When I first became aware of the haves and the have-nots, I was young and acutely sensitive to philosophy, politics and economics. It worried me that I was plump and well-fed and had the means to support myself - while millions lived below the poverty line in all corners of the globe!
With time and technology, the good life, I believed, was reaching larger numbers. How wonderful that discrimination on lines of caste and creed, social status, age and gender were blurring. It took me some time to realise that technology had brought with it new classes of people - and a whole generation that needed to adapt or retire from the work force.
Discrimination hadn't gone anywhere, it had just changed its face. The Great Divide still existed. True, no one buzzed loudly for the office boy to bring in tea; self-service from the impersonal tea and coffee machine was the order of the day. But the veneer of equality ended there.
The new elite were the ones who had the technical know-how. And if I didn't know how, the logical conclusion was that I didn't know what and why and when either! With a smirk and a faint sniff, they'd pass me by, making sure they didn't bump into me even accidentally; I could be a Trojan virus or worm that could seriously afflict the laptops that they casually carried around with them like extensions of their arms!
It was only a small step from smirking to censoriously looking down upon me, and from mere have-not I sank to a totally inconsequential, irrelevant, unnecessary form of low life. In the face of this giant gap between the all-knowing and the obviously ignorant, I groped around, frantically pressing buttons and flicking switches in hopes of starting the monster on my desk. Helpless mutterings didn't help. No one in that hallowed office had ever seen a full-grown, living, breathing human who didn't know Word, Excel, XP, PowerPoint ... and who then dared to defile sanctified technospace.
Barrage of mails
Technospace it was: to the left and to the right, in neat rows of humankind, young automatons sat with their PCs, ear phones or speaking devices plugged in, concentration writ large on their fresh, unlined faces, fingers flying soundlessly on soft-touch keyboards, no movement to right or left. If exchanges took place, they were done online, in a barrage of mails and messaging. Dialogue was practically non-existent, and there was no time to smile at a newcomer - especially a tech-challenged alien from a galaxy far, far away!
Fine, I thought, I can keep to myself, too. But my sense of adventure and excitement at the challenges ahead dulled a bit. Where was the comfortable craziness of the office busybody, the constant buzz of conversation, the movement of men and material as colleagues spoke to each other, the noise of filing cabinets being opened and shut and typewriters clacking - all that had made up prehistoric offices?
As I waited for the floor to open and swallow me in what would be a final act of mercy, my PC finally relented and came on, and I started work. Hesitantly, minding my Ps and Qs, and Xs and Ys (just to be on the safe side), I began to tackle the work waiting for me. It didn't need technical expertise, just everyday reading and writing skills - and a bit of 'rithmetic, too, as I counted to 10 every time some highfaluting lord of the gigabyte attributed all minor and major lapses within a radius of six office systems to a slip of my keyboard or mother board!
And then, another member of Gen Old walked in - eyeing me admiringly as my fingers flew over the keyboard - and I knew there were others who would join me at the bottom of the food chain and would work their way up. They also serve who have learned to wait and emulate!
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
