The Act of Conforming Ft. Illiya Manna

Art by Navya Ismael

I hate suits, I really really do. I would rather wear a saree, although I am not very good at it. My mother has tried innumerable times to teach me the art of draping, and even though most days I look fairly okay while wearing a saree, I have never been fully satisfied with how any 6 yards of fabric looks on me. No point in thinking about sarees today though, we don't get to wear them for most job interviews, so instead, I take a seat on the chair.

The niceties are all done, and I am pulling at the invisible lint in my trousers- of course, they cannot see that. My ponytail is too tight, and my lipstick is just the right shade, and I am not ready for this, but to be honest I don’t think I will ever be ready.

'So, tell me about yourself?'

I want to tell them that I know why this question is asked, I have answered this too many times, but I am not sure if what I say is who I am. I want to tell them about the first time my mother told me about death, and how that word has been the darkest cloud and the heaviest weight every time since. I want to tell them about the huge sunflowers that grew on the front porch of the quarter opposite to ours, and how I plucked them because they were so pretty that I didn't have the heart to let them out of my sight. I want to tell them that I really don't know my favourite colour, but it might be yellow because they remind me of sunflowers and sometimes, sunrises, or sunsets, I am not sure.

I want to tell them about the time when I went up on a stage and sang the only Rabindra Sangeet I knew, twice, because I wasn't scared of the audience and I cried when my father had to force me to step down. I want to tell them that I never really understood Chemistry and that I still have nightmares about the subject exactly once a year. I want to tell them about how happiness was as simple as seeing ponds with lotuses and hydrangeas during train journeys when I was a child. I want to tell them that the first letter I ever wrote was a plea to save my life.

I want to tell them about how I feel at home when I am alone, and always out of place among friends and family. I want to tell them that sometimes I feel that my heart has been reduced to a torn rag because I have left pieces of it with all the people I have ever loved. I want to tell them that if I had a genie, I would ask for a bad memory because forgetting is so much harder than forgiveness, and sometimes I think I cannot live with everything that's in my head. I want to tell them about the number of times I have wanted to stop living, the number of ways I know I could do it, the number of times I have tried, and the number of times I wish I were successful.

I want to tell them that two years back, for a little time I thought life was a tad too short for all that I want to achieve. I want to tell them how obsessed I am with happy endings in books and movies because sometimes I feel that's all the happiness I will ever have. I want to tell them that I have never felt enough- most days lucky, the rest a mistake.

I want to tell them about how five years back a trainer told us how to answer that question. 'Sell yourself. Each line you speak out, you must sell hard.', his words still reverberate in my head.

So, I start speaking- ticking off that checklist in my mind, one by one, until I am done with five and the interviewers smile.

‘This is going good’, I tell myself and give myself a mental pat.

Once I am done with the interview, I step out of the room, take off the suit and mumble to myself, 'damn you, stupid stupid suit'.