POST INTERVAL

Beneath a thick layer of ice, a certain province in Kashmir is inhaling hope and exhaling despair. Terrorism is at its peak. So are the precautionary measures and military operations. Half of the men have disappeared and have been declared untraceable. A chorus of gloomy voices seem to be puncturing the insanely tense, hung environment. Just then, a man walks out of the woods; wrapped in thick blanket, wearing post-surgical eye glasses, he takes a pause then proceeds. An unusual limp in his walk makes us sympathize for him. It’s interesting to note that the arrival of this man mutes the chorus of gloomy voices and triggers a crescendo.  This is the very moment, when the screen comes to a standstill and one word floods the screen – INTERVAL.

I am sure, we are familiar with this term, this word called interval and its immediate cousin - INTERMISSION. If we haven’t paid too much attention, we may realize that these two words have also played an important part in our lives too. Haven’t they? Well, if you haven’t yet realized then you might be living in some other world till now. Thankfully I am living in this world and after having stayed awake through the major portion of night, which served as an interval, I am ready to step on the other side. This other side is called POST INTERVAL. At this juncture, nothing remains the same. Change is the only constant and the signs of this constant, show up instantly.

Post interval, the gloom, the grim, the nightmare and the dream; everything start to settle down or grow adverse. This is when, the heart decides to shed the excess baggage of apprehension, inhibition, reluctance and regret. On the contrary the heart decides to rebel.

Rebel it will; but is the heart ready yet? Of course it is and maybe somewhere deep within, it isn’t ready. The traces of heart’s readiness could be found long hidden in some of the most inhuman strategies ever adopted or implemented by some human agents of anarchy.

Post interval may also unleash truths, no one else wishes to know about. Just then a new breed would come barking from nowhere and position itself being diplomatic.

We are no more in need of any diplomacy. All we are looking forward to can be termed as being in action. After the interval, the cogwheels of probabilities and possibilities will experience certain friction. This friction will give rise to eventualities of an ouster. Who is afraid of it?

Now that the interval has concluded, life is up for grabs. Who wins it over or who loses it will depend on the story-line. In my case, the story-line would be that of a rebel who holds his head high against fear. All the fear, all the chaos is man-made. The urgency that we are asked to think deeply about is a ploy to fail us. Only I am not ready to fail this time over; I have decided to win. In this phase of post interval, it is me who will win and it will be the big bad gang of contenders who will fail; they will lose badly. So, what’s the plan? Nothing, but being ready to live every moment of being me post interval.

As I conclude, I wish to draw your attention to the first paragraph of this post. It refers to a moment from the Vishal Bharadwaj masterclass retelling of The Hamlet in its Indian context – Haider. It is the interval, which introduces us to the mystic character of Roohdar. This character has a vendetta of his own. Inspired from the same vendetta, I now cross over to the best side of life post interval. So, see you there, right out there on the battlefield.  

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 9 | July Blog-2 | Making of the beast | 2018

NEWTON’S THIRD LAW OF MOTION

Right now I’ve constrained myself to remain unaffected by the sight of the well-made bed. I simply wish to avoid the temptation of sleep, the reward of leisure and the bonus of pleasure. The Sunday is bound to die soon. Monday will follow like a rude beast of sorts. Therefore sleep should be the first thing on mind. Somehow I think, today I will succeed in postponing it; provided Newton doesn’t interfere.

Is something bothering me? Well, of course something is! Or else I wouldn’t have been spending this time, patiently thinking and writing these words. I am wondering and trying to choose between two sides of my life as a professional, a creative writer and a creative director. What are these two sides all about?

Side #1 – Should I turn a blind eye towards non-performers and embrace ignorance?

Side #2 – Is it OK to act like a coward and secretly keep praying to save the job?

If given a choice, I wish to abolish both. Seventeen years of my tough career in advertising have taught me certain principles; one of which is – Seeking Clarity. Even though I stuck to it like a dictum; in the last five years, I haven’t stressed on it firmly. As a result, a not so rare breed of unthinking client servicing executives seems to have taken undue advantage of the same. Rather than blaming them or holding them responsible, I wish to plead guilty. A certain guy called Sanjay Mukherjee spoilt me to the core. His was a personality of a hardcore client servicing executive who easily brewed an infectious blend of passion, persuasion, precision and presentation. How could that idiot never walk out without impressing or winning the client’s approval? Some say, he was blessed. But I don’t believe them. I cursed him every time because he drove me crazy with his ambition to achieve. Bloody hell, I succumbed so easily that I am yet to recover from that process of winning. Circa 2017, I am struggling to make the nonbelievers in good advertising to still seek the bigger purpose of creative communication. Shame on me!

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

To conclude, the fearless mind that I have been born with and the restless soul that I will continue being, I believe my action will definitely lead to reactions. Will that stop me from causing ruckus? Will I stop demanding answers? Will I decide to act like a coward? Or simply raise my voice and allow Newton’s third law of motion to take over! I think only when the apple falls; the issues concerning me will gain some gravity. Till then, I shall rebel.

-Virtuous Vociferous

WHERE DO THE STORIES BEGIN FROM?

It’s the mid of June.

The monsoons should have been here by now.

As my skin bears the brunt of the sun, I gasp for breath.

On certain occasions, I’ve tried experimenting during nights.

I tried keeping the windows of my bedroom open to the skies.

All the experiments seem to have failed miserably.

I haven’t given up yet. I am planning to experiment again.

This time, I am going to extract the umbrella from my bag and deliberately leave it unattended at home.

I am sure when the skies see me walk boisterously without the umbrella in tow; they will open up and release the fluid energy of monsoons to set me free, my city free and its citizens free. I hope the skies will open up for the entire nation and for every Indian. 

Are the monsoons also capable of assuring peace? Or can they postpone the insurgencies, we are faced with recently?

Darjeeling is burning. Kashmir is mourning. Our hearts are bleeding.

We are in need of an experiment again. Will monsoon be that experiment? If it turns out to be successful, we will have our own Ooh la la moment. If the experiment fails, we will still celebrate because that is where I sense the beginning of a story.

Thus the title, which is also a question - WHERE DO THE STORIES BEGIN FROM?

Each one of us has a story. We are humans, we are stories. When we set out to trace the beginning of our stories, we are confronted with a mother’s womb. It’s in there, our mothers proclaim. They add, “It is in here, in the womb, where the stories begin from?”

To disagree on this account is definitely human.

Just last week, I had least expected an angle from where my story began.

Take for instance the title - Biryani is an emotion.

I was blown over by the title. As I kept appreciating the line and its beautiful layout, I could also sense the beginning of stories.

The line, the title of Biryani is an emotion is bravely finds a mention in a cute little diary which was gifted over to me by my Cyan Buddy.

She was a little reluctant to gift me the diary. She mentioned, it was supposed to be my farewell gift (now that’s a different story to begin with). But somehow, the delivery got delayed. She had to reverse the decision and present it to me as my welcome gift (this would be the sequel to the different story, which I might begin with later).

A mere gift, a short pocket diary that it is could have evolved into nothing new until I decided to turn the diary into a chronicler. This diary will hold stories of my food expeditions. Every time, I end up loving a certain cuisine or am simply left speechless by a moment, which involves food, I will write about it in the diary. In the same diary, which carries that lovely title of – Biryani is an emotion.

I think I have found a story to begin with. The beginning would materialize when I start flaunting the diary and the little pieces of delicious surprises; I wish to write within!

But this is one part of the many stories, which begin from nowhere and find their way somewhere.

Imaginations form the other part about these stories, which also fuel their evolution. The choice rests with the storyteller; either to narrate them in a fictional format or try to fit them in that long beaten genre of nonfiction.

How do these imaginations start taking the shape of a story? I don’t think there would be a definitive reply to that.

For me, my imaginations could run wild and keep fluctuating between the mole, the nose ring and a tattoo somewhere. But how much time will they take to translate into stories! Only time will tell. At least I can rest assured that my story can be expected of having a beginning.

As I grow a word closer to conclude this blog post, I can hear that distinct sound of raindrops.

Seated by the partly open window, I can see the earth relish the momentary magic of rains.

Only I wish, the showers could have lasted longer. But nature has some other plans.

Till the time those plans materialize, I am happy to realize – my story has found a beginning. If your stories haven’t found one yet, ask yourself the same question, “Where do the stories begin from?”

-Virtuous Vociferous

INDUCT FIRST, INSTRUCT NEXT

Two weeks back, in one of the farthest suburbs of Mumbai, in the conference room of an otherwise pretentious but swanky office, I was asked a question by a stranger – How good are you with your interpersonal skills?

I hadn’t ever met this person before in my life. I hadn’t heard about him or read about him. I might have read about his agency’s name in the list of instantly mushrooming so called ‘digital’ agencies but, I never seriously considered meeting him in person.

The necessity to reply him didn’t seem of vital importance to me. In this scenario, I was neither a desperate seeker nor a desperate browser; I was just meeting up for some other purpose. His question left me miffed. In the past few years, I’ve been asked many such questions and I’ve also been party to people doubting my capability, my capacity and my calibre. So be it! But I need to ask one question – Why aren’t any of the recent organizations (in my knowledge) conducting induction programmes? I am not asking this question independently but this is a unanimous concern, which needs to be addressed by the so called thinking community of today’s changing advertising, digital or any tom-dick-harry culture in India. So I ask again, “Why aren’t any of the recent organizations (in my knowledge) conducting induction programmes?”

Every time, I’ve asked this question, I’ve met with failure or a long lull (almost mute). To be honest, none of the organizations are encouraging induction. The hiring culture has grown worse than ever. This is how the entire process takes place; this is with regards to the hiring marathon, appointment thereafter in most of the recent advertising and digital agencies:

An HR Manager calls up after reading the first few lines of your profile. In most cases, keywords like #CreativeBackground #Copywriter #Scripting #Experience #CampaignDevelopment seem to be enough for the HR girl or guy (I am saying girl and guy because serious individuals have left this space and jumped into the valley of invisibility) to dial your number and invite you for an interview.

• The first round of the interview is necessarily with the HR Manager. In some cases, the HR Managers are well read about the background, a candidate hails from. But, at times, I’ve been personally saddened to come across some hiring executives, who don’t know a thing about advertising or even the age of digital communication in India. I’ve met someone who thought Facebook is 20 years old in India. Shit, why wasn’t I on Facebook then? What a shame for me!
  
  
• The second round is usually conducted by someone who is loosely or tightly associated with the job profile that you might get appointed to. Now this girl or guy comes with his/her own excess baggage. The deadpan look on their faces tells you that they have been forced to conduct this interview. Secondly they are very upset about the candidate they had met last week and had eagerly desired to be appointed to the position, now under negotiation. Since the deciding committee hadn’t selected his/her desired candidate, this interview will be considered an additional burden. Your resume will be not scanned or read in this second round. You will be asked silly questions about yourself, your best campaign, your knowledge of a brand and some more extra queries (about which you might not have any inkling).
  
  
• The third round of your interview will be a rapid fire round with a person, who usually hangs around three departments; the Managing Director’s Cabin, The HR Manager’s Cabin and the Cabin of the Second Round Interviewer. This person might be a relative or a good friend of someone already working in the office and will come to you either with a sheet of paper or loads of attitude around him. The certain task in his or her hand – Ah, here is this product, create a campaign around it.
  
  
• The fourth round will be a negotiation round, which necessarily focuses on underestimating your talent. No matter, the years of experience you possess, you will still be made to realize that you are nowhere. 

Having cleared all the rounds, you are in the Bingo Zone. You are happily handed over an offer letter, an appointment letter, a bunch documents comprising illogical rules and regulations and yes you are told, “Our incoming times are fixed 9:30 AM but, we are very weak at outgoings.”

On the first day (in the event of you deciding to join on a demotivating, lazy Monday), you are hurriedly pushed into a conference room, which smells of neither a room freshener nor food but rather stinks with the pesticide sprayed over the weekend. The HR Manager from the first round makes a Godly appearance and promises to introduce you to everyone in the office. On your first day, you are made many promises and none of them are true. On the second day itself, you are put on task by the two people from the second and third rounds. They start acting like a boss to you. When you gather the courage to ask for some time to think over it, pat comes the reply, “Time is what, we are running against my friend. You better pull up your socks.”

The moral of the story – On the first day when a candidate is misled into an organization, the chances are thin for him/her to continue even for the first six months.

Therefore whey is induction necessary?

• A newly appointed candidate might come from the same sector that your organization operates in but the functioning might be different.
  
  
• Your organization might be following the theory of chaos to win accounts, lose accounts, adjust accounts or sustain accounts; the newly appointed candidate might like to do things in an organized manner.
  
  
• Some people in your organization might not be aware (either deliberately or unknowingly) about the appointment of a new candidate; wouldn’t it be nice to organize a 10 minute get together to help the new candidate break the ice?
  
  
• The hierarchies might be different in your organization; what if a junior talks to a senior like a boss or what if the candidate is dragged into some important pitch presentation, about which he has no knowledge at all.
  
  
• Every organization, every agency has a certain DNA of operating; are you sure the newly appointed candidate will come to know of it on the first day of his/her joining?
  
  
• Hold back your set of instructions before gauging if the candidate has found a proper place to sit in our office. If he/her hasn’t yet been shown the place to settle down, you seriously need a reality check. 

Hoping that I haven’t kicked off a controversy, I would sign off saying - INDUCT FIRST, INSTRUCT NEXT.

-Virtuous Vociferous 

THE ENTRAPMENTS OF DOMESTIC LIFE

All this while, the tasteless mind has been plagued by questions. These sharp-edged questions keep protruding out like active ulcers on passive skin. Causing anguish, demeaning desires, these questions compel us to probe deep into a proverb, which reads: PURPOSE FUELS PASSION. In a life as domestic as ours, the ‘purpose’ seems to have gone missing.

The sun is yet to come to life. The alarm goes off at 5 AM sharp. Switching off the AC, crawling out of the bed, contracting and expanding the eyes, inhaling the remains of last night and exhaling the so called depravity of sleep; we tell ourselves, “Wake up, time to go”. The door leads to the bathroom, the bathroom gives way to the washbasin, the washbasin sports a hefty tap, which we turn on and push a toothbrush deep inside to help us sport a million dollar smile, cavity free jawline, fresh breath (in case, smooching tops the agenda). After the residues of the previous night’s half-digested food finds a way down the flush, we are equally free to declare ourselves ‘Fresh’.

Postponing the bath, we sprint towards the kitchen; boil a glassful of water, slice a lemon into two, undo the lid of Baba Ramdev’s Patanjali honey and consume it to make a statement, “We are health conscious”. It is 5:40 AM by now, we decide to embark on an excursion of a home that belongs to us, exploring deep corners, which hide in them a dead cockroach, a group of paralyzed mosquitoes, a nano crew of marching ants and a spider busy spreading a web to trap them all. Sorry we are in no mood to give these pests a free hand; we pull out the broom, rescue them from the circle of life and death and release them dead or alive straight into the dustbin. Thereafter we continue with the broom, trying not to fly on it but sweeping the floors and other surfaces. By 6 AM, we are out. Huffing, puffing and sweating heavily. This part is globally known as ‘Physical Workout’. By 6:45 AM, we are back to wake up the other members of the home. The God, the wife, the mother, the washing machine, the gas oven and the milk over it, the refrigerator and of course the music system.

The wife and the mother have got their own agendas to chase. If wife and mother are both professionals, boarding the 8:45 AM Mumbai Fast tops the list. Prior to that the moral responsibility of cooking a storm keeps them engaged. Oh shit, it is 8:15 AM. If we don’t leave now, the train (even though starting from where we stay) might get crowded. We run down all the staircase, blow the horn to signal our concern over a supposed delay in making. The wife follows in 50:50 makeup; the rest of it will be taken care of in the train. While we are busy finding a parking space, the wife is already running for the train. We run, board the train and curse those who opt for a return journey from the station prior to ours. The train comes to a halt, the wife alights somewhere else. After we alight, we take a look at the watch and release a sigh of relief. This part is officially known as ‘the train is running on time’.

Humping and thumping we reach our offices, welcomed by the security guard at the reception, we sign in and traverse smoothly through the biometric passage. We settle down and start fondling with the PC, Laptop, Tablet and IPad that serves as our connection to the outside world. This part is universally called ‘being in office’. Till lunch hour, we try to figure out what are we supposed to do. We make phone calls to our loved ones to know their statuses; has the wife reached her office safely? Did mother have her breakfast? What is the bank balance for today? Boss comes in, doesn’t smile, doesn’t react, doesn’t interact and then we scream out ‘communication gap’. Post the lunch hour, we associate ourselves with some menial tasks, which fail to make us feel proud; we gape, we ape, we yawn, we curl and by the time our mind starts concentrating on the tasks at hand, it is it time to leave. Leaving office on time is considered sin in an advertising agency (or perhaps the advertising industry). The moment, we decide to pack up, the client servicing team members come hunting for us. We step out, our phones ring, we are requested to come back to the office and there we are fondling with computer again. Time doesn’t stand still, decisions are postponed, feedback never shared; frustrated and irritated, we call it a day. This part is called ‘finally out of office’.

Once again we are at the station, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive. Even though the indicator predicts an arrival within three minutes, many a times, the train seems to have disappeared. The train arrives, we barge in; finding a seat is a rare opportunity if at all we board the train from another destination rather than the point of its origin. We get back to the destination, we started from in the morning. And once again, we are back home. We bathe, we refresh and we settle down for dinner. We switch on the television, make an attempt to stay up late to catch a movie, we had long heard about but never thought of watching. The eyes start trembling, beg for sleep and naturally we are back to the bed again. The AC is switched on and there we are, indulged in sleep, lost in nightmares and getting lost somewhere, before the alarm rings again.

Days and nights fade, we follow the same routine. Then comes a day when we ask, “What is the purpose we are pursuing in our lives?”

A long silence ensues.

Purpose lost, purpose gained; only this time, it is not the one…we had been thinking about!

-Virtuous Vociferous 

A REVOLUTIONARY BEGINNING

Some hours are deliberately or nonchalantly spent in writing shit; in the name of being a professional and for the sake of a designation, which sticks to your ass like a long lasting ailment. You try your level best to get rid of it and yet it stays stuck there, to your ass, not wanting to be healed and treated. So what do you do then? Die of pain or churn a way out!

When there is nothing else to be passionate about; but writing, writing and more writing every second, every minute, every hour, every single day and every moment of our lives; we need to think of something that liberates us. We need to liberate ourselves from being repeatedly insulted by rotten mindsets and stinking demands by those who don’t have any inkling about writing.

I, for instance, having migrated to a new place to seek solace in the richness of writing had already started feeling stuck. The people, I’ve been communicating with on an everyday basis, for the last few months, were conspicuous in their approach towards ‘just another’ creative writer. One of them from the top management also had the audacity of asking me or rather warning me against throwing tantrums. After a decade old journey of writing, I haven’t come across myself as a tantrum throwing weirdo. Still, I gathered my thoughts and decided to mend some things around me. But I kept missing out on one thing and that was freedom of writing.

Rendered breathless and hopeless, I had stopped reading books, stopped observing things around me and had almost stopped giving up. Then a message arrived on the WhatsApp Messenger, which read, “I want to write, will you help me with how do I start?” Not in the best of my mood, initially I had decided to simply ignore it. But then there was something that was very interesting about this proposition. Here was a soul, a soul still not brazen by all the bullshit of an otherwise uncreative life, who was eagerly sharing a desire to want to write. I kept aside my iPhone and then revisited the message.

First and foremost, writing, especially independent or creative cannot be straightly taught to anyone. But yes, there is no harm in helping someone to improve upon his or her writing skills. Therefore I gave my consent and thus began the process. The first step itself was effortless, so effortless that all it needed were two mobile phones and a WhatsApp messenger to unify and initiate it. Neither did the need arise to meet in person and begin writing nor was there a language barrier to stop us from starting, what I now term as a writing revolution of sorts.

We zeroed in on a topic, which had two characters; a man in his mid thirties and a woman in her mid forties. Two stories were born in a short span of time; both written independently without letting out a word about the central theme. The stories were absolutely different in their treatment and in their telling. Secondly we followed no rules while writing them. None of us spoke about the grammar or how precise, we should be about the date, time and day of the events, which take place in the story. The only norm, we followed was to write it as a first person account.

The two stories, which emerged from this revolution of two minds, threw open a new avenue of not a mere collaboration but also the formation of an entity. An entity, we ‘now’ as partners in crime are in no mood to reveal. I know the word ‘crime’ doesn’t suit us. But still there is lot of crime involved because we are going to spill loads of ink.

Here am I raising a toast to the new beginning of writing unabridged.

-vociferous