The beginning of the end

They say the world is ending. Whether the apocalypse really happens, only the day can tell, but here’s what we can do, with this theory . Use it as a disclaimer rather than a deathclock

The Mayans viewed 'time' and 'dates' as meshing   spiritual cycles. The Mayan calendar was sacred and religious, each day had it's own patron spirit.  However the Mayan grand cycle of evolution will culminate on December 21, 2012 AD- The 2012 Apocalypse. This time now has many nicknames "The Time of Trial on Earth," "Judgement Day," "The Time of Great Purification," "The End of this Creation," "The Quickening," "The End of Time as We Know It," "The Shift of the Ages," "The Apocalypse" and "Armageddon" , even stretched as far as Doomsday.  This is one way we look at it. As a warning, there’s however another side to this coin – A disclaimer.

What if it were official  , as they say ‘right from the Mayans mouth’. The bulletins flash it in bright red, the newspapers scream them out – The world is really ending, You got roughly ten days to go before your entire spaced it wiped off , in one big whoosh. What would you do? Carry on , with life like you’ve been doing all your life?  Go back to  balancing your chequebook or doing the laundry  or running after the Mumbai local that has to get you to work. Or would you follow the Nicholas Sparks clichés and start building your bucket list ?  Many of us would be nodding sagely at the prospect of building a bucket list and ticking them off even before the news bulletin has wiped itself off the screen.

Have we ever stopped to consider that perhaps, this whole idea of the World ending is merely a disclaimer thrown king-size at our lives  warning us to take a breather , before the mad rush of 2013 begins? Food for thought indeed , because unless such a preposterous thought as the world actually ending is thrown at us, we’d forget to live !

Imagine that today was doomsday as they call it – 21/12/2012. You and I would make sure we wake up early , catch the morning sunrise and soak up the rays , sipping this huge mug of expresso , we’d visit our friends, make time to reach out to our boyfriend , say our sorries to our Exs and enemies,  take a picnic to the beach , spend an idle afternoon watching trashy films off the telly ,  have a nice candlelit dinner , and then tuck ourselves into bed , waiting… waiting for what? The next day, the sun will rise and we’ll grudgingly look at each other and exclaim that the world did not end , and accuse the Mayan calendar for making false prophecies and allowing you a fun day with your family. And that is a terrible accusation indeed because if not for the ‘schizophrenic ‘ paranoid Mayans , 21^st December 2012 , which falls on a Friday would be spent chasing your morning train to work , straining your eyes and spraining your backside hunched over a laptop, having screaming fits with your partners , skipping dinner and stomping off to bed , hoping the world would really end and gobble you up. Pretty pathetic isn’t it? Now that we take a breather and think , isn’t this how our average day is ?  is’nt that how we spend every 264 days of of a year , sparing only the few hours before new years eve , toasting in ‘new beginnings’ and vowing to have a ‘memorable year’?

Maybe its time we stopped fearing doomsday , and christening it – the beginning of an end – the beginning of ending your woes, and giving a real fun day with people who matter to you. Take a walk, stop to breathe , grab a donut , feed a dog and thank the Mayans who would probably scare the CEO’s of the MNC’s into giving you an off on  a Friday. And to those of you who’s still skeptical about this insanely thought provoking theory , how about starting on your bucket list ? Maybe the world might just end , and you’d have missed the best day of your life just because you were too cynical to believe in the magic of a make believe bucket list.

With 20 days  to go and counting , we need to take this day as the beginning of an end to all our ‘tomorrows’ and ‘Laters’ and believe in the magic of today. Pre-pone your happiness , make today the best day in your life and live it like it were your last – for tomorrow just might never come. J

“YOURS DIGITALLY - DIGITAL NATIVES”

How many times in our days have we struggled with a smart Phone App or thumped through the user manual of a gadget only to have our little sons or brothers wrench it from us and fiddle with the controls only to get around it  in minutes ? Ever had an ‘OMG, I’m so old and technologically challenged moment?’ well, you’ve just entered the generation of the Digital natives.

Every day of our lives is subjected to change because of everyday technological innovation.  Most of us adapted to the acquired taste of technology, while some were born into it. Welcome to the land of digital natives – the new gizmo- geek land of our little brothers and sisters where technology is the order of the day.

A digital native, by definition is a generation who is born into the world of technology, and through continuous exposure to it, has a better understanding of it right from a very young age.

Digital natives are fast getting their tiny fingers around social networking, video gaming , mobiles and the internet . It is quite fascinating to see , our young brothers and sisters having their own Facebook profile , the entire works in place – profile pictures , funky albums , and in some cases even a frequent update on Foursquare! What stumps us further is , how our little siblings managed to set themselves up with an account on social networking sites , when they are clearly chained off at 18 years and above. “Oh that’s simple!  I only had to use my dad’s date of birth to set up the account. , says Vignesh , a seventh grader  digital native  grinning widely at his accomplished wildcard entry into the world of ‘adults’ at 13. On questioned what he does on facebook , he shrugs away that he usually chats with his friends, plays the games and Apps available and tries to make new friends while browsing for new apps and games .  A rather heavy plate for a 13 year old, who ought to be playing cricket on the streets , and having his knees scraped  and slurping on ice lollies!

Neeti , a 12 year old from Pune feels that Facebooking is the best way to ‘stay in touch’ with her friends from school , specially when her mom bans her from having long calls with her friends. “ I can always leave them a message , and they will reply instantly. This is easier than having long phone calls” says Neeti matter of factly. Exactly what a 12 year old has to communicate to her friends just hours after she has left from school beats us , digital immigrants .

The digital natives are fast surging through the corners of the world, getting their hands on every bit of technology that has advanced. Yes, they are witty and quick on the intake , well read and with nimble fingers that can work their way through complicated bits of technology , and more well read and street smart than most of us were , at our tiny tot years.

Most schools are facing the dilemma on the recent surge of this generation into their classrooms. On one hand they have children who are quick on the intake of learning , and take animation and Java classes right from sixth grade .  On the other hand , the teachers have children fiddling with their phones through classroom sessions and playing games under the desk. 

“It all comes down to the change in upbringing. These days’ children are given instant gratification to their needs. This can be attributed by the number of Tupperware lunch boxes that have been left unclaimed at our staff rooms . No child who has lost his Tupperware comes looking for them. They immediately get a new one from their parents. Something as expensive as Tupperware has no value for today’s children because they always know it can be replaced. This is because attachment to their belongingness has reduced considerably  because of losing interest and attention span . I attribute this as a black mark on the digital natives who function on impatience and instant gratification“sighs Uma Maheshwari , a teacher at a CBSE School in Pune.

Another aspect of digital natives has to do with their addiction to gaming. Gaming , specially the violent ones that involve beating people up on their PSPs has become the new sport for an average 13 year old over a good old game of cricket or ball. The same holds true for girls too. Every girl is seen lounging over a laptop chatting with her friends and changing her display pictures, her vulnerable self, being portrayed through the make believe world of social interaction we call the internet. Gaming centre’s in and around Pune jostle with these kids, every evening as their pocket money is willingly handed over for the coins , that allow them to bash a hulk up, According to Ajay , a little boy of 12 , his ideal Saturdays are spent , playing counter strike with his best friend , holed up in their room all day! It’s no wonder our parks are being bulldozzered to make way for more skyscrapers. Our little children are too busy in a world of their own to care!

This is the nation of the digital natives – a smarter one no doubt , a faster one , a generation that loses interest at the whisk of a cats tail, a generation that can think better and faster than anyone else.  On the flipside they are a generation where over 52 % of our kids spend more than 5 hours online every day with Mumbai having the most number of children addicted to the computer, closely followed by Delhi, Bangalore and Chennai.

The Privacy department of Facebook reports over 20000 fake underage profiles of facebook as of 2012, which are deleted in chunks every day! Sony Play station India envisages an overwhelming growth in the gaming industry in the next two years specially in localized content. All this, only for a generation that includes our children , and their successors. To wrap it up, the digital natives are here to stay, they have the panache, they understand technology , and they have the power  and they have options– the question is what will they do with it?

Sole story

‘Foot’ for thought?

From  Cinderella, to Carrie Bradshaw  and finally Imelda Marcoss . one seeks to discover  fascinating reasons why footwear is seducing our imaginations — and emptying our wallets — more than ever.

Her wardrobe was bursting at the seams. One look at it and we know it is full with shoes of various types- stilettos, sandals, pumps , you name it she has it There are shoes everywhere. Behind the table , under the beds, piles of footwear stacked neatly by the wall , her den looks like a wholesale store. It is shoe paradise, one that evokes a wistful sigh from girls. Welcome to Sunaina’s sole story.

 We’ve heard of the age old clichés of collecting stamps, coins , and old relics. The generation today begs to differ. Stamps and coins are fast being replaced with unusual souvenirs –  footwear topping the list for the ‘it girl’ of today.

 A Typical urban lass owns an average of ten pairs of footwear. Then there is the faction of people who make collecting shoes a hobby – no doubt taking a leaf out of foot fettish first lady of Phillipines Imelda Marcoss. Sunaina a 22 year old from Mumbai  has been on a sole scouring spree from age 19.  Today , at 22 , she has over 128 pairs of footwear and the number is rising steadily.

“It is not the idea of wearing them that appeals to me. It is the thrill I get of having hunted a specific design down and the power of owning it’   trills Sunaina who considers each  footwear in her kitty as unique.    Her collection does not stop to the ‘ la brands’ , they range from Jimmy choos to kolhapuris found in the busy Pune bazaars and oshos sold at Rs.100 on the streets.

Sunaina is not alone. Today every girl next door dreams of owning a thousand pair of shoes.  A 20 year old fresher haggling with the local shoe vendor at FC road Pune muses on  her addiction to buy at least one pair of shoe every week.” I think it is, no matter the women, how beautifully perfect, we are all self conscious about our weight, and no matter how out of shape or in shape you are, regardless how all your clothes fit and make you feel, you're sexy shoes will always fit!”

Shoes also have a metaphorical connect to a woman’s psychological self. Statistics state that over 60 % girls resort to obsessive shoe shopping post   breakup and relationship woes.  ‘Buying a pair of shoes have mood altering   traits. ‘states Anitha Kumar , a member of Mumbai’s social circle. To her shoes are a collector’s item , and she validates that by explaining the way shoes are arranged in high end  boutiques and stores – on trees and pristine shelves.  She also attributes to the fact that a woman can always  rationalize shoe shopping as a logical buy- something that they can wear multiple days a week , this way they get to hold on to that pleasurable feeling longer.

Most metro cities in India , have a monopoly of shoe stores dominating the market.  Racks of footwear arrayed in colourful hues that drag the eyes of the women that teem around it is quite a familiar sight these days.

A shoe is no doubt more than just an accessory for a woman. The strong emotional connect she associates with it, reckons  it  to a feeling of catharsis , and to Sunaina who claims that she will beat Imelda Marcos’s  one thousand sixty pairs of footwear claims that she judges people by the shoes they wear.  This is why 

she looks at a pair of  stilettos more as an attitude than a high heeled shoe.

The sole story does not restrict itself to the Y chromosome alone.  The metro sexual men of today are equally obsessed, the only difference being their choice of brands over design. For Kanishk sengupta ,  the kind of shoe lace he teems up his Twelve pair of Reebok shoes , is more important than  wearing the shoe itself .  Kanishk obsesses with the type of shoe lace he accessorizes his sneaker with – he has shoe laces in every colour of the rainbow and painstakingly accessorizes his sneakers every morning according to his mood. Looks like the metro-sexuals of today are fast catching up with the ‘it girls’.

It is  said that  ‘A man's Self is the sum total of all that he can call his. ‘and for today’s generation it is in sync with projecting an image of who you are  and sketching a personality through the hobbies they indulge in.

As they say ‘a girl can never have too many shoes.  

 ‘Foot’ for thought indeed.

It’s Phubbing in the city

A smile , for an emoticon , a phone call to a status update – a real conversation instead of that green button next to your name, a good old chat to a text message – is the line distinguishing the real and virtual world thinning as we speak?  How anti-social is the social media making us?

Imagine a world, where face to face conversations are the hardest things we , human beings had to face ! Envisage a world where relationships were based on virtual identities , where a status update conveyed more than a good old talk; where feelings replace emoticons , and companionship  is taken over by those flat tablets we carry around in our pockets . yes, welcome to the world of phubbing , where you still live on good old earth , but your mind lives miles away in the virtual world called the internet.

The term Phubbing , was christened as of recently , when the rage of smart phones and iPhones took a sudden acceleration and became the common play toy of every one. Wherever we look , we find them , the phubbers – toying with their phones, eyes peeled to the screen ,walking around in a daze , as if the screen of the smartphone contained the elixir of life.

 Which brings us to the definition of Phubbing , which is defined as the act of snubbing someone in a social setting by paying more attention to your phone , instead of the person.

A simple term , but complicated enough to make the world go nuts – statistics show that an average restaurant sees 27 cases of phubbing per dinner session – which is tantamount to spending 570 days alone , while in the company of others!the case is as simple as saying , you are in a world, surrounded by real people with real emotions , but your mind is far away , in this virtual cobweb of display pictures, walls, and languid conversations that are as fragile and proportional to the internet / wi-fi connection in that location - pretty ironic !

The sad fact is that over 60 percent of these phubbers have no idea that they are phubbing people near and dear to them. Mostly in the case of teenagers and young adults who are oblivious of the fact that people, usually the generation older to them are completely insulted and overwhelmed at their constant pre-occupation with their phones.

Phubbing is gripping the world in a whirlwind , and India is at its epicenter. Technology flashes her fins at every juncture , and with wi-fi and 3G being an average Indian’s daily need , the virtual world is something a phubber carries along with him , in his pocket. This attraction can be attributed to the apps that are developed in the dozens everyday .

90 % phubbers use their phones to put up quirky status updates, to purchase music off sites, to like their friends trolls and jokes , search for a Laundromat , google chuck Norris and do the ‘been there done that’ trail  on foursquare.

 From games to weather checks – from stress busters to something as bizarre as a teeth whitening app – ‘virtuality ‘- a feeling of being real in the virtual world is soon going to have to find her place in the dictionary.

The real question is , where does Phubbing leave us? A bunch of ‘smart’ individuals with their cool phones who are not smart enough to have a real face to face conversation? Statistics quote that 87 % teenagers would rather text , than say what is on their mind. “ it makes me feel more comfortable. Texting gives me a certain courage, and strength to say what I really feel” says Meenu , an engineering student who says that she is able to communicate to her boyfriend best , when she is texting , or whatsapping , than face to face.

Phubbing is taking on more nooks and corners of the world as we talk, and more people are being sucked into this pseudo –cool- universe that is as real as virtual can get. It is time we did a rain check on this notion that is gripping the nation , and shook the phubbers awake … Phubbing has been labeled by etiquette advisors as the end of civilization. Is that what we want for our future?

For starters , let’s put our phones down and believe what we see . (pun intended)

The broken cry, the loner’s lie

The gate of the rustic lift crunch shut  with a nasal twang ,lets out a heave, preparing itself for the flight and vanishes from sight.  What’s left behind is a closed door, an empty landing and a frustrated rush of breath. She turns away, back through the door , into the darkness beyond.  Thus begins the loner’s night.

Trembling fingers scroll through the contacts hitting upon the name that lightens her , -lightened  or so to say. The familiar picture , the haughty profile , colour corrected  by the muse himself in order to look aristocratic stared  jauntily back at her. She  hits call  and waits with bated breath for the familiar  drawl.  She’s not lucky. The carefully permed pruned voice  of airtel’s telecaller told her that he was on another call. She sat herself down on the floor of the kitchen , trying to mop up her thoughts through the dam of emotions that gushed out of her. A feeling of helplessness washed over , blowing out the flicker of sleep in her eyes.   The phone bleated suddenly jolting her out of her thoughts.  She rubbed her eyes, put on her chirpy voice and pressed the green button. “Up for coffee ? , she chirped a little too brightly”. “ No. came the masked voice, one she’d of late come to recognize as the deadpan controlled one he had designed specially for her. It was a flat tone , no trace of irritation , no tint of humor , a monochrome  verbatim , that gave none away. “ why aren’t you talking to me anymore?  “Why don’t we share the good old rapport from a month back? She yelped , sadness engulfing  every trace of the ego that had held her dignity back before. The response was pre conceived and recorded “ I don’t have a problem. I’m tired okay? Let me go to bed. “. The phone went dead.

She wished Emma was around. Emma always knew what to do. Emma was the olive branch that bridged the gap, cleared the ego clashes and made them smile. But emma , was now miles away , getting on with her life and she did not want to scratch their  newborn long distance relationship with shards of their fight.

The next day she set her alarm early. She  pottered around ,  brewing sugarless  coffee just the way he liked it , and buttering his eight slices of bread.   Today is a new day , she promised herself. She was  going to get her best friend back , no matter what it took.  She picked up her phone and hit the call button. A muffled voice picks up.

“Rise and shine “ she chirped , up for coffee?

“a  distracted voice yells out through the din of traffic that he had already left for work and would talk to her later”

But , will you call me after….. she trails off as the call gets cut. Tears fall into the coffee mug , ruining the coffee she prepared for him.  Hastily washing up , she saunters into the living room , the carefully ‘i-don’t-give-a-fuck-‘ look pasted carefully in place.  “Anyone needs some coffee ?” she calls out.

Yes, ego was her new best friend.

From then on , ego was the dealer of the gamble. Ego told her that  if he did not give a damn about her , why should she? Ego  rattled to her ears that she had better people to hang out with , to stop glancing at her phone hoping for the purple display picture, to stop buying extra coffee sachets hoping he’d make it for breakfast some day , stopped her from calling Emma and breaking down ; instead taught her to  hide the coffee mug and act happy and distant every morning when he made his cursory  ten minute visit to iron his shirt. Ego was her new best friend. Ego made her cool. She could lay reading in the same room and glance up warily when he entered.  She lived a lie, behind a carefully painted mask of happiness , a mask that stifled a broken cry. 

The gates of the tears flowed free though ,  behind closed doors , and  solitary  bus rides, she wept the loss of her best friend. She lit candles at a church, asking divinity to be her alibi ,She even wished he’d died. She’d rather treasure a dead memory than have a living reminder dig knifes through her heart.

Best friends were eventually replaced and new routines made.  Words of advice poured in from ill wishing well wishers as to how her life was better off. Yeah fuck they would know better. Lukewarm advice , new best friend plans and schemes were laid out. It looked like people were trying to help her replace a lost insurance card with a new , safer option. She itched to tell them what she really wanted to, but ego shook his wise head .

she  smiled on.

 Yes , Life has a way of going on , and common grounds were soon lost in the tide of lies that surged through them. A new insurance policy was underway.

From then on , the mask ran the show.  From cursory hellos, out of habit goodnight messages that  diminished in characters as nights went by , and obligatory time together , the lie began to seek solace in her mind.

But  she wishes she ‘d been brave enough to break the mask , wrench away the lie and make her cry heard.

Then again, ego tells her that life is a stage and we are all actors. She wishes she could murder Shakespear all over again for even suggesting such an atrocious thought.

She removed her mask.

The broken cry resonated from the loner’s lie.

If it’s ok to blame it on impulse .it’s ok to murder your boss

I sit at my desk sifting idly through scripts, earphones firmly in place, tuned out from the rest of the world. It was a slow afternoon, and my new enemy at work was the clock at the mantel , ticking away at its own sweet time. Barely three hours of sleep the night (or was it day break?) beforehand had left me cranky, and longing for some good old KFC and the downy comfort of my mattress. Just as I’d drifted off lazily into my little world of  sweet nothings, a snippet of conversation from my boss sitting beside me , made me sit up. She was discussing this prospective extra marital affair she was having with her husband’s friend and asking her junior colleagues for relationship advice. What must have been a break from boredom from his rusty job or the increment that awaited him the next month made the guy sit up and feign interest. He kept nodding at the right intervals, dropping the ‘right’ compliments, ooh-ing and aah-ing a the expected pauses and thoroughly acting like the excited girl , my boss had cloned him to be

I turned off my music and tried to tune into their little chat. Anyway , the guy’s excitement gave way to concern as my boss began to unravel un-parliamentary secrets out in the open, I looked around feeling guilty of having eavesdropped only to see people on the other aisle, earplugs firmly on too  looking just as flabbergasted , exchanging shifty grins. Well, I had company down the guilt trip.

Back to my boss’s story. She kept telling her (now avid) listeners details of her parallel love life , from the texts she exchanged to the prospective trip Mr. X ( as I fondly nickname him) intended to make the coming week. My boss’s dilemma was on whether to meet him and let the inevitable happen or play with her food and let it go, rather than going for the catch. Her male ‘mentors’ offered her lukewarm advise on moral values , while one tried his arm at philosophy and tried to tell her how unhealthy it was. My boss, I realized was only half listening to their advice.. she hadn’t really wanted relationship advice. She was a high spirited woman , who wished to do things her way and blame the consequences on impulse.! I could already see her getting dolled up to meet Mr.X the next week and no amount of coaxing or the ‘playing with fire’ warnings could set her astray. Poor Mr Y, bobbing along in a ship a 5000 miles away would have no clue. ( Mr.Y is her husband , a sailor)

So miss rich bitch was going to have her way after all. But reading between the lines, she’s not the only one branded under this label. There are  a lot of us who do things , we know are wrong , but we do it for the high that life gives us , and when the aftershock ( or the ‘next morning’ as the Americans call is) comes around , there’s good old impulse to blame it on! And we’re not only talking, relationships behind blinds or a shady hobby here; we’re slitting it down to the smallest blurbs of life – a heated argument and an ‘impulsive’ break up threat  that kills  a long distance relationship, a teary fit that cost a new wardrobe from Vero Moda , an  ego trip that takes forever . yes we blame the entire platter on impulse, because if it’s ok to be impulsive , you’re forgiven somewhere down the lane. I consider myself impulsive too. A temper tantrum with a friend often costs me a new pair of shoes or a sulky shopping spree, and once the defensive ‘Don’t-care-a-damn-about-anyone’ phase wears off, I’m stuck wondering where my impulse has taken a walk to, and a year back I used to pride myself on getting bored of things too fast. Not.Funny.Anymore

The point is , it’s cool to be impulsive about the good things! Hell, that’s where the term impulse got its brand image from,. Some of the biggest ideas that were born  into this planet were a stroke of impulse, but that however does not carry over to playing hooky with your conscience.

I silently send my boss’s impulse a silent plea – it’s ok if life’s a little dull  and predictable now and then. It takes only one impulsive moment to put it back on fast gear and you can tear down the road, feeling the high while it lasts , but what it can cost later could be a shattered relationship , a sense of security( which we called monotony)  and a severed conscience.

So why am I writing this, playing hooky from work sitting right under my boss’s nose? 

Well, call it impulse!

                                                                                                                                                                     

White Lies

There are two kinds of people in the world – one who pretend that everything is alright and live the life marooned in a mirage, and some who have the balls to stand up and say enough! I’ m not liking who I am or what I’m doing right now, and I want to do something about it. Needless to say I ‘m writing this little rant , playing hooky from this excel sheet that I’ve been filling up laboriously (not) since goodness knows when . one month into being treated like a clerk in a channel’s programming department , tagging along for endless shoots and writing out scripts and reports in a language as friendly to me as math was once upon a time , let’s just assume (or just say it), I ‘ve left my brain back in my two seater at Lavale.

Makes me ponder. What was the point of this internship? Here I am spending close to two grand a week , struggling to make ends meet , waking up every day to dry buttered (not) toast and watery coffee only to rush to work and be pushed around? The dictionary has fondly  christened the term intern for ‘ a student undergoing supervised practical training that will enhance his growth potential ‘ . That sounds like a welcome package ,  something right out of a country club brochure . The student envisions himself being welcomed in , only short of a red carpet , seated and given the dream job , that he invariably ends up bagging , with the stipend as the cherry on top. You w.i.s.h

In reality , you wander hesitantly down the corridor of your office, and you’re given a lukewarm distracted welcome , asked to hang around indefinitely while your  well wishing ‘mentors’ whisper loudly about where to accommodate you ( accommodate does not mean professional accommodation , it refers to the space you occupy in the miniscule department) and  eventually you’re given the million dollar smile and your little seat.  The accommodation problem sorted , the HR seems o think his job is done and he saunters off. You’re left at the mercy of the girl siting beside you, who makes you an offer to tag along with her for meetings and shoots . your position tends to accelerate when people around your workplace realize that they have a free clerk at their disposal. Then watch out, your time is not yours anymore. From Xeroxing sheets to writing out lists to prompting the anchor her script, you’re the ring master of your circus while the director has gone for a smoke! Your name becomes synonymous to an unpaid clerk , who everyone looks at when they have to mind their own business and need a proxy.

The stark similarities between a country club offer and an internship is evident here. The country club makes you a welcoming offer and you plunge headlong into it , only to find yourself paying right out of your pocket at every advancing step.

By the end of a month you’re burnt out, fatigued, mind fucked and clueless as to what you’re doing in an organization, where you have no interest in spending another minute. when the day dawns that you start googling IRCTC tickets back home and counting the days left on your mobile calendar is the day you must admit to yourself that you officially need help!

In reality such a moment makes your realize what you hate the most about your life. Lets you compartmentalize your hate list , lock them into little draws and throw the key away .

With the things you hate left behind you, you feel a lot lighter , like this huge American tourister you’ve been lugging around all your life is finally off your ass.

I look forward to the last day of my internship with the same anxiety Anand Jon awaits his trial. Rather extreme, I admit but there’s nothing as derogatory or mind fucking as going about day in and day out doing something you hate. Its like being tied down to a bad marriage. You  wake up every day next to the man you loathe , yet you fake a smile and pretend everything is ok. And you tell yourself, that things will get better only  to find yourself years later growing grey around the temples  wondering why you did not have the guts to walk out when you could!

It’s the same with the job. You fake a smile every morning , walk into the same office and spend your day eyes glued to the clock on the wall. And remember that if it’s the watch that guides your day, you are NOT having fun.

Either I have the guts to come out and admit to the world ( more to myself) that I’m hating it and want to leave than stick around and live a lie. Two months of this trial has left me drained and hating the concept of internship. To be fair some of my peers are having a kickass time and actually loving every minute of it but that luck did not smile down on me this time round.

Yet I feel that the worst has passed, stretched to' the nerve breaking -hollering -around -the room -in- a -fit- of -madness ‘ moment has passed. Things can only get better from now. And they will.. only because I have screwed up the guts to tell myself that I am not liking what I’m doing.

 A word of advice to the organizations hiring interns – if there’s nothing significant happening in your company refrain from taking on interns , and always remember to put yourself into the shoes of a college student once in a while.. I mean, doing excel sheets and waiting for a hairstylist all afternoon is going to bore you definitely .. why on earth  would it amuse an intern?

So there goes. To all those fragile minds I have hurt by penning this down , I must clarify that I do not feel the least bit sorry . Truth’s dagger can sometimes hurt ,   just as much as a miserable internship and a few wasted grand not to mention wastage of intellectual property. I cant remember the last time I used my brain.

Food for thought before I sign off , is duty reason enough to live a lie?

slice of Pune street life