Tag: opinion

Ask—you might get it

Some of my colleagues think I’m brave when I told my boss upfront that I needed a few days off of work for personal reasons. There’s nothing courageous about what I did. I just asked for my right as an employee, as an individual. To my new colleagues, however, it seemed unnatural —though in a good way. Not only did I impress them but I’ve also inspired them to an extent.

These colleagues I refer to aren’t long-term experienced folks. They’re the latest batch of graduates, fresh out of college their parents paid for, just learning to live on their own for the first time.

Rachel Green

To them, it’s a big deal that I can walk up to my manager and speak my mind without offending him or sparking vengeance. The first time this happened, they sent me a chat message declaring how impressive I had been speaking up the way I had done. I couldn’t help the laughter in my head.

Almost four years ago, I was in the same place they now are. I was so terrified about speaking to my then-manager that I’d avoid eye contact on purpose. If I see him chatting with someone else anywhere near my place, I’d take a long detour from the vending machine just so I could avoid him. I’d crouch low on my seat risking a lifetime of backache and soreness so that he doesn’t see me. Apart from the fact that he’s 20 years older than I am, he’s just a normal guy. I needn’t have worried one bit about what he thought of me or what he’d say about my preferences.

Now, however, I don’t care. I am more assertive of my opinions. But I’m also aware of the implications — I’ve learned to grow in such a way that I can now voice my thoughts without hurting anyone or my stance in the team. I’ve at last learnt to navigate the corporate world without hitting too many pillars.

Musing on how my current behaviour appears to new interns and team members, I realised that this change swept over me only about a year ago. I sat at work like on any other day, staring into my laptop like everyone else. All of a sudden, a conversation ruffled in my team, and a few moments later, I realised that my manager (not the same as four years ago) and a team mate were discussing attending a conference for which we had received free sponsorship passes.

Our manager revealed that he didn’t want to go. He sounded casual about it, too. He’s more dedicated than anyone else I know, but he doesn’t flaunt it where it’s not necessary.
I wanted to go, instead. I had heard of that event before and had wished I could visit. And here I had a chance, but I let it slip away because I was too scared to ask.

If I had asked, I could’ve gone. My manager would’ve agreed in an instant. And I know I would’ve enjoyed that conference. That’s when I learnt my lesson. It always hurts more not to ask and regret than to ask upfront. They may say no, sure, but what if they don’t say no?

Now I’m more vocal about my opinions. Most of my team has counter opinions and we’ll debate it out. But at the end of the day, we’ll leave happy that we’ve conveyed our thoughts. The more I voiced my requests and opinions, the more I realised that my team and manager prefer it. We now encourage open conversations, regardless of which party ends stronger.

That’s the essence of good work culture. Knowing that I can speak up, share a coffee break with the boss and still have a genuine interaction is what makes me want to wake up every morning, looking forward to work.

Fighting for a cause

Streets groaned with protesters holding up posters, screaming, vouching, for change. For too long now, multinationals have sucked the lifeblood of native dealers. “Go local or go home!” they yelled.

Youngsters had ditched school to boo at employees hiding inside stores. News flashed across TV screens in every home. Mary Williams was proud—her son protested. He knew the value of those who’ve always been around.

From an alley near by, an old man peered at the crowd, his dark tribal skin glowing in the sunlight. He recognised the Williams kid—the son of the realtor who stole his land.

From apprehension to appreciation

I never liked the idea of travelling to or living in Bangalore. From what I had heard, the city is so full of corporates and colleges, with traffic unmoving and pollution unforgiving.

However, ask anyone who’s lived in Bangalore for more than a year and the first thing they’d say is how social the city is. For a lover of the all-night dancing, all-day drinking, and endless cash flow, Bangalore is paradise.

And so when I had to be in Bangalore for a business trip, I wasn’t too excited. Sure, I thought, I’ll have great food and maybe steal a drink. Aside that, I didn’t know what to expect from Bangalore — a city of people from all over the nation, mingling over south Indian breakfasts and east Indian lunches.

I was scheduled to fly with a colleague at 7:30 in the morning, reaching Bangalore in an hour, and begin work at 10. We were attending a job fair (which is a story by itself) and time was paramount. Everything started out well: I met my colleague at the airport well ahead of time but as we checked in our baggage and went up to the boarding gate, a cold voice spoke over our heads: A woman announced that our flight was “delayed due to technical issues” and would depart, instead, at 9 am.

Airport waiting lounges are the worst, I realised as I slopped over a tiny chair, stifling my yawns, trying and failing — again and again — to connect to the airport wifi. I was growing horny and the food counters at the airport stores required a senseless tongue.

By the time we landed in Bangalore, we had already missed the start of the conference. Plus, we had another forty-five minute drive to the venue from the airport. Sucking up disappointment, I looked around the airport.

Even at that moment of annoyance and irritation, I couldn’t help but notice how chilly Bangalore air felt against my skin. Even though monsoon had just begun, Chennai weather still lingered in summer. Bangalore, on the other hand, had taken to the rainy season in far more enthusiastic manner, with temperatures as low as 22 degrees. For someone who had flown in from 32 degrees, the first breeze of Bangalore was miraculous. In spite of my apprehension, I smiled. And hugged myself a little. What a great climate for a nature walk or a mountain hike!

Just then a cab pulled up in front of us. We had to get to work. We drove along without much traffic — it was a Saturday morning with motorcyclists heading towards the nearby Nandi Hills. As we rode alongside the bikers, I felt a pang of jealousy. I would’ve given anything to be on one of those bikes myself. Alas, while they rode on leaving me almost turned on, our driver turned left taking us towards work.

It was the most hectic day of my life. Between the moment we entered at around eleven to the minute we left at around half past six, we didn’t have a single break. We were spoke with potential over-enthusiastic candidates all day. I could neither talk to my colleagues or walk up to them. The morning went by without us noticing it, as did the afternoon and evening. We were aware we were entitled to lunch, tea, coffee, and biscuits, but we weren’t aware when it was time for lunch, tea, and biscuits.

At the end of all, I was too tired to do anything other than kick off my shoes and cuddle up in bed. But my mood changed when we entered our hotel. If it hadn’t been a business trip, I wouldn’t have been able to afford such a four-star luxury hotel. I gawked at the interior of the reception, awed by the sculptures, curved cushions, and the 42-inch television.

Walking into my room, I had to make an effort to behave. As soon as the usher left, I let my glee loose and my jaw drop. It was ultimate sophistication — I had crossed the border from having what I needed to having what I didn’t need, but want.

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A gorgeous double-bed, a small chair with a stool to prop up my legs, a working desk with a comfortable chair, a personal 42-inch television, and a minibar with soft drinks, chips, and a Snickers bar all well above MRP and exclusive of taxes. I knew better than to touch any of those — but I still had a good time caressing the luxury I knew I didn’t need. And when I turned to the bathroom, I saw my wildest dreams realised: a glass bathroom with fancy fittings holding organic soaps.

I had forgotten the growling in my stomach until my colleague called me for dinner. Not in the mood to head out, we headed inside the hotel restaurant instead. Having already seen the reception and my own room, the restaurant wasn’t much of a surprise.

menu
Even the menu had to be artsy.

I scanned the menu many times before deciding to let myself go, and pick a splurge. I decided on salmon wondering how well it’d pair with a beer. I spent about two hours at dinner, nibbling my salmon, biting into sourdough bread, sipping ice-cold beer, and conversing with my colleague. We spoke about work, and yet I was surprised how enjoyable a hearty meal made our conversation.

Salmon
And beer

When I went back to my room, my double-bed beckoned me. I turned away from it — just for a while, I told myself — as I cuddled up in the cushioned chair with a book. I had to leave the following afternoon, and so I wanted to experience every part of the room I had. Reading a wonderful book, I didn’t know when I fell asleep. When I jerked awake, it was 2 am, and I moved over to the bed. Cuddling the soft white pillows, heavy quilts blanketing me, I bid Bangalore a good night and lost myself under the covers

I know business trips aren’t meant to be fun, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.

Hand over

“Listen up lads, this is an important mission. It’s time you face your purpose in life. Take responsibility and shine through the hardship. Remember, your sweat, your sighs, and trials make the world better. Commit your body to the task and your soul to god.”

Closing his speech, the Commander walked away from the twenty-year-olds who clutched firearms and seared gloves and wore helmets smeared with dry blood and sweat of once-comrades.

From behind them he spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Men standing by ready for orders, Sir.”

When the approval came, the Commander committed six-hundred souls to the devil.

Reading now

reading

Books never cease to amaze. I’m reading such a book at the moment—one that came with trusted recommendation. I’ve been reading it far longer than my usual pace, but I attribute that to work and insufficient leisure. Nevertheless, it’s the first time that reading a book for a prolonged period hasn’t bothered me. Other times it happened, I got bored and lost my involvement soon enough. This one, however, keeps me coming back every evening, even if it’s only for a couple of pages.

Somedays I don’t even have the time to read through and appreciate an entire chapter. Even then, the narrative is captivating enough to grip my curiosity. It’s not a detective story—there’s no Sherlock-like whiz running around in handsome overcoats solving crimes and annoying cops all over the place. It’s not a romantic comedy with a bride to be, a confused groom to become, and fidgety bridesmaids arguing over nail colours. It’s not even adult fiction with the heroine trying to battle her adolescent pangs and a drug addled mother. All those story lines are common—I’ve seen them in movies, I’ve heard about them from friends who’ve been to the movies, and I’ve read them myself or reviews of such books.

The one I’m reading now, however—which shall remain unnamed until I finish it—is about a woman and how she’s accepted what’s become of her reality. And each page leaves me a terrified. So much so that I turn the page by instinct to find out what happens next. I relate to the main character, but it’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want a life like hers and yet I can feel her terror, her disgust, and her mindset carrying over to my own. When she squirms, I do too. When she glows for the tiniest of victories, so do I. As she turns away from the people who command her, as do I. I feel her and know her as if she’s me. And in the fleeting second in between turning the page, I wonder—in terror—she could well be me. And that’s what keeps me going, wanting to get to the end of the story.

Despite my eagerness to know what happens at the end of the story, the build up so far also has me apprehensive. What if it doesn’t end well? I won’t want to read through, to live through, this woman’s life only to figure out that she ends up with what she endured: disappointment. And so a part of me wishes this story would go on, that the weirdness would continue—ironic though it seems.

Stay tuned for more detailed observations.