Source: Times of India
You have heard of the perks of working from home. You get to lounge in your pyjamas till noon and the commute remains confined to forgotten nightmares. I thought so too when I decided to become a full-time writer. Maybe it could have been all that it was advertised to be had there not been two little people sharing the home and the office with me.
Most of it is the computer's fault. Its power chord to be more precise. It attracts children. It is my theory that toddlers learn to crawl and then hoist themselves up and then take those first faltering steps only to get at the power chord. If it is out, it needs to be put in. The battery is at a hundred per cent, I protest weakly. No mama, says the four-year-old as he deftly brings the power chord to the computer and hears the satisfying click as it attaches magnetically to the machine. This is the way it's supposed to be, he concludes and saunters off. I nod and try to get back to work, only to look down and find myself staring at the miniature version of the child that just left. His little sister is now tugging frantically at the power chord and gives a whoop of victory as it snaps out of the socket. She wants to know what it tastes like. I try to convince her to the contrary. She lets her displeasure be known. Her brother comes back into the room. He senses that the balance of the universe has shifted in the moments he was away. Oh no, he screams as he spots the power chord dangling in his sister's hands. 'Why have you taken the power chord out? It is supposed to be connected.' The toddler opens her mouth wide and lets out a scream that brooks no argument. Away, away, I shoot them out of the room; the power chord is out of bounds for both of you. I try to focus on work.
Has your child been on his best behaviour? Here, are some ideas to reward him.
Taking calls is a hurdle. It is alright when friends call. They understand why there are war cries in the background and why I punctuate every sentence with a 'No! No! Stop!' It is a little more difficult when the calls are work-related. As soon as the phone rings, the children try to be helpful. They run to me with the ringing device. Sometimes, the phone is answered before it reaches my hands. I try to be professional, calm and collected as I proffer a hello but normally at these times, I have a child hanging on to each leg, practising their tree-climbing skills. The requests come fast and furious - may I water the plants, may I mix cake batter, may I do some colouring, all harmless tasks if you are naive, but fraught with peril when undertaken by unsupervised children. I used to lock myself in the bathroom while taking calls but then the flush went off once and you know how not everyone has a taste for toilet humour.
I could go to a library or a coffee shop to work. In fact there is just one thing that's holding me back - the realisation that I am lucky. After all, not everyone has two muses in their living room while they work.
Most of it is the computer's fault. Its power chord to be more precise. It attracts children. It is my theory that toddlers learn to crawl and then hoist themselves up and then take those first faltering steps only to get at the power chord. If it is out, it needs to be put in. The battery is at a hundred per cent, I protest weakly. No mama, says the four-year-old as he deftly brings the power chord to the computer and hears the satisfying click as it attaches magnetically to the machine. This is the way it's supposed to be, he concludes and saunters off. I nod and try to get back to work, only to look down and find myself staring at the miniature version of the child that just left. His little sister is now tugging frantically at the power chord and gives a whoop of victory as it snaps out of the socket. She wants to know what it tastes like. I try to convince her to the contrary. She lets her displeasure be known. Her brother comes back into the room. He senses that the balance of the universe has shifted in the moments he was away. Oh no, he screams as he spots the power chord dangling in his sister's hands. 'Why have you taken the power chord out? It is supposed to be connected.' The toddler opens her mouth wide and lets out a scream that brooks no argument. Away, away, I shoot them out of the room; the power chord is out of bounds for both of you. I try to focus on work.
Has your child been on his best behaviour? Here, are some ideas to reward him.
Taking calls is a hurdle. It is alright when friends call. They understand why there are war cries in the background and why I punctuate every sentence with a 'No! No! Stop!' It is a little more difficult when the calls are work-related. As soon as the phone rings, the children try to be helpful. They run to me with the ringing device. Sometimes, the phone is answered before it reaches my hands. I try to be professional, calm and collected as I proffer a hello but normally at these times, I have a child hanging on to each leg, practising their tree-climbing skills. The requests come fast and furious - may I water the plants, may I mix cake batter, may I do some colouring, all harmless tasks if you are naive, but fraught with peril when undertaken by unsupervised children. I used to lock myself in the bathroom while taking calls but then the flush went off once and you know how not everyone has a taste for toilet humour.
I could go to a library or a coffee shop to work. In fact there is just one thing that's holding me back - the realisation that I am lucky. After all, not everyone has two muses in their living room while they work.
