Jabs, Jobs and Krispy Kreme addiction (Part 2)

Monday, June 23, 2014

Have you ever dreaded an evening so much that you'd prefer not falling asleep to have the assurance that you can scrape a few more hours from it? The last time I tried doing the same was the evening before my Photography final exam, wherein I'd studied nothing and was trying to sort some miscommunication with someone who's made his way out of my life, for the sanity of us. It's the same setup tonight except I'm alone, with cluttered mind that needs a canvas, a page and few hours between this night the morning, that is closing in much too soon than expected. I was hoping for the night to get longer, considering we're already a day ahead of summer solstice but, I don't see it happening.

You'd be surprised to know that I'm dreading the morning because I've a full time job now, six days a week. For eight hours a day, I plonk myself on a chair with a computer screen in front of me, where I work as if I'm trying to change the world and save our country from apocalypse while doing. However, my delusions stand falsified when I review my day's job at the end of the day. I'd have spent some five hours of the day, responding to fanboys and girls on social media, dealing with the cheap Charlies, lurking around for vouchers and making my life miserable by interacting with them. If not that, then I battle mood swings and worse, ideas of marrying a professional footballer or hooking up with some Royalty so that international media can hog my wardrobe and I can finally have some long, overdue attention. I've not decided the fate of this blog incase international media does chase me, so if this goes missing someday, be sure to tune in to news on your television sets.

I could have summarized the aforementioned in a few words. I hate Mondays and my life is over.

Job search translated into a job which further translated into 'that's it?'. To all the people who go out and work and have been working, how the fuck do you stick around doing the same knowing that's all that you'll probably ever do with your life. Perhaps, give in the exception of annual vacation (I've already exhausted), no summer vacation, no Christian holidays, no Christmas break and the most exciting thing about your life could be breakfast in bed after a morning quickie. I'd rather become a fish and swim be caught in the Bay of Bengal than doing this for the rest of my life. Cannot, for the life of me, fathom the idea of individuals cooped up in an office, not talking to anyone else and minding their own business and boring the fuck out of everyone.

I'll admit, I've been spoilt by shooting. I am missing the movement, the gear, the lighting ritual, hating everyone on the set and doing your job well. I've also taken into account the kind of random trips and the number of outings I've taken in the last four years or so. Out of seven days a week, I'd be out for five on an average and sometimes, for stretches longer than 24 hours. All that's left now is, go after work or before work. Six days a week mean death. Die, lack of employment options and recession.

Job in itself is a wee bit painful when it's slow and nothing close to what you thought. It's as though I've cancer and I know I'll die in five years, except I've no timecode here to know when am I getting out, when is the next big vacation, who's getting married and when is this stint getting over. The fact that I can't see the end to this and that I cannot see the purpose of this in the long or the short run is disturbing me a lot.

If this isn't all, I'd like to rant about my favourite cause, conditioning.

My office colleagues aren't exactly what I'd label as friend material. At the max, I can feign social skills and sit in the vicinity when my neighbour invites me for lunch. We don't exchange a single word during the meal. During our ride home, she, enthusiastically, asks about my parents, job, if I know the office gossip (that the boss' are engaged to each other) and whatnot. Typical small town chirpy, non-existentialist girl. I survive my journey back home with her, another dude and our cabbie, who is going to be featured here a lot (I have a nasty feeling). The cabbie is a total douche. As douche as any average Indian with raging hormones ought to be. He drives like the speed equals his manhood and if I'm found dead somewhere, one of these days, you know who to get to if you must avenge my death. He will have us all killed and himself and you've heard it from me. That's hardly the cause of complain because the journey to hell cannot be completed without the exchange of misogynistic comments from your colleagues.

The other dude in the cab decided to share an anecdote after the cabbie treated the van-mates (I refused to participate) to samosa and Fanta. Extremely skeptic of any man trying to buy his way into my life with anything, I steer clear from people who attempt this. The story is my colleague's experience on his way to work on Friday morning, wherein a man in a crowded bus was accused of physically molesting a lady seated on a seat in the bus he'd taken. In an amused tone, he insisted that the lady was crazy and that she needed help. The cabbie, in his suggestion added, how he'd have stopped the bus/vehicle if he were the driver and asked her to take a cab/personal vehicle if she has problems with space. He added on telling his story about how he stopped a private taxi he was responsible for, once when a lady accused him of touching her inappropriately in the moving car. "Get out of this car if you have problems with what I'm doing.", he recited this to us, in aggression of how ladies are crazy and says he has no patience for any feminazi or any woman who talks about inequality and harassment in public sphere. The fact that the men folk in the cab, agreed to this, the chatty girl added saying she would want to hit the lady/anyone in her position to shut up but would be reprimanded by them so she'd prefer staying quiet.

There's extreme sort of callousness that one sees and hears, experiences when one comes out of the bubble of 'urban youth' be it in the best social science college in India or in any other educational institutions. The minute you step out of it, you know it's a terrible world out there, the kind that your parents warned you against and insisted with all their might that it's wrong to suppress the wrong doings of others, it is wrong to force your body on someone else and it is absolutely imperative for them to respect human beings, regardless of gender, colour and caste. This whole episode could have been worse, if I'd have given my peace of mind to all three of them. For starters, they'd label me as the same 'type' of woman as the one who lost her shit in the morning, and beat the accused with her umbrella. Now here's a thing from someone who's been through physical assault. If a woman says she's been assaulted/touched/molested/hit, she is NOT LYING. One never comes out and says stuff in this area if it's not true. An event, of as simple episode as being touched, groped by mistake or otherwise can scar the other person for life. If you've ever been through one, you'd know it. If you've not, then you're lucky enough to hear from someone else's observation. The fact that these idiots are proudly blaming someone who was humiliated as well as angry and not just blaming, labelling her anger and her behaviour as unacceptable makes me question if my belief system stemmed out on it's own or was it really moulded by my parents in my upbringing?

Our conditioning is really that weak that not only can we go ahead, rape mindlessly and not respect a 'yes' from a 'no' but incessantly treat the member of opposite sex like an object. Objectification of women is an interesting concept to read into. How do you establish that from making sure your child knows right from wrong, good from bad and white from black? Here's an interesting piece I read today on feminism and how to start early.

I believe we can solve all problems of the world together, if we go for mass genocide for those who are so stupidly holding on to the beliefs they carried on with them as a child, that they can't see or make a judgement for themselves, as well as those who believe that women ought to be under their control. Burn that fucking island and leave the corpses to rot.

I can only hope I learn to drive a car soon, find a professional footballer and marry him at the beach in Pattaya or get out of this job because the level of stupidity is too damn high and I can't take incessant jabber about their conditioning being right over a simple topic of no debate.

You Might Also Like


Hos in Different Area Codes


Stalker Count