23 or 32

I have preponderance for over-thinking. And it’s just in the recent past that it worked in my favour (that’s another story) but I was walking to get lunch today and was thinking over work and growing up.

I interned with several places while I was in college – Pricewaterhouse Coopers, Ernst and Young, a startup investment boutique (say it with me please boo-ti-cue) and all these were in India. I hated them. They were the most revolting waste of time imaginable. Fucking A, I don’t even remember PwC and that’s just unforgivable. Oh yeah, the office was near ISBT…I forget what I did there, hang on, let me check my resume…ah yes, understanding the Electricity Act of 2003 – 150 pages of pure legalese to be condensed by yours truly because dome dumb fuck up there couldn’t be bothered to understand it himself. Really now! What. The. Fuck?

And it was some horrible, hot office where I had to wear a white shirt and tie. Now lets not ponder over this internship since to be fair, I don’t remember it. Really.

There was EY and turns outi was under my cousins friend, the same one who had seen me as a five year old when he came to visit my cousin. The guy was a real bunghole if you will pardon my French. He had won some amateur poetry competition in college and felt that had to translate into life, said was the best fast-bowler on the EY team, just a shmuck with a Napoleon complex. And his junior was semi-boss of me. I saw in another room because there was no space near him and I had to work on the EY manual series ‘Doing Business in India’ and had to do with the Oil & Gas Industry. Apparently it was an effort started two years prior and no one had gone through with – for good reason. It was so very boring. Of course, the dude put m off on the first day itself. I had landed in Delhi three days prior and British Airways had, of course, lost my bags (for three weeks believe it or not). And I walk in in loafers, jeans and a white shirt and he looks me over and goes, ‘you had better start dressing differently’. Of course, the fact that even a perfunctory greeting is in rder was lost on him. And me, that was the time I was still a bumbling idiot (a few years in the US changed that and I am one loud motherpucker now) And the buzz word was ‘gyaan’. The lameness made me want to bang my head (here read this and get some major gyaan or listen to him, he has a lot of gyaan). Fuck off please?

So I would turn up at 8am, pretty much be ignored, sit until 5:30pm wondering why I hadn’t snuck out at 4pm. And it was the most exhausting thing ever. The thing is, I can do all-nighters if the work I do keeps me riveted (albeit stomach-ulcer giving at times) but its even more exhausting keeping me entertained when there is jack shit to do. I am a five year old like that and will break into tears if I have to long long stretches of nothingness. Which is why limbo can never exist for me, if it does, then its hell (or perhaps hell is limbo…but by the corollary isn’t limbo hell…oh dear, metaphysical discussion beginnings I fear). And it took me two weeks of asking before his royal bungholiness deigned to check my work. What a load of bullcrap.

I have imaginations of karmic redemption and the last time was at my cousin (this guy’s friends) wedding and saw him and I was itching for him to ask me what I was doing the schmuck (yeah, am proud of what I do but not to the point where I pull out my business card at a club, shoot me if I ever ever do that ever).

The boutique was a shade better though I am sorry to say, everyone was crap at explaining what I had to do. Anyway, it was the only real experience I had looking at companies (barring what I taught myself).

Anyway but here’s the common denominator – I wasn’t taken seriously. And what infuriates me to do this day was when I would tell my dad, he would always say but you gott to ask them for more work or you got to get after them to see what you have done. No dice dad, it took the fucker two weeks after I asked him each day to see what I had done. I hated *hated* not being taken seriously because I was younger. Look, just because you have had more time around doesn’t mean I am full of it right. Or because at 19 if you were a sack of crap doesn’t mean others are.

Now I compare it with the US office. It was unnerving because everyone takes your opinion like you are their age. Seriously, I felt like yelling im 23, I’m a moron, helppppp!

Argh, I feel stupid now because I seem to be flip-flopping on the issue (curse the US media for inventing such a stupid turn of words). But if I had to choose between not being taken seriously and feeling elevated, would rather be taken seriously. Of course, it makes for a tougher time and has its whole host of issues but atleast I don’t feel like a waste of flesh/space in the office right?

But right now there’s a dichotomy being 23 between being growed up and a kid. 7am, eyes snap open, jump out of bed (after checking email), hop in the shower and think about what work needs to be done through the day…use fast NY walk to push through Brit suits to get to work, scan emails before butt hits chair.

Get home and make inane jokes with Bobo, get drunk on weekend and wonder why Suge Knight’s first name is ‘shuug’ instead of ‘soo-jee’ like the halwa.

Yeah okay, I’m an idiot.

Point is, when I’m 40 and with friends, will I still act like an idiot? God I hope so

(every time I told the Ex I didn’t want to grow up, she would argue with me and get really pissed off…but the thing is I don’t think she ever got the fact that I knew I was growing up, still am and that I accepted the fact that I had more responsibilities and just to feel better, I would say I wasn’t growing up. Well, she’s with someone who is 27 now and good luck if he is as growed up as I feel

(blow raspberries)

Adios muchachos!