life of paradoxes :)

Sir wants all of new joiners to write something in 1000 words by evening, our Manager told us.

Sir, you mean we have to write a story, Ishan, a lean 22 year old guy asked.

Can be anything, story or anything you feel at home writing about, Sir replied.

Okay!! Now why do they want the Zuckerburg to write stories? Praveen, turning his chair towards me asked.

No idea mate, I replied smilingly.

It sucks man, I’m a programmer, gimme some fuckin’ programs to code, that’s what I’m good at, not writing some crappy stories, he said throwing his hands on table.

Maybe they wanna see how creative we are, how artistic we are or how beautiful we can think? , Gaurav another new recruit, who was sitting to the other side of me said, He was thinly built, with short curly hair, wore specs , IAS aspirant with always a billion questions with him.

Dude, its govt sector, nobody gives a fuck how beautiful you think. The only art that matters here is to create ways to shirk work, Praveen said again. He was in his early thirties, with a lot of struggle behind, probably one of those guys, who at 18 expected the world to be theirs once they dived in, only to find the realities a bit too bad in taste.

I don’t think so, said Gaurav. There are many public sector units in our country kickin ass right now. ISRO, DRDO, ONGC’s to name a few, he added.

and to top it all, Indian Railways, even with a minister like Lalu Yadav at helm, it’s the most profit making organization right now in entire country, I added, with an iota of pride that I knew things too.

Lalu was minister three years ago, where do you clowns live anyway, Gaurav shrilled, making a face, as if he was male Maneka Gandhi and I had just shot the last living tiger on planet.

Okay, okay you kiddies. Stop fighting, we have to write na, so why so much whining, sandeep, who was sitting over a few desks away and listening to us, barged in, saving myself from more public humiliation.

So, what you gonna write about?, I asked him.

Lokpal bill, pretty hot topic these days, he said. What you’re upto?

haven’t decided it yet, said I.

I had a thing for writing since I was a kid. It’s the only thing about which I believed myself to say anytime… Okay!! , I can do that. And that line of Gaurav that maybe they wanted to see our creativeness had stuck somewhere in my mind. So, I started pushing my neurons pretty hard in every direction possible. Two hours passed, my head started aching, but nothing came in mind. That’s the problem with deadlines, you really aren’t able to do things which you normally do with yours eyes closed. Here every new idea seems more fascinating than the previous one, muck like FTV, where every new model looks way hotter than the previous one.

After lots of soul searching, I decided to write a story about an old man, whom I had met once at Kangra bus stand, in acute poverty, but who still preferred to live with dignity than traversing shortcuts. It was something regarding our moral dilemmas, about whether to or not to corrupt ourselves, when things stand pretty much against us. So, I spent rest of the time developing this story.

By evening, all of us were done. Sir came in the evening and we submitted our stories. I was pretty much satisfied with my article, a bit excited too. In fact in my daydreams, I had even imagined my article being chosen as the best one amid lots of admiring eyes [] and tones of appreciation. Soon the day ended. Sir went, so did our seniors, me too, nothing happened. Maybe they’ll announce tomorrow, I thought.

Back at home, dreamer inside thought that maybe they’ll send the best story for interdepartmental competition, then Inter Bank level, National level, international level, Man booker, Nobel for literature…well, well, well, no one pays for dreaming, right? ;)

Next day also passed like that. Everybody was busy with their work, I was restless, was kind of unable to figure out why it was taking so much time to judge the best one.

I went over to the Sandeep’s table. Dude, this website sucks, I told him, referring to the website he had designed for the bank.

You seem out of work, why don’t you design one, he replied.

Well, when are they gonna declare the results, I came straight to the point.

You still waiting about that nerd, maybe the guy wanted essays for his children.

Not possible, I cut him, he would have been more specific then.

Yup…even I am also waiting for the result, mine was a pretty good article, he winked.

Dude, you copied from Wikipedia, I saw you.

Okay!! What ever, why don’t we ask the manager, he said.

Good idea, let’s go.

We were standing in our manager’s cabin. He was sunk deep in a pile of files.

Sir, when are we gonna have the results, I asked him.

Which results, he asked back, trying to figure out what I was asking about.

Sir about those stories you made us write the other day…added Sandeep.

Ahh.. the stories, that wasn’t a competition.. those were just for reference of your handwriting for future… he said, with a smile on his face.

Well, that was one of those moments when I really want the earth below my feet to sink and suck me up.

I came back to my cubicle, holding my head.

They really don’t give a damn about talent.