Tuesday, January 18, 2005
The line of duty
It's terribly strange to realise, after working for around eight months at an organisation, that you will be the 'senior' guy at your work place. Everybody else has left. Or at least, all the people who were working there when you were a rank fresher.
So, all of a sudden, you're the one who knows how to file in a rupee report, and track the derivatives market and decipher company balance sheets in the middle of a roaring, bustling, disappointing Q3 results season. And you realise, that you're stuck in the thick of this mad-bad world of business reporting and doing the kind of stuff you'd be doing if you were working with a CRISIL or an ICRA or any one of the hundreds of brokerages that dot the Mumbai landscape. You're an... ugh... number cruncher!
So, when you turn and look around (and see that everyone else who was there when you were a rank fresher has left), you can't help but wonder at times what the f*@# you're still doing there...
No, this is not exactly a self-pity post. I'm not pitying or feeling sorry for myself. There's a bit of incredulity here, but that's about it. Somebody I know told me I'm here probably for the free internet access this job allows me, and I could not refute the argument convincingly enough - I didn't even try, actually. I'm not here for the stocks and shares - the Sensex can go all the way down to 2000 for all I care and I'd probably yawn in sheer boredom if that happened. I'm not here for fierce journalistic pride - I mean, let's be honest: how on earth is what I'm doing journalism? And hell, even if we were doing hardcore journo stuff, I doubt I'd be all fired up about it. Damn. I tell myself I'm not mercenary, but it seems more and more that I am one. I like money. I like comfort. I like having fun. All I want is fame and fortune, and I don't think that's too much to ask. I'm not terribly dedicated. I'm not terribly focused.
Heavens, do I need to grow up?!
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