It beats me how people stay in the same job for years together. Like fish in an aquarium. Everyone swimming about, looking absently at each other, and pretending that it's important we swim in circles and not in square formation. Which bright bulb came up with this office concept anyway? I'm not exactly in a mundane job. I don't ask people if they want loans. I'm pretty much free to do whatever the hell I want...except that I have to do it within this space. I have to do it here...in this place. If I write at home, it doesn't count. My leave will run out...though I don't know what I'm saving it up for.
I've been here for a little over a year (clap your concracktulations) and already, I feel jaded. Already, I want to make speeches that begin with "In those days..." Already, I want to look back fondly at memories of office life and hug my retirement clock. There is something cruel about being forced to see the same un-hot faces day after day. To introduce some variation, I do occasionally make faces at myself in the office loo. But how often can one do that anyway? Making faces takes time and I don't want people to think I'm doing two bathroom in there all the time.
I want to quit. I do not want to see Excel sheets and emails with designations. I should probably start Fatcat with N and live happily ever after with literature that does not exceed 10 lines. Office life is good and all that...it brings one a sense of discipline, it regulates one's life, it makes one value Fridays more. Apart from these simple joys of life that we can all gladly forgo, it pays.
I should probably move on and actually go to Barcelona with a hat and a packet of tapioca chips. Does anyone want to hire me for anything? I'll leave in a year and you can make nostalgic speeches about me. Buy me a clock with a cuckoo. And a garland of five hundred rupee notes.
The Life and Times of an Indian Homemaker » The interference of parents in the married life of their daughters…