Careers are the new relationships

At 18, I was 39 kgs, wore a short skirt with aplomb, wasted most of my life at Coffee Pubs and discos and constantly whined about a relationship I want or a relationship I had. Eight years later, I am 52 kgs, looking borderline fat ( nah, just kidding! Am kinda plump but not in kgs but in looks, you see I am one of those whose face can be cut off in cameras, 5 ‘1 with any weight can look fat) and in a deep relationship with my career, so much so that I spend hours thinking “Where am I heading from here?” Imaginary conversations follow and my own personal devils advocate in the name of my conscience speaks out and confuses me even more. It helps to have good colleagues, friends who listen to your work rants on an ISD call and a husband who hugs you and tells you “it’s all cool”. But what is this new career dilemma?

Brief flashback here. I was a literature student. All into the arts, Shakespeare, feminism and long dialogues in poetry. And then, it was my dream to someday write a book, teach Shakespeare to a bunch of teens who would listen in rapture and to travel across the oceans volunteering to teach and do my higher learning. Stop before you go further though, because the dreams never happened. The Gemini who wanted to be everything stepped in. And I took off to Journalism College. A few weeks there and I was already telling myself that I would be a TV Journalist who bravely reported on the BJP’s non-secularism and an occasional celebrity story or a Fashion Week forecast. Correct…you get the hang pretty fast, those things didn’t happen either. It was a whirlwind; soon I wanted to be an advertising professional, a dancer at an awards show, a Radio Jockey and an item girl – all in a day. After college, it was a newspaper (I couldn’t deal with reporting on the South Indian Railway Show), PR (Couldn’t really follow up with Mid Day on the Ranbaxy coverage), Client Servicing (Had enough of kissing the creative guys asses just to make them do their ‘own job’ if you please) Event Management (discussing where to put the standee and what to write on an IBM in-house card) while finally floating to Lifestyle Journalism. And my ship anchored here for now. I had always run away from Fashion magazines thinking to myself that it’s not serious ‘work’ and here I am, enjoying it, reveling in it and making it my big career. Caveat: Through boarding school, college and my masters, I had one big identity. I was always known as the girl to whose room you’ll venture into if you’re looking for a fashion magazine. And now that magazine freak just made it home.

Just before you say ‘aww’ and I pretend to ride into the sunset, let me just say this. Careers are like marriages, no matter where you are, no matter how good the going is, you’ll always be wondering if you’ve made the right choice. And with each jolt you get, you get scared and wonder if this is forever. And that happened last month. I got a jolt of realism, a jolt of ‘is this where I want to be?’ And for the first time in my life, I was doubtful and hopeful. Doubtful because you cannot get away from something because it’s not working out with your boss, and hopeful because you kick ass at your work and why should anyone challenge that.

And ladies and gentleman, I love my job, I give it a 100 on a 100. And it’s changed me as a person, made me discover new things. It gave me a mind of my own, an opinion that counts (I used to be someone who really didn’t have one, like ever), confidence that I’ll never let myself down and great taste in fashion. And though the job is awesome, one has now come to realize that bosses, colleagues, payments, office atmosphere, distances – all go in making it work.

Sometimes it's easier to quit and say, it's not working. It's difficult to stop, pause and take a moment to understand how the biggest relationship in your life works. And how one needs to nurture it, deal with the day to day-ness of it all with patience to take it up a notch higher. And I've decided to give it six months and keep trying.

Maybe, building a career shouldn’t be such hard work.

Today's fare: Nothing is permanent in life, not in the least your job. But what you can REALLY own is a career, and these Christian Louboutin Forever Tina boots. Purple is the colour to flaunt this fall, and so are fringes.

To be happy or not be, That is the mood of the moment

Carrie Bradshaw: What makes you think something bad is gonna happen?
Charlotte York: Because! Nobody gets everything they want! Look at you, look at Miranda. You're good people and you two both got shafted. I'm so happy and... something bad is going to happen.

This was exactly what I was thinking last week. The fact that I had a harrowing ‘office’ bully chase my wits out, the fact that my work hours got longer and my alone time shorter, the fact that a wedding in the family is making me mad with the arrangements and the clothes, the fact that I’m getting a little plumper by the day, the fact that a certain friend has suddenly got busier, more distant and more judgmental, the fact that me in my new found lovable job hadn’t made any new friends in the city…..( heave heave…sigh)

All that vanished last week with just a whiff of Igatpuri and Nashik. A quiet weekend that threatened to take away all kinds of nonsense that filled my head, suddenly had that awkward ring to it. The tension that all this happiness will be taken away. For Good. Maybe it was me in my moods, or the fact that I see disappointment in relationships all around, and the fact that love isn’t what it was before – a commitment that’s forever. I’m not denying the trip made me loosen up, hug tighter and face the world again. This time armed with positivity and courage. But what I’m bothered about is the one thought that lingers.

It’s hard for a girl these days. It’s hard to look around and not see the kind of beauty in love and life that you always wanted to hold tight when you were 18. The fact that there are fewer friends you know who have a great relationship you admire. And sometimes, it’s even harder when you’re so happy and you have someone who has faults nonetheless but who is not really giving you grief for over a year now. You’re more of an outcast than anything else in the realistic world if you’re happy. And you’re always on your guard, waiting for that moment when everything will fall apart like a pack of cards. And you’re always thinking….What if your destiny changed?

And that moment has arrived. I suddenly woke up this morning and I felt doubtlessly content. With the sun on my eyes and the doorbell ringing from my maid, it’s hard to not see the unmistakable ring to life. I realised that I could just embrace what I have or live in fear. And I chose to ignore my surroundings and the awkward thought and move on. And some random television program on Travel & Living echoed my thoughts.

“I don’t believe in destiny because then it would mean that my life’s already decided. I believe in working hard to get what I want in life,”

Amen.


Things I learnt this week

That weekend trips make life more livable. They strip your body off all the grime of a career and put you back on stand.

That I got to make time to meet people in the city. With a hectic job, a travel time that’s no less than a million light years, the loneliness you feel while commuting and no inkling of time to meet anyone – I’m waiting to grow beyond that. It’s not only important to have the close friends but it’s also important to have close friends in the city. To pick you up on a dull day and sit over a nice cuppa.

That nothing is permanent. Even the office bully has to say tata-byebye one day. And the amount of happiness that gushes into your heart can make you feel that you’re on LSD.

That Jerry Mcguire was right. If the heart is empty, the brain is too. And there’s nothing called professional and personal – they’re just two words that mean the same.

That there’s always something to learn from a shoe. That the new Jimmy Choo Gladiator Glennys aren’t for the fraid cat. They’re tight, fit and ready to face the day. Just like I need that faith that I can make it on the darkest days.

A letter to a creative-snob

Dear Holier-than-thou meets pseudo-intellect,
Yes, you might be a big brand in yourself, both for your writing skills, your creativity, your cartooning as well as design, but you really seem to lack basic etiquette. You are a big shot who is known in all media circles for your pseudo-intellectual banter and your mentor-like attitude, but it’s a shame, a damn shame to see you flounder like this. Especially if your intellect hasn’t taught you good manners. And real judgment. And most of all, to be humble and live and let live. You know it takes very little to understand that creativity abounds in plenty and it only cannot be restricted to news journalism, advertising or film making. It abounds in fashion too, and in writing about day-to-day issues.
What happens to you when you see a fashion magazine? Does it feel like you’re about to be enveloped by sheer claustrophobia? Is it the fashion that’s making you squirm or the idea that people can be well-dressed and well-read? Does it make you angry that I have the gall to write about the perils of bad relationships when ‘you’ personally don’t believe in relationships of any sort? Is it the lip balm darling, does it make you feel like you’re an alien in this beautiful world and thus make you want to write bad mails to an online discussion discussing my writing skills? What is it, my love – what makes you think that saving the world is the only respite and choice left for journalists?
I am a journalist, but I’m not one of the newsy ones. I’m not going to tell you what happened in the Singur Case or what the UPA Agenda is, but what instead is the part of my story is just to tell you where to get a kickass manicure or for that matter, which counseling centre you can go to if you’re suffering from acute depression? My god, is that really no needed in our world? Do you think that just because I don’t do newsey world changing articles, my opinions on such things like ‘life’ and ‘relationships’ are unnecessary? Oh, you mean life is not worth living if we all don’t go out and change the world. I get it. But unlike me, I’m thinking you’re already in Darfur tending to the woes of Africa while checking your mail on wi-fi and replying to me.
I know I’ve encountered this before, but I’m just saying it again. I am a features writer, I write features on small things, like dating, marriage, relationships, careers and more. And hey, I know you define my personality and my intellect with the lipstick number on my Chanel. But then, cut the crap on your holier than thou philosophy on topics that you don’t know anything about? If the topic I put on a public forum doesn’t suit your taste and you don’t believe in it, just shut the fuck up. Instead you choose to give me gyan on how I should live my life and what ‘meaningful’ is to me. Guess what? A meaningful life is defined by a positive attitude that comes out of doing something you love. It could be the smallest thing, it could be helping someone buy a perfume, or make a trip to see if a friend going through heartbreak isn’t wallowing in self pity. But well, for you, the idea of meaningful is judging others on the kind of work they do and giving pseudo intellectual speeches on what meaningful journalism is.
I have one word, nay finger for you. I promise you it’s well-intended and meaningful.

Cheers,
The girl from the fashion magazine

The scenario: I put up a mail on a reputed online forum on help over a relationship story and a big media honcho goes out of his way to tell me I’m useless and should be doing something more worthwhile with my life. In turn, he makes a cartoon strip about my magazine and me, and forwards it to all and sundry. The time some people have to put other people down I tell you.

Today’s fare: My vicious mail can only be complimented by these new shiny Alexander McQueen Python Peep-toe Pumps. Just look at the texture, the feel and the image and no one does it better than McQueen.

To Control or Not to Control

It’s tough to be in control. More than anything else, it’s tougher to not to control someone. While anti-conversionists in Orissa re-convert tribals back to Hinduism forcefully and pro-lifers still try to control the decision a young mother must make, controlling someone else’s life is easier than staying in control. But if there’s one control ban that almost everyone clapped for, it’s the new smoking law. While friends and newspapers are peppered with discussions on the new smoking law, here I am contemplating whether I must support it or not. The kind of person I am I hardly tell people what to do. There are certain rights and wrongs in my head for me exclusively depending on my upbringing, values and likes, but to tell someone not to be alien to me. My close friends yes, I tell them shamelessly because it’s MY friends. But others, well live and let live. But for the first time Ramadoss hit it jackpot say smokers as well as anti-smokers. With this new law that bans smoking in public places, it’s easier to quit it says a close friend. Others we know at work actually walk all the way to the street and the two-pack dwindles down to a mere one pack out of sheer laziness. Staircases are no more pilgrimages of cigarette philosophies and all you see now is empty pathways and cleaner air for all the others who don’t smoke. The one thing I have against smoking is the fact that it’s not really live and let live. You smoking is not only harmful to you but to the other person right next to you, so it makes sense I guess. I myself have done it, one due to peer pressure plus boyfriend influence and two, because it calmed me down and made me feel stylish and chic. Yes, I admit I was all about the show at one point but it never stayed with me. I tried and failed numerous times till I gave up, and now boy, am I thankful. Everyday I see one person around me cribbing about how they cannot quit. And while some others I know crib about this ban, I say smoke darling, in your home and let everyone around you live. A colleague from work has done some research, says that smoking kills more people a year than drinking. She has tried quitting but hasn’t quite succeeded. And research also says that a daily average of five cigarettes will reduce 14.5 years of one’s life. And while a junior smoker complains about the ban, she firmly reiterates that junior is new to smoking and soon, after she’s seasoned, she’ll be dying to quit and by then it’s too late. I’ve heard more smokers give this gyan than any lay person. Yes, not all who smoke have cancer and not all who die of cancer smoked. But what’s important is that – we tried to reduce a big cause. Smoking they say increases anxiety, depression, risks of cataract, premature wrinkling and ageing and smoking even one or two a day can cause cancer of the throat, bladder, lung etc. And tobacco they say is the leading cause of preventable death responsible for 5.4 million deaths every year according to the WHO. And I am advocating it shamelessly to everyone who asks my opinion instead of saying “Can’t really say” and being overtly diplomatic. And what more can I say? This time, control is what makes life easier and the air a tad breathable.

Today’s fare: Nothing says being in control than these red knee high boots from Victoria's Secret. There’s always something about boots and red ones at that.

Real Estates vs Man-Woman Dynamics

There are problems everywhere. Orissa’s on fire, Mujahiddeen on the run, Shobha De extracting non-violence out of Raj Thackerey and the smoking in public places banned. And there was my huge mammoth. The big elephant in my life right now. The Real Estate. In Mumbai, while rents are shockingly high, a small one bedroom flat probably costs you a mini village, there are other costs that determine you hate the real estate forever. Especially to a person like me, who has lived in Hyderabad, Chennai, Delhi and Bangalore collectively. Once you pay the rent and your broker’s dues, you think you’ve gotten your dream house and you’ll live there happily ever after – na na! That’s if you’re only in the other cities I’ve lived in except in good old Mumbai. Here, brokers spill your bloody and your money to the last drop, get you a flat at the highest rent, take a huge brokerage, and then after a year and every year after that when you renew your papers, you’re to pay them the new rent’s brokerage. Which means you’ll keep paying brokerage every year with the increase in your rent. And that too a good two months rent into the broker’s outstretched arms every time the owner increases your rent. See, that’s the weirdest thing I have ever heard. As I see it. He’s clearly sitting on his ass and earning money every year, a huge one at that, just because he helped you find a house in Andheri West in 1995. Other cities never have it, and why only Mumbai? I’d rather the broker comes home, irons my husband’s shirts and take two months rent from my hands. At least, the bloody shirts are ironed. What’s surprising is that, everyone from top notch authors to journalists watch this tirade without batting an eyelid saying that “this is how it works!” Am I the only one feeling unfair? Which brings me firmly back to this theory that I am alone dealing with this unfair bit while my husband has accepted it and is really wondering why I can’t take like it is. For me, it’s my hard earned money, I’m fine with paying huge rents living it a city like Mumbai, but paying brokerage every year? Having a resident ghost hanging out at home every year? While all this was happening. I noticed something else. Some psychological goof up! A theory on how men and women are wired. While I rave and rant about financial situations, my husband, tongue firmly in cheek, tells me “Is there anything we can do? Every one pays these guys,” and gets back to checking mail. So if I can’t so anything, I can’t rant about it. Then begins the saga of dealing with male-female things. Why is it that I always feel the need to talk about things and discuss it while my husband feels that we need not discuss it that much when we can’t do anything about it. Though to give him credit, I know he’s honestly supportive, hugs me and tells me that everythings gonna be ok. But still, why is it that I need to rant and I need him to rant with me? Or do I just want validation to the drama without the solution? Maybe I need him to sympathise with me, or go on listening to me without telling me to suck it up. Whatever it is, I need that gossipy session and an all-cry-nighter with people who understand this need. Wierd? I can't care less. Is that why I miss my girlfriends?

Today’s fare: The new sandals with circular type things on them from Victor & Rolf are the least bit enticing. Weird again!

In which I play placid with vicious bitches

Being bitchy is an art. It’s not subtle, dramatic, versatile and attention-seeking and more over, insecurity at its best. The need to validate one through vile remarks that cross all aesthetic barriers is almost appalling. But it’s an art which almost all work stations practice.

And as you saunter around, you notice that almost every branch in any office has its regulars. Those who don’t calmly sip their beer but bring out their inner insecurities on others around them with a wicked smile, everyone’s idiosyncrasies wrapped tightly in the guise of a funny joke, a warm congratulatory statement laced with nail-biting sarcasm and a cheap thrill on mail telling everyone that the holiday that was promised or the bonus that was offered, wasn’t really happening because you all haven’t met the expectations of the job. And oh, how can we forget the numerous mails on office timings that are succulent-ly layered with rudeness, exceptional big words guaranteed to confuse you and huge ego issues busted into pieces in bold all over their Times New Roman.

In my opinion, there are two kinds of bitchy babes. Ones that are almost admirable, like Miranda Priestly who knows her job inside out, who doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and is always out to get the better of you, unless you beat her at her game, get more perfect with each passing day and become the best there ever was. And there are the other kinds, definitely the more crass ones that are a human obligation to most companies. So much so that the company pays for a disclaimer to the other employees to reiterate the lost self-esteem. These kinds are smart, strapping, fake and extremely unpopular. Well, they could have been malaria for all I care by the way they’re avoided. Most of them are women, in high paying bossy jobs, trying to always be in control, checking up on everyone’s personal space, lonely and stay alone in a one bedroom flat in Goregaon.

It’s almost a pattern. The insecurity. They’ll be the first ones who are overjoyed that the office trip to Manali got cancelled and we all have to get our asses to work on Ganesh Chathurdi. They are the ones who squeal with delight when a promotion got canceled or a loved one of the peon just fell ill and he had to take leave. Me thinks they are overpaid because most companies also invest in a cynic to keep optimism at bay. You see, too much optimism can break companies. And the resident cynic is the first to kill happiness, joy and any remains of a holiday.

But today, the way I saw it, I left no room for smart alec comments or discussions, my defense mechanism lies in my silence and I promised myself that I will let the bitch pass under my fingers. I will make sure she realizes that I am not interested in wasting my time on the joys of ‘discipline’ or the ‘ethics’ of work. The way I look at things, I have more ethics and discipline enough not to write rude mails to co-workers. So there. I’ve decided to do my job and ignore the bitches. So it’s silence in my head, heart and mind and the only arsenal is a pair of pink Draculette pumps. Hallelujah!

Today’s fare: Christian Louboutin’s Rose Suded ‘Draculette’ Pumps from the new collection guaranteed to hit all hot spots during Halloween.