My once-a-week office attendance has now reached its seventh round.
At first, I sensed a faint curiosity among my colleagues about my presence, as if I were an outsider. But recently—from my perspective—I feel I have largely blended in.
People no longer see me as something unusual. Quietly erasing my sense of presence, I have gradually become part of the office's scenery.
One day, I happened to run into a man in the cafeteria whom I had spoken with briefly during tea time before. He joined the company around the same time as I did. He is from Dehradun, Uttarakhand, in northern India.
“At this time of year, the weather there is really wonderful,” he said with a smile. “Mornings and evenings are almost cold.”
Hearing this, I couldn't help but compare it to Pune — where even mornings and nights hover around 30°C and daytime temperatures approach 40°C — making it sound like an entirely different world.
“This is the season when I get homesick.”
Without even thinking, I found myself nodding deeply at those words.
His comment brought to mind the air in Japan between late spring and early summer. More than the heat itself, it is the inescapable dry heat that slowly creates a feeling of suffocation. Apparently, I am not the only one who feels this way.
Meanwhile, another team member, N, a young woman from IIT Guwahati, had a completely different concern.
For this year’s Diwali holidays, instead of returning to her family home in Assam, she is planning a trip to Thailand with friends.
“For about the same amount of money as going home, I can go to Bangkok instead.”
She said it casually, but her decision not to return home during what is arguably the most important annual festival — and often the only real long holiday season of the year — feels very characteristic of modern India.
There are direct flights from Pune to Bangkok operated by Air India Express. IndiGo also offers relatively cheap routes via Kolkata. The price gap between long-distance domestic and overseas travel is gradually narrowing.
“But the company my friend works for isn’t as flexible as ours,” she complained. “They basically have to wait for long holidays. So in the end, Diwali is the only option.” Even while grumbling about it, she clearly seemed excited.
Reflecting on this, I realised once again that one of the reasons this enormous company is able to attract talented people from across India is undoubtedly its flexibility in how people work. It is neither fully office-based nor excessively management-heavy. Employees can work remotely when necessary. That flexibility likely enables talented young people from across India to work comfortably away from their hometowns and families.
As I was thinking about this, our team leader A — originally from Himachal Pradesh — called out to me as he always does.
At lunch and tea breaks, he consistently checks in to see how I am doing.
That day, I had brought homemade sandwiches.
“We’re going out for a smoke after lunch,” he said. “You should eat with another group instead.” Then he went out of his way to speak to the other group as well, naturally making sure I had “lunch companions.”
Later, he even sent me an apology message because he had forgotten to invite me for tea time.
In India, the distance between people often feels very close. But with A, this closeness is never abrupt or thoughtless. It is always remarkably considerate.
Honestly, I am impressed every time I witness his unwavering commitment to his work. Yet I quietly wonder whether his constant attentiveness is affecting his mental health.
Scorching-hot Pune.
Despite the scorching heat in Pune, inside this office — a place where I somehow ended up getting a seat by pure chance — people from all over India coexist gently together, bringing with them the climates, values, and lives of their respective hometowns.
Lately, I’ve found myself reflecting on how I may have finally become a genuine part of that scenery, too.
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