned babu-run banks. Every piece of communication is sent to you by courier from your ATM card to your cheque book. They even send you notifications, that you have not collected your bank statements, through courier. Which means if you live alone and that is always a question they ask me 17 times before they say, “There is no servant in the house either?” you never get your cheque book in time to pay your rent.

Letters to CEOs, affidavits that promise permanent slavery one time, I even wrote a document that promised I would show up at the bank every time I was called and irate phone calls later, I still find myself telling the irritating voice on the other end, “No madam, I apologise for not having a full-time servant, should I get one just to take delivery of my bank statement?” The sarcasm always soars over her head and on more than one occasion I get the response, “So can the servant sign for the parcel?”Even hip, consumer-friendly companies, that offer services like free home delivery and collection to lure customers, fail on this front. They like every one else cannot comprehend that people might live alone, like without other people in the house. Alone, as in the dictionary meaning, ie, without others present. Given that, how am I going to collect parcels, get appliances fixed and receive mobile phone bills at timings totally inconvenient to my work schedules? I mean these companies are run by working people, who know how tough it is to take a day off, then on what grounds do they assume others can sit at home?

I do have a solution. One that will thwart my mother’s nefarious scheming. The next time I am home and the courier man rings the doorbell, I shall kidnap him, chain him to the front door and make him sign for parcels all day long. What worries me is that I will have to wait at home, indefinitely, for him to show up.

— Nonita Kalra is the Executive Editor, ELLE