Going to office feels to me like what it must feel like going to school for a student of class 3. The subjects don't interest me, the teacher is not interested in me and the class-mates are as interesting as a joker would be, to a person who plays one everyday.
Honestly, I can imagine that the person who first spoke about work-life balance held the same regard for his office that a cat holds for a dog who's caught it by it's neck.
Everyday of work makes me think what could possibly be a factor that would make me want to enjoy the hours when the workplace has its teeth firmly on my neck.
- Is it more money? Not sure, though I won't really be vehement in refusing it.
- Is it more work? Everyday without fail, I make a pilgrimage to my line manager's desk, smiling and this is what our discussion sounds like:
Trainee: "Hey, good morning! Is there any work for me today?",
Manager: "Did you do what we discussed yesterday?"
Trainee: "Yes sir, I did make that one phone call you asked me to make to the agency to follow up on their work. They sent the designs. They're here on your table"
Manager: "Good, anything else?"
Trainee: "Umm.. Sir, what do I do today?"
Manager: "Umm.. Let me get back to you on that one. Thanks. Great job on the follow up! "
He smiles. I smile. I go back. I grumble. I surf the net. Cycle repeats in the next 2 hours.
So Would I like more work? Hell, Yes!!!!
- Is it only more of any work I'm looking for? Well, I'd appreciate if it were interesting, but it seems lately that the definition of interesting varies from convincer to convincee. The other day my line manager walks upto me and says,
Manager: "I've been looking all over for you! Have some really exciting work for you today. You'll love it!"
Trainee: (Ears perked up and eyes wide open like a dog who just saw a juicy bone dangling before it's eyes) "What is it Sir?"
Manager: "Take this CD of ads. It has 3000 ads in it. Categorize and index them and save it seperate folders. And here's the fun bit, you can also watch them!!! So, how does it sound?"
Trainee: (Think cloud) "Brilliant! Let me get my hands on that CD right away and rip off the cover so that I start the exciting indexing process. Oh and I never thought they'd let me watch them! Today is my day!"
FYI, I love ads. I love watching them, I love thinking what could be a better idea. But watching and indexing 3000 of them for a reason yet unknown..
Maybe it's not just more work, maybe the kind of work I need is far different from what I'm getting. Maybe more strategy, more brand building, more consumer/market interaction, more innovative or maybe just more active than passive.
But unless such a time comes, I guess the ads should keep me entertained.
(They certainly do, come to think of it, especially the ones in the Indonesian language where milk is called 'susu' and hence ads that scream about Cappucino mixes with "Sugar, Coffee and lots of thick creamy susu" make for much forwardable attachments!" ;)
PS: If you are my manager and reading this blog.
The above blog is pure fiction and I love the assignments you give me which make my work life precious and enjoyable in immeasurable ways.
Regards, Priyanka
6 comments:
susu? Thats the humor element in your blog? Whats happening, Priyanka?
-Avi
hmm, blogs blocked in office? tht's bad...
and from the amt of cribbin i see around me, MBA shud be renamed as Masters in Bitching Anonymously... some crib abt too much work, some crib abt too little work, some crib abt work not being interesting... but I love it when ppl crib, it means tht mine is not the only miserable life around... :))
as for the ads, how did u index them? u shud hv put folders named (in the order of mediocrity): "ad maker shud be shot dead", "trash", "average", "good", "brilliant" and "ads which I will give an arm and leg to make"... or some such... ur mgr wud hv been impressed wid ur creativity and wu hv given u 2 more CDs to index...
and coffee wid susu is a PJ tht gets even me "pissed" off...
What's in a name? Ask Gothi!
Growing with Names: Upa, Utsav and Upama
"What's in a name?" asked Shakespeare's Juliet: "that we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet". The answer, it seems, is a lot.
Of several names of my family members, friends, teachers, I heartedly love a name ‘Upama’. I feel so close and deep with thoughts and positive feelings when I hear this name in general conversation or come across in the newspapers. It’s Upama—literary higher, supreme. It also refers to some thing that doesn’t have its second comparison, may be unique.
I met her couple of years ago when I was working in vocational education organization in Kathmandu, the capital town of Nepal. She was my student with high disciplined and naïve nature with light dark complexion. It is the nature of teachers that the best students or those who have extra ordinary talent in educational domain become an apple in their eyes. I still completely remember each and every activity I carried in SAT classes of that organization. Roughly I had 15 working classes in a group of 7 students. Naturally we were teacher and students, just used to see in the class for hardly 50 minutes. That’s all. Mostly we used to have troubled of coming to class rather than learning in regular classes owing to regular strike and curfews in Kathmandu. We grew with frustration, despair and political chaos as politically Nepal could not do any progress in the last decade. Unfortunately many of her and mine friends and whole Nepalese are still undergoing the same situation—hopelessness! Like uncontrolled politics of country, I could not keep record of every class because I worked in several classes uncontrollably as a professional moneymaker. I had nothing more than names and personal email address of my students. Many of them I forgot soon, and some of them I ever kept in my mind automatically. It may be human nature.
Years later, I began to grow naturally but differently with my 2-year old bhanja babu (my sister’s son). No body loved his priestly announced name, Ganja Bahadur; I also don’t like to utter any more! Very small but cute, lovely with chubby cheeks and every inspiring the boy gave me an imprint of his talent in my matured understanding. He was the one to operate my PC at home and ever he called me ‘dai’, means elder brother in my language because it was his first word that he uttered in his life. He could not speak naturally for a longer time and it had created a problem in family—including to his grandparents and great-grand parents in village. But along with my name ‘dai’ he uttered several English words and run electronically devices like PC, television set, cassette players normally and properly. I gave his name ‘Utsav’ meaning joy because hearing his soft and unique words we had have a big joy in the family.
Owing to his flat tongue his words were not clear and whenever and whoever asked him his name, he couldn’t utter more than ‘u…upa’, the first letter of his name. Sounds funny and incomplete but for those who have children in the family know very well the heavenly pleasure of spending time with children and indulging with their languages. A year and half at Arunima School, I was in children’s words—talking in their language, teaching and understanding their cries and happiness as an elementary teacher. Upama, the spiritual and motivational name ever echoed in my mornings and evenings for a longer period when I used to see Utsav in the family after my day long work. Tired and bored used to be from the work yet the angelic boy’s chucking and whispering made me lose all boredom soon. Now my stay in the States has made me my memory stronger and wider than it was when I was with Utsav in Kathmandu. Truly speaking I’m missing the little boy; no matter he goes to school today as a kindergarten student. I can guess his English vocabulary and miracles that ever he impressed in my mind with that beautiful name ‘Upama’. Also I missed Upama no sooner I completed teaching the class that day because a student merely visit her teacher in my culture, and having a wish also she could not meet or see me because she left the nation for study in that year.
Today I talked with her the second time coming to the Sates over phone and it ever remained me my past strongly, beautifully and sharply pulling and pushing all darkened and melted memories from home to class. Friends, family and home ties, today in our talk, became catalyst for our talk to develop a complete meaning—of understanding the complexities of life.
Grew and studied in village school in 1997, I came to Kathmandu and ever made it my workplace for rest of the years. The village, especially my teachers, school friends and neighbors were ever the same—I can say I have the constant picture like the photographed one—in my mind: open fields, cows and sheep, up and down hills, scattered house, oil lamps and foot walking, local songs and dances. I ever kept constant and beautiful village in my mind because I did not see things changing. And how a person can do when s/he no longer lives there! For instance, if you go back to home right now, for centuries the America will be the same America—people, culture and understanding in your time because a constant picture comes into mind. For me teachers ever become lovely and inspiring as they were there in my village. I did not go back to village, just heard about them over phone and letter. I never noticed the physical and natural changes out there. The most important figure constantly became live in my life was of my school principal—a late thirties gentleman, bold, handsome, and smart personality with oval shape beard. He is the only teacher I ever remembered in my life because of his true words, encouragement and scholarly suggestion. Had he not been there in my beginning step of life, I would never have been first in all my academic position. Recalling junior and senior college days, I have another name, Hriseekesh Upadhyay, whom, after my high school teacher, I worship more than god. He is everything in my life, equal to parents and God.
Time is the most powerful thing. I can’t make it stop or go with my situation. I have cried, wept and lamented much with my age and with my understanding—more then death, more than parents. I have missed my parents for longer than anything else but once a situation became higher or deeper than that. Time gap! I was stupid fella for not counting and realizing my growing with time! I was more innocent than my bhanja, Utsav for not keeping a fact in mind.
Because, a decade later I went to the village with a school program “Giving Books to Bookless: Girls in Education in Village” and I was eager to meet my principal there, and he was there but disguised person “white beard, clean shaved and thin”. I could not believe myself. I was full of tears, I didn’t have words, I was speechless, motionless. How time has cheated us! With tears I hugged him longer, touched his feet and he was my Christ, my Shiva, my God whatever name you give Him.
It’s not only you dear Upama and my lovely bhanja, Upa or Utsav, I am also changed myself. I ever forget my self. I am not the same beanpole who used to shiver in the cold winter of Himalaya but I am a grown up middle age man. I don’t know but it’s sure my grandparents, parents, family members, and best friends will get changed socially, culturally and ritually. Whom will I see and hug with that respect here in the States? Jesus knows! Dark and ever loving moments of past ever hunt and make us feel living yet we can do nothing more than lament or cherish them. Let me feel joy and comfort with all names: Upa, Utsav, Upama and ….
So who can say: there's nothing in a name eh, Mr. Shakespeare?
Kris
kris.bista@gmail.com
AL, USA
happened by your profile and read your blog- wonderfully written, witty and very very funny- and- there's too little of it :) looking forward to more!
ankush
wake up, lil one
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