The Turning Point

The phone rang.
“I’m calling from The Hindu office. Is this Geetha’s house?”
My heart raced with excitement.
“Yes, this is Uthra, Geetha’s mother,” I replied.
“We would like to interview Geetha today at 10 AM…”
I was overjoyed. The Plus Two results were out, and Geetha had achieved remarkable success—she was the second-highest scorer in the entire state of Tamil Nadu. Against all odds, Geetha’s relentless hard work had borne fruit, and her dedication had finally been rewarded.

My thoughts drifted back to the day I walked out of my husband’s home in Kanchipuram, clutching the hands of my two young children—Geetha, just 7, and little Vatsan, only 3. The years that followed, living in Mylapore with Amma and Appa offering their moral support, were anything but easy.

How I struggled to put three meals on the table! If only I had a steady job with a reliable monthly income. My marketing job,  not a regular one, barely kept us above the poverty line. Every month, I painstakingly budgeted every expense—school fees, food, loan EMIs, rent—and then set my sales targets accordingly.

Life went on, one day at a time. Through it all, my children—bless them—grew up with strong values and ethics, their academic achievements shining as bright beacons of hope. They made me proud every step of the way.

Geetha had just secured admission to BITS Pilani, and the education loan had finally been sanctioned.

“Geethu chellam,” I said, holding up a pair of jeans, “I think we should buy this. You’ll need such kind of clothes at college.  Besides, it will last a lifetime—it’s worth the money. It fits you so well, and you look so smart.”

“Amma, it costs Rs 799! That’s way too expensive,” Geetha replied, hesitating.

I patted her head gently and smiled. “You deserve this and so much more, kannamma.” With that, I walked to the cash counter, though my mind was already racing with calculations. Now we’re left with only Rs 1,900… I thought, No way I can afford the rest of the clothes!

Geetha, clutching the brand-new jeans and beaming with hope for her future, walked alongside me to a nearby platform stall selling export rejects at Rs 100 per top.

“Geethu, choose 10 tops. You’ll need them. As soon as I get a job, I promise I’ll buy you good branded clothes. Okay, kannamma?”

“Amma, don’t feel bad!” Geetha said, her voice brimming with optimism. “I love these patterns! The material’s quite good too. How about this bright yellow one? I think it’ll suit me… maybe I’ll wear it on my first day!”

Laden with shopping bags but light in our hearts, Geetha and I stepped into our little house near the Kesava Perumal Temple.

“Amma, I’ve brought a sack of rice. Shall I keep it here?” asked Durai, standing at the doorway with his usual kind smile.

Durai was one of the several large-hearted souls in my life. He sold rice for Rs 500 a sack, but the beauty of his generosity lay in allowing me to pay Rs 50 in monthly instalments—a small mercy in my often-overwhelming financial struggles.

I turned to him and protested, “Durai Anna…vendaam (No). I don’t need a bag this month. I just can’t manage even the Rs 50 right now.”

“Oh That’s ok. I never asked you to pay. Just keep this bag ma. Don’t worry about money now. It will surely come one day…You are like Mahalakshmy and how well you have brought up your children single handedly! Geethu ma, going to college? Study well and get a good job so that you can take care of amma…”

Vatsan who was just finishing his homework remarked, “Thanks Durai Anna. Akka and I will take care of amma. She will be like a queen. One day she will have a cupboard full of saris, she will drive a white SUV and live in a lovely house with a big Oonjal (swing) near the sea. I will go to America and will buy her a plane ticket so that she can stay with me.”

“Vatsa…Amma will stay with me only….I am the first born..” Geetha piped in.

Beaming with happiness, I stepped into the kitchen to prepare a simple meal of rice and rasam. So what if my purse was empty? My heart was full. My dear children had never let me down, and I knew they never would.

As the comforting aroma of rasam filled the air and it began to froth gently on the stove, my thoughts turned to the future. Let me call the Anna Nagar export company—they’re looking for a supervisor, I thought.

I reached for the issue of Mylapore Times lying on the counter and carefully copied the number from the ad onto a scrap of paper. The soft bubbling of the rasam seemed to mirror the quiet determination growing within me, as the room filled with the comforting aroma of possibility.

 

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It was 11 AM. I was waiting for more than an hour and there was no sign of the boss. I went up to the receptionist for the 5^th time. Before I could ask her anything, she said, “Sir is coming. He is delayed in another meeting. He will be here in half an hour”

Only six other candidates remained, the rest having left in frustration. I returned to my seat, nervously flipping through my certificates for what felt like the hundredth time.

By noon, it was just me and a middle-aged man still waiting. The tension in the air was palpable.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and in walked a tall man with an air of authority. His confident gait left no doubt—this had to be the boss. Phew, at last! I thought, a mix of relief and anticipation washing over me. In 10 minutes I was called inside. The tall man, whose name I had asked the receptionist earlier, Arumugam, first profusely apologized for making me wait for so long before he started the interview.

Lost in thought, I boarded the bus to Nungambakkam, where I would switch to the 29C to Mylapore. If I get this job, the steady salary will ease so many of my troubles, I thought. But another worry crept in. How am I going to travel every day all the way to Anna Nagar West? I pushed the thought aside. Well, let me cross that bridge later, when I get the job.

Arumugam seemed kind—maybe he would consider me since there wasn’t much competition left. But doubt tugged at me. Or will he want someone with more experience? Maybe that middle-aged candidate had years of expertise.

As the bus trundled along, I sent up a silent prayer. Perumale, please, Lord… I need this job. I need this job.

I hate to stand in bus stops for long. A single young woman standing alone in any place attracts attention of lecherous men. I got down at Sterling Road walked to the Income Tax office bus stop, just to avoid standing in one place for long. Even if I get the job, what if the pay is too low? What if its just 3000 rs…Will it be enough? Maybe I should attend more interviews. Ignoring the hunger pangs which reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything except a glass of Ragi kanji that morning, I stood at the bus stop along with another woman perhaps in her 40s, slightly plump, wearing a checked green and yellow cotton sari and sporting a huge bindi. Her diamond nose ring glistened in the sunlight and there was something about her which made me look at her again. I always admire women who dress well. The older woman had worn her starched cotton sari very well and I wondered perhaps she must be an officer with lots of people working under her.

“Are you looking for a job dear?”

I was startled. Are my thoughts so transparent? “Yes…” I was wary talking to strangers.

“Waiting for 29C?” asked the woman

I was now worried…She is a mind reader, surely. I nodded. She said she too was waiting for 29C and she was heading towards Besant Nagar.

“I am here only.”, she pointed towards an office building. “If you ever need to see me, ask for Vijayalakshmy. None will stop you. They will send you directly to me. Here note down my number”

Why would I look for a total stranger! Perhaps as I guessed she is a big officer, sitting in the corner office behind a large desk with the phone constantly ringing. Ah..will I get a job in her office?

I took a small piece of paper and noted down her phone number which was a landline number.

The 29C screeched to a halt, already packed to the brim. I despised crowded buses—the jostling of sweaty bodies, the discomfort, and of course, the men, especially the older ones, who tried to grope you.

Vijayalakshmi, hopped onto the bus effortlessly. I stood back, unwilling to squeeze into the overstuffed bus. But then, she glanced over at me and beckoned. Without thinking, like an automaton, I climbed aboard just as the double whistle blew.

I quickly grabbed a handle above me as the bus lurched forward, speeding off into the chaotic traffic.

“I know your life is filled with problems now. Don’t worry. You will get a job soon. Just light a lime lamp during raahu kalam* to Ambal in any nearby temple for 4 weeks. Believe me. All will be well.”

I did not say anything. I just nodded. Never done all these things before. Prayer was never ritualistic for me. It was mostly a conversation with God. The God I trusted immensely. I felt that Hard Work and Sincerity pays, and that’s how I had come this far. Hanging on to the bar above, as the bus moved towards Luz corner I glanced at Vijayalakshmy. She looked regal and had a slight smile in her face and her eyes shone with kindness. I wondered about her family. Her children must adore her. Perhaps her husband dotes on her.

I got down at Mylapore and stood there watching the bus go. Vijayalakshmy’s face with her slight smile was etched in my mind. I did follow her advice. Lit the lemon lamps for two weeks. I received a call from the Annanagar company saying I have been selected and a formal appointment order will follow. The salary was Rs 10,000 per month. I was so happy. Rs 10,000 each month! That would solve so many of my problems.

I must tell Vijayalakshmy. I ran to the PCO nearby and dialled her number.

The phone rang for a long time and while I was almost giving up, an old man answered. His voice was like an echo as though coming from far away.

“I would like to speak to Vijayalakshmy Madam”

“Oh..she is busy in the kitchen, grating coconut”

“Can I talk to her?”

“You give me the message. I will tell her. “

“Please tell her that this is Uthra. Not sure whether she knows my name.  I met her in the bus stop. I have got a job and wanted to share this happy news with her.”

“Ok ma. I will tell her. You call back later”

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The next day, I joined as a Junior Supervisor at the Annanagar office. It was not an easy commute but I was content. My life seemed so much better all of a sudden.

That evening after work, I tried calling the number again. But I heard an automated voice saying. “This number does not exist”

I felt dizzy. In a flash the entire incident played in my mind again. The Bus Stop, the Nungambakkam office, the Big Bindi, the kind eyes, the lime lamp, 29C, Besant Nagar….

At that instant I felt it must be the Goddess herself who had come to solve the problems plaguing my life. My eyes welled. When she pointed to that office building did she mean the little temple inside the compound? And was she headed towards Besant Nagar Ashtalakshmy temple? Some questions in life have no answers. Certain people we meet for reasons we may never fully understand. Certain things happen because they are meant to.

The stint at the annanagar office proved to be a turning point in my life. Deepavali came and I received a bonus of Rs 5000. I bought clothes for appa, amma and both my children. I was ecstatic.

Two years later, I received a job offer from a multi crore company and…there was no looking back.

Years have rolled by. Both Geetha and Vatsan live in America now. As Vatsan predicted I live in a house near the sea and I drive a white SUV! But I still look for Vijayalakshmy especially whenever I pass by Nungambakkam High Road. Some days when I visit the temple, the Goddess’ face resembles hers. The slight smile, the big bindi, the brilliant nose ring and the green and yellow checked sari…

 

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*Raahu Kaalam: Raahu Kaalam is believed to be a time when negative influences are stronger, and worshipping the Goddess during this period is thought to bring protection and blessings to overcome obstacles.

Bus Pic Courtesy: Yuvaraj Photography