Air India, Masterprint
Getting back to Nita—she will take her Class Twelve exams this year, so she will have finished her secondary education and be ready for university or vocational training. Among the subjects she has chosen for her exam is English, but her background in the language is so weak that about the only sentence she can write correctly is "My name is Nita." She asked me for help with her English course, which I'm happy to give because she is highly motivated. She not only wants to pass the exam, she has set her heart on scoring above eighty percent, a difficult task for anyone in these state-wide exams. But we should always aim for the stars, right? "A man's reach should exceed his grasp . . ." and all that.
One part of the exam is an essay question. The topics are different every year but tend to include "The Worst Day of my Life," "What I would do if I were Prime Minister," "My Favorite Book," and other such personal narratives, as well as the more general subjects like, "The Menace of Terrorism" or "Democracy in India." On the list of these topics, one was "Your choice of profession."
That sounded like an easy one to begin with for her.
"Do you know what job you want?" I asked Nita, thinking she'd probably give some safe, sweet-sounding answer, like the job the career counselor had suggested to her, which was nursing.
"I want to be an air hostess," she said without hesitation.
Had I heard her correctly? I certainly wouldn't have expected that to be her choice.
"Why?" I doubted she'd ever seen an airport or the inside of a plane, outside of movies.
"They look," she said in Hindi, "smart," Nita finished in English.
Since "I want to look smart" and "I like the uniform" didn't exactly add up to the two hundred and fifty words we needed, I gave her a little more information about what flight attendants actually do while wearing the smart uniform. I didn't skimp as I described the downside—the insistence on perfect appearance, the killing schedules, the rude passengers, the early retirement age. But she cheerfully went on writing about wanting to see the world, to meet people, learn languages . . . and look smart.
I could have told her that Air India recently fired ten air hostesses for being what the company considered to be excessively overweight, and Nita has a tendency to roundness. But I'm sensitive on that point myself, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I imagine life itself will change her ambitions soon enough. Even domestic airlines would insist on more English than she can command at present; all those middleclass English-medium school women will have a far greater chance to nab the jobs available.
Ah, but if she had the money, there are institutes, even in our quiet little town, that say, "the sky's the limit" for their students. Apparently, training flight attendants has become a growth industry in India. Not long ago, Indian Airlines was the only choice for domestic air travel, and the prices were such that government functionaries entitled to airfare, businessmen on expense accounts, and the rich were the only passengers. Then the skies were opened to private airlines, prices fell, and people learned to fly. The economic downturn put some dent in that shiny success, but it's still a booming business that requires workers.
It's a given in India that if there is a job, there is a coaching center that claims to train people for it. There are coaching centers for the civil service exams, defense services, for MBA and technical institute admissions, for aspiring actors, models and beauty queens.
Nita can't afford what the air hostess institute charges to train young hopefuls, making it probable that this particular career choice will never get off the ground for her. She may have to learn to look smart in some other kind of uniform, and she probably will. The days when women had limited career options are long gone. Meanwhile, I only hope her high-flying aspirations will help her get through the exam.
Though I must admit I was really rattled when I read an article the other day. It was about a school for village girls who had dropped out of the system. I read it with interest because I'd seen this school when it began. Students arrived with torn clothes and unkempt hair that showed exactly how far beneath the poverty line they lived. After a few months, I'd seen them in their new school uniforms, hair oiled and braided to perfection. They'd been full of cheerful talk about what they'd seen on the school television, and had great fun dressing up and putting on a play.
The author asked one of the girls what she wanted to be when she grew up. Reportedly, she said, "An Air Hostess." According to the writer, every one of the girls said the same thing.
For hopes, I guess, the sky really is the limit.
BIO: Lucinda Nelson Dhavan first went to India on a Fulbright Foundation grant, immediately after graduating from College. She's still there. After several years devoted to domestic bliss, child rearing, and learning Hindi, she joined the staff of a regional newspaper. She is polishing a collection of short stories and working on a novel. Contact Lucinda at: ldhavan@yahoo.co.in