Greed had infested my soul. Now I’m trying to salvage what’s left.

I recently had an uncomfortable conversation with an old friend. We’ve known each other for 10 years now, during which time we have been in touch sporadically. 

The morning we met, I was barely holding myself up. In my lonely journey of making my own path* I was already bogged down by the tough market, writing work that had steadily dried up over the past couple of years, and a fatalist outlook that I was in a dying profession. 

My friend is running a successful startup. Every time we have met over the last few years, she has hinted that I should return to full time work. Each time I have resisted, faking that my freelance career was doing so well, I didn’t need a full time job.

This time, when she brought up the same, beat up argument about full time work being “real” work, I broke down. 

It is hard not to be earning as much as I used to, even when I’m working 5x harder. 

What made this difficult situation almost unbearable (and unfathomable to her, I imagine) was that if I wanted, I could have gotten a marketing job yesterday. One that paid better than all the income from all my writing years combined. 

I left marketing for writing in 2021 because I enjoyed writing and I didn’t like the kind of marketing I was expected to do when social media exploded. I felt that businesses were breaking unsaid moral mores, all for more revenue and because “everyone else is doing it too! So why not us?” This sounded eerily like what Wall Street would have told itself as it shattered the American housing market and brought the world economy to its knees in 2008. 

Marketers haven’t triggered a market collapse yet, but short term practices have eroded consumer trust and touched a new low in “click bait-y” content, in my opinion. But that is for another post. 

Shifting careers calmed my soul but barely added to my earnings. I’ve spent as much time getting more and more creative with economising as in finding new writing work. To say that the last five years have been a grind would be an understatement. 

Still, I don’t miss corporate enough to want to go back to it. I really didn’t like who I had become when I was working for someone else. In the Jekyll-Hyde equation, corporate-me was Hyde all the way. 

There were many things I didn’t like about that version of me, but the one quality I still think about and shudder is how greedy I had become. In business speak, this would be called “ambitious”.   

Of course, both traits have nuances, and being ambitious isn’t bad. What is bad is the corporate tendency to misuse words that are slightly different in meaning, like deliberately blurring a clear picture. 

So impossible situations become “challenges” to be overcome one way or the other, and morally ambiguous decisions become “tough calls” that are taken for the “good of the business”, or even better, “because of market forces”. 

This is just another face of greed.

The kind of marketing I would have done if I hadn’t left when I did personified greed to levels of horror that terrified me in imagination itself. 

In addition to this I resisted bending into all kinds of shapes to suit the boss’ or the company’s mission. Not doing this cost me multiple bonuses and promotions. 

As my boss’ boss once told me, “Your work ethic is coming in the way of your growth.” 

Greed. The Bible calls it “an immoderate love or desire for riches and earthly possessions.” 

The Gita says it’s one of the three gates of hell, the other two being lust and anger. 

For me, fiction says it best. 

John Steinbeck demonstrates the power of greed to destroy a simple family in the allegorical tale, The Pearl. The infant son of a couple living a modest life in a shack by the sea falls dangerously ill. Unable to pay the medical bills, his father prays for a miracle and actually gets one. But no sooner does he possess the solution to his problems than their world begins to unravel. 

Thomas Mann’s masterpiece Doctor Faustus is the modern adaptation of the Faustian bargain, also known as a deal with the Devil. In Mann’s version, a composer swaps his soul with the devil for 24 years of unparalleled artistic achievement.⁺

Real life is nowhere as dramatic. Part of why we don’t notice evil growing in us is because this change happens inch by inch. By the time we take notice it would have changed us irrevocably; we’d have come too far along to backtrack. 

At a 2008 event with MBA students, Warren Buffet says this about correcting terrible behaviour early, “You can do it if you are your age, you can’t do it if you are my age. Basically these habits are built into you, by the time you are 60 it is too late to form them and they are too heavy to be broken.... If you are thinking about how to cause pain for somebody else rather than creating a situation that benefits yourself you are going to get a terrible result over time.” 

A common corporate fallacy is believing that you can do whatever you have to and move up the ladder now and always backspace selective parts of you and become your old self again later. Because going against your values, ethics or morals now to grow through the ranks does not make you a bad person. It makes you ambitious, a go-getter, a hustler! 

You tell yourself, you can always do what you want once you get to the top. What you don’t realise is that every time you let go of what is right, every time you do something because it’s in the best interests of anyone other than employees or humanity, you also let go a sliver of your soul -  the beautiful, immortal, precious part of you that makes you, you. And so by the time you reach the artificial pinnacle, by the time you’re at the top of this stinking pyramid, there isn’t much of the real you left. You’ve discarded them on your path upwards, like empty packets of energy bars, like waste matter. At each of these times, you had to throw a part of yourself away because you couldn’t have done what you did, moved forward otherwise. So you rationalised selling yourself. Now you’ve got a great view and you’re rich, but you’re also lonely, unhappy and caught in a vicious circle of your own ambition. You barely recognise yourself. 

Some of the richest people on the planet today are terrible human beings who even pride themselves on their inhumanity. Warren Buffet is a famous exception. But it’s very easy for Warren Buffet to tell us to be nice, you might retort. The man is 95 and a billionaire. He can afford to be nice. He doesn’t have insane sales targets, a sour boss or worry about paying his bills. 

Forget the billionaires for a minute and ask yourself, how much money would you need to live a comfortable life? If you make a rational, objective calculation and you aren’t under massive debt or in an expensive medical situation, it’s not very much. You definitely don’t need billions. You don’t even need a million. 

I don’t know how to work in a soul sucking job while keeping yourself intact. When I came to the fork in my path I took the easy way out and left. Now I’m trying to find a path to earning and living that nurtures whatever’s left of my soul. I still haven’t found it yet. But I’m happier than I’ve ever been. 

                                                "I got my ticket for the long way round."

Image: a multicursal maze puzzle - one with multiple ways from the entrance to the exit. The challenge is to find the shortest way possible 

I know one more thing - what makes you, you is the most precious part of you. It’s one of those things that once you lose, you cannot get it back. Not fully, not the way it once was. At best it will be the hollow ring inside every time you wonder about the purpose of your life. At worst, it’s the performative slather of empty gestures and shallow platitudes that look like you have a soul, when you actually don’t. No one is fooled, least of all you. 

I don’t want to be 95 and rich, if that means I’ll also be bitter, angry and full of regret. Regret is a poison as bad as greed. If this means that I have to struggle for another 5 years trying to find my sweet spot, that’s fine. I’ll put one foot in front of another, take each day as it comes.  

"Only by listening to the voice of the soul — a voice by definition nonconformist, rising above the din of convention and expectation and should — do we become fully and happily ourselves. To be aware of ourselves is to hear that voice. To be content in ourselves is to listen to it." - Maria Popova, on the soul

*”The pathless path is an alternative to the default path. It is an embrace of uncertainty and discomfort. It’s a call to adventure in a world that tells us to conform. For me, it’s also a gentle reminder to laugh when things feel out of control and trusting that an uncertain future is not a problem to be solved.”  - The Pathless Path, by Paul Millerd

+ Both Steinbeck and Mann recos are from the book 'The Novel Cure:An A-Z of Literary Remedies', under 'Greed' and 'Selling your soul', respectively. 

 

5 Myths, 2 Truths and a Rant about being a Freelancer

THE MYTHS

Myth 1: It’s like a job minus the politics and the obligation to go to office everyday

Fact 1: It’s not like a job, it’s way more. And going to the office everyday is the least of all the obligations that a freelancer is freed from. A nice, steady, monthly salary is at the top of the list, closely followed by a fancy title that gives social credence, free gifts during Diwali and the arrogance to want to board a plane even after check in counters close.

Myth 2: A freelancer gets compensated for all his effort, unlike in a job where you slog like a donkey and get paid peanuts

Fact 2: Just like a full time job, freelancing is about your ability to negotiate good pay, strong communication skills to set the terms with a client, and clarity of thought on the kind of work to take on. Every new client is like a new job, complete with acing the interview, negotiating the salary and proving yourself as of yesterday.

Myth 3: Freelancing is a good career choice for mothers, housewives and basically all women

Fact 3: I had the privilege to work with a freelancer who was a guy and was very good at what he was doing. With a combination of shrewd networking, gold class full time experience, and a strong set of working rules, he was working whenever he wanted to while earning 3x his last salary. It is lifestyle choice.

Myth 4: The perfect example of work-life balance is a freelancer

Fact 4: A fundamental problem with this statement is that it assumes that a sense of internal balance can be obtained from outside forces. I rest my case. 

Myth 5: It’s for those who can’t hold down a full time job

Fact 5: Whatever the reason for this idiotic opinion to hold fort, it is not true. That’s it.

THE TRUTHS

Truth 1: It doesn’t pay as much as a full time job

Hallelujah! Finally someone got something right, although this statement is a half truth. Freelancing can, over time, yield more money than a full time job, but not over a steady period like a monthly salary. There will be strong times and lean times and tiding the latter is the key to making it work and staying sane. 

Truth 2: We are moving towards a Freelancer economy

I feel that today people are more open to hiring a freelancer to do a job than, say, 10 years ago. This is partly because of the maturity of the Indian industry and partly because of the kind of freelancers now available. They are no longer limited to coders, desginers of websites and photographers. It is now possible to run an entire company only with freelancers, or entire departments, at the very least. 

FINALLY, THE RANT

It has been more than 2 years since I started out on my own, taking on part time work or consulting projects of limited duration. During that time I also got my health back on track, had a baby, moved into a new home, furnished it and learnt how to make a crisp dosa and finger licking French Toast. 

No, I didn’t do it because i got fired from my job. 

I didn’t do it because i couldn’t find another one after I quit; I just didn’t want to. There is a lot of difference. 

I did it because I wanted to make a conscious lifestyle change. 

I did it because I truly believed that I would be better off on my own than in an office reporting to someone. 

I am tired of explaining to people that I am not freelancing to spend more time with my baby. In fact, freelancing makes balancing my life tougher because of the unpredictability of the work. I am not “lucky to get time with the baby” because i am freelancing. I make time. I can just as easily un-make it, and that would probably reflect in an inbox overflowing with projects. Nothing in my life “just happened”. They were all choices, and if I didn’t make them consciously earlier, I am very aware of them now. 

Freelancing is NOT a euphemism for being a homemaker / full time mom. Having had to don this mantle for a couple of months when I didn’t have help with my baby, I have complete respect for anyone, man or woman, whose full time job is to manage the house and/or raise the children. It is, in my opinion, equivalent to 2 or 3 demanding full time jobs, and I have held a few of those in my short working life. 

Next time someone tells you that they are a freelancer, or consulting, or a single person company, nod thoughtfully and ask them what kind of work they have been doing, and what they like best about being on their own. They are trying to make it work on their own in a world that is pretty set in its assumptions about them. A little empathy will go a long way. 

Picking my Battles

I feel battle weary. Nothing like the true blue action in Amish's latest, but a test of will and perseverance all the same. 

I brushed past another insidious comment today with a seemingly innocent one of my own, effectively quelling a potential confrontation. There have now been so many word wars I have avoided, I have ceased to keep count. 

It was only recently, as I celebrated a year of being on my own, that I realised all that I didn't do, at the same time I noted all that I did. I didn't act as much as I observed. I didn't look back as much as forward. Finally, I didn't fight back even though I could. 

I don't remember the first time my parents advised me to "pick my battles", but it's been repeated often enough since. I first let things go when I was barely out of college. Dictated by pride, convincing myself that silence was the hallmark of the dignified. But that only led to the fire burning inside of me instead of outside. The next time I smiled at a disparaging dig it was at work. I had smiled because my next decision, which had been to quit that job, had suddenly become so much easier. 

Over the past month or so, the figurative demons I have been fighting have been the makings of my own mind - a potent mix of abundant hormones, a rapidly tiring body and a burning purpose to do work worth my while. Strange bedfellows have been my only constant thus far in my life, and this was no exception. 

That was how I was discovered by the newer insurgents over the last three days, hurt and snarling. Pride dictated that I put up as normal a face as possible, but it barely lasted a couple of hours, crumbling in the face of constant querying, judging and commenting. Hankering for some peace and quiet, I put on my cloak of silence and found a cosy corner of my mind to sulk in. I had barely started licking my wounds, and was in no state to be the charming hostess that was expected of every daughter in law in an Indian household, urban or rural be damned. 

Yesterday, by noon, I had felt dangerously close to a precipice. I had lost control over the mask that had now become my trademark inexpressive face, and had turned to spouting venom the moment I stepped out of the house and encountered another non-familial human being. I knew I was treading dangerous ground, because when I would search my memory for those interactions, I would remember nothing. The only time my excellent visual memory fails me is when I am raging beyond expression. Oh, this was so not good. 

I napped my way through the stress, my already weak body crumbling under the mental strain. Only to be rudely woken up with a reminder of my non-dutiful behaviour - "We had guests at home and you slept through it all. You could have come out of your room and spent 10 minutes with everyone. What is so difficult about that?" 

Keeping my tongue in control was difficult. Allowing such a rabid invasion of my house when I was in no state to entertain, let alone stand in one place for a few minutes was difficult. Most of all, keeping quiet through it all, when all I wanted to do was scream my head off and chase everyone out with a stick, was difficult. Compared to these scenes repeating in head, my napping through the afternoon felt like a hungry python whose snores are only rivalled by its stomach grumbling with hunger. 

Now that we are all caught up with my non-issues, I replay the retort of my dreams for the nth time, open my laptop and begin to type out a blogpost. 

Conform or Perish

The road to a job change, or for that matter any change, is a thorny one. It's no wonder then that we have all, with such alacrity, stuck our butts to our plush office chairs with Fevibond (the ultimate adhesive!)

The day I quit my full time, obscenely high paying job felt liberating. For exactly 3 days. Then 30 days of a free floating feeling with the soft cushion of the ocean on my back and the sun on my face followed. As the first month drew to a close, I filled the next 15 days with the purposeful vigour of determining the path that would catapult me to overnight superstardom (because that is my destiny, duh). I am now in my last 10 days of my job and feeling like the ground I am standing on is rapidly depleting. 

I don't think I am fated to be famous; I am snowboarding towards the abyss of a cracker that showed tremendous potential, only to fizzle out. The least I can do is to take a detour so that I can atleast pay the bills that pile up every month. 

My reasons to become independent were not because I had an idea that I was passionate about, or because I wanted to change the world, one person at at time. I admit it. I just got tired. Of people telling me what to do, over and over and over again. Of stupidity that got paid to be more stupid. Of obsequiousness and pandering and oily palms. I didn't think it through. I just thought enough to realise that I was unhappy in the present. The amount that got credited to my account every month was supposed to make me feel better, but it didn't. So I opted out. 

Not wanting to limit the options in my future, I pressed every button that would get me a call. Any call. Only to realise that I was not ready to do anything than talk to myself. My first interview went somewhat like this:

Interviewer: Nivedita, I think you are obscuring the contribution that you have really made to your team. Don't worry, I am not going to get confused if you get into details. So what I would really like to hear is how you solved this particular problem, using a framework. You see, I love frameworks and it would be great if you could use this approach to explain your work to me. 

Me: (Grinding teeth and punching my stuffed toy's face) Sure. Can I take 2 minutes to compose my answer, please? 

The worst thing a criminal can do is to create more criminals. That's why today's prisons are not exactly the epitomes of rehabilitation. Needless to say, I did not make it to the next round. Frameworks are for dudheads who don't know anything about action but know everything about talking. My personal opinion, but hey, I am entitled to one, right? Oh, right. Am not!

My second call was with a recruiter, who, after calling me at 9.30pm on a Thursday night, proceeded to apologise for "calling late" in the most insincere tone I have ever heard. He asks me if I have "2 minutes" and when I affirm he asks me, "Can you tell me more about what you do currently?" 

Now, both him and I know that this is not a 2 minute question. So I decide not to oblige, because "I want to put my best foot forward", and well, I am just not ready to interview on the fly. He insists. I insist right back. I finally request him to call me the next morning. It's been a week. 

The reason we are all the way we are is a complex network of incidents, experiences, influences and a whole lot of other things that scientists and thinkers today are all still trying to decode. What we have done, with this absolutely unique, precious and highly evolved science is to dumb it down to conformation. A rigid set of rules. 

A + B + C = Smart

D + E + F = Stupid

A + C + G = wait, what's this? Oh, ok. Stupid!

I refuse to conform. I have spent too much time and energy trying to be A+B+C, feeling like being packed into a 2x2 carton. The only upside was that no one asked me any uncomfortable questions. No one noticed me either. 

I refuse to perish. Like animals in captivity who lose their inborn skill of hunting, I refuse to forget what I have painstakingly built. Sure, it doesn't fit into a financial model and doesn't massage anyone's ego, least of all mine. But I don't care. There's got to be a way out and if I spend the rest of my life digging myself out of this tunnel, so be it. That, at least, will not be a life in vain. 

The (Un)fairness of It All

I feel embarrassed to admit that it has only been a week since I accepted that the world is not a fair place. I know, I know, it seems obvious and practical and realistic. But to me, it felt boring, this feeling. It rang of resignedness, of giving up, of failure (my least favourite word). I resolved to redeem myself from this tragic fate: I was going to stand up for what I believed in. Break, but never bend, that would be my motto for things I considered important were involved. 

Thanks to circumstances currently beyond my understanding, I ended up watching Alain de Botton's charmingly witty and stealthily harsh TED Talk. It was about success and failure, mainly, but a bulk of the justification for not getting swayed by either was his argument that society and the world at large were too complex for a neatly ranked list or a normal curve. So we should be less quick to judge others, and infinitely more gentle when we pit ourselves against the world.

For someone who claims to be in touch with her instincts, it took a vaguely probabilistic allusion to convince me that Failure was heading my way, one way or the other. Then Hugh MacLeod took 49 PDF pages and around 100 of the normal A5 ones to tell me that the pain of making sacrifices will always hurt more than I think it would. I tend to feel sadness and anger way longer than happiness or joy. Maybe because I feel completely entitled to all happiness but not sadness.

If the Present is a Gift that I don't like, can I give it back?  There are times when even the mathematically sound logic mentioned above does not help. I wallow in the Unfairness of It All; in the hollow certainty that there will be people who should have gotten more and even more people who should have gotten less. Maybe the notion of karma was created to address this thorn in our side. After all, as highly intelligent beings, we are more likely to accept something we don't or cannot understand. It is comforting to know that justice would eventually prevail in the universe. So what if I could not see it? He can. 

It is stupid to expect to get what we deserve; what we think we deserve is our measure of our own worth, of, for a 30 year old, having spent 946 billion seconds with ourselves. The maximum someone like a parent or a sibling could have gotten with us would be half this number. Decisions like marriage or job options are made in a fraction of this time. How is it, then, that we can expect the world to give us our due, or worse still, constantly surprise us with its generosity? 

Hence the copious literature available on defining our own measure of success; standing up for what we believe in; following our heart, da-da, da-da. In reality, it's the least resistant path to Failure. The difference is this: I think this path can be flipped that to get the most resistant path to Happiness. It's a surest shot of a path out there, and so, definitely worth taking.

The Longest Walk of My Life

I must admit to thinking that the title sounded very ‘Chetan Bhagat’, if you get my drift. His books are the a-b-c of what to do to make people turn the cover to the read the first page and not put it down till the last. No mean feat, as anyone who tried to write a book could tell you. If you don’t know any such person, the millions of copies that each of his books sold should be enough to convince. 

Nevertheless, I would persevere in calling this the Longest Walk of My Life in my recent past, because I have a short memory when it comes to forgettable experiences, and most of them are well, forgettable. So, the question here was not about what I was looking forward to, but of what I was willing to risk to get to what I was looking forward to. 

Ten minutes, the friendly person at the Reception had said. Only four minutes had passed. The longest four minutes of my life (not counting the one minute I had to swim in 20 feet deep sea without my mask, but more on that later) and I had six more to go. Six and a completely dark and lonely stretch of road ahead. With possible redemption at the other end. 

Behind me, the Greats beckoned. Gold End, Havelock Favourite, Symphony Palms, Holiday Inn. The here and now, looking good. Did I dare? Did I dare venture into the unknown; did I want it badly enough to take an immeasurable risk to my safety? I stood in front of El Dorado, indeterminate. To the right stretched adventure, dark and mysterious. To the left, the familiar, brightly lit and warmly welcoming. 

I remembered Santhosh, the receptionist’s expression when I asked him, Is it safe for me to walk? Is it safe for a woman to walk, all alone on the road after dark? His answering smirk spoke volumes. Of course, what kind of a question is that? I am disappointed. I had rather hoped that you would ask what I would recommend you eat. Pah! Go away now, allow me to get back to my game of Solitaire on the computer. 

Switching on the flashlight on my phone, I turned right and started walking. A lone tube light shone a few metres away, banishing the dark. I walked faster, my eyes on it, unwavering. The sound of a motorbike behind me, every thud of the engine sounding like my heartbeat magnified a 100 times. I swallowed and concentrated harder on the tube light. Then capitulated and turned. Just in case. Looking for escape routes. A narrow lane turned into a few houses, bunched at right angles to each other. A child played in the lane, its buttocks bare. 

The motorcycle vroomed past, the two travellers too engrossed in their conversation to look hither or thither. The tube light illuminated the grubby interiors of a small room of around 30 square feet with a low wall facing the road and an entrance of about three feet in width at one end. Red plastic chairs caught my eye, as did the dark shape of a man in a nondescript shirt and lungi, his pot belly creating a gentle curve in the in the lower half of his torso. I looked ahead and saw more tube lights. I looked back to see the incredible feat I had accomplished, the proverbial walk on fire. It seemed irrelevant now that I had crossed it; ordinary even. All that courage and nothing to show for it except a sweat soaked shirt. I licked my lips and tasted Odomos. 

The phone glowed two minutes past the ten minutes it was supposed to take me to reach the best place in Havelock to have dinner (I supposed non vegetarians may venture to have their own opinion on this matter considering that it was an island on the Andaman Sea, but vegetarians had to be content with what was handed on from previous travel accounts of like minded individuals) I continued walking, the tube lights and the stray motorist passing me. I noticed the words “COCO” painted in blue on a red board, the nearest tube light putting the part above this line in the dark. I walked faster, unconsciously, my eyes riveted on ‘COCO’. The dark parted to reveal ‘Anju’ painted in the same faded blue paint. More lights, this time within an enclosure in which a few blonde heads bobbed.

Twenty minutes later, I scooped a spoonful of Paneer Makhani into my mouth and tasted sweet, sweet victory.

My Search for Satisfaction

You know this feeling when you are sitting in a group and someone says something significant and you chose that exact moment to get lost in reverie? By the time you are back to the World the information is dated and the moment has passed. But the lingering feeling that you have missed something does not. 

I feel this way all the time. It's like as if everyone has struck a deal with their conscience to forget its duty for a while, so that they can push, claw and do whatever else it takes to clear their way to the top. If that is indeed the top (The Ladder of Mediocrity tells you more). I forgot to do it, and now it is too late. No one listens to me now, let alone my conscience. 

The human trait of perennial dissatisfaction has been termed as one of the major differences between us and other species in this world, and has also been attributed as the reason for mankind's progress today. This dissatisfaction has also manifested itself in the Attitude towards others. Acquiescence and compromise are the new words for backwardness. It's the New Age Theory-of-Relativity. Why bother with the universal definition of good when being better than bad is enough? But the single thought that my dull brain is unable to wrap around itself is: everyone is ok with it. There is smugness, superciliousness and maybe even a hint of resignation, but no one is asking why. Everyone is only talking about the what. 

To be honest, I was one among the madly rushing horde till recently. When it hit me that the Ladder everyone is scrambling to climb is actually an Illusion, I lost all interest. Phat. Just like that. Because I knew that this was not going to give me Satisfaction. But then, is there anything else on offer?

I don't have an answer to this question. I have just started the search, and I don't expect it to end well. But I cannot be without trying. If there is one emotion that I do not want to have in my life, it is Regret. 

Till we meet again. 

PERFECTING PERFECTION

I have always been amazed by the perfection in nature – out of all the colours, shapes and sizes in the world, how did God pick just the right size and shape of the petals and the two colours that would all come together to create the perfect flower? Not to mention the leaves, the stem.. everything in nature is so perfect. Why are we not so perfect? Why do only we have deficiencies, or weaknesses, rather, that leave us a breath short of perfection?

While I have no scientific or any other type of proof for this, I would like to believe that every plant, stem, flower, flower petal or seed ever present in nature never wanted to be anything else. It was perfectly happy being where it was, how it was. If its petals were green and its stem red, so be it. It started as a sapling, grew to be a plant, spread its seeds and spawned more like its own. No fuss, no complaints and absolutely no refusal to be a part of nature’s total plan. It is this matter of fact attitude that is, sadly, lacking in a lot of us.

So what if we are 3 inches shorter than we are? So what if our hair is not as silky as Kareena Kapoor’s is in the ad? So what? What about the beautiful smile that we have, the friendly nature, the bright eyes? What about what we already have? I doubt most of us have spent any time thinking on that. We have, on the other hand, already spent, and are bound to spend countless hours on all our shortcomings. The point here is – we are ALREADY perfect. We just haven’t realised it yet!

Whatever we are, however we are, we are OK. It is not possible to perfect what is already perfect; and that is exactly what we are.

We are like that flower. We were born with all the colours that we have. If anyone has created the sense of inadequacy in ourselves, it is us. So if there is anyone who can remove it, it would just have to be us. So look at yourself in the mirror today, give yourself a big smile and a thumbs up.

You are PERFECT.

The ladder of mediocrity

Julie is a regular high energy, talkative 7 year old girl. She loves school (except for the strict teachers and the homework) and she has lots of friends. She loves swimming and playing with her golden haired labrador, Ceasar.

Julie and her parents stay with her grandparents for a month every summer. Julie loves these trips. Her grandparents have a sprawling two storeyed house in a quiet suburb of the city. It’s a refreshing change from the concrete jungle Julie lives in, and gives her and Ceasar lots of space to run around and play. 

One sunny Tuesday morning Julie is running around the garden shed at the back of the house when she spies a new object. A ladder.

She eyes it curiously. It wasn’t there the last time she was here. 

Then she brightens.

 Now she can climb the wall of the garden with the ladder and see the world from the top! Wow! What a wonderful idea! She gets really excited and tells Ceasar, “Look, Ceasar, a ladder!” Now we can climb the wall and be on the top of the world.” Ceasar woofs in return, wagging his tail in enthusiasm.

She runs towards it and looks at the highest rung, right on top. It seemed so far away yet beckoning, like a huge tub of strawberry ice cream, her all time favourite food. She grabs hold with one hand on either side and puts one leg on the lowest rung. The ladder shivers in her hand, in response to her weight. Julie hesitates. Maybe she shouldn’t be climbing the ladder without showing it to Mummy. Mummy had told her to be careful and to call her in case, she, Julie saw anything different or strange. 

The next second Julie shook off the doubt. It was just a ladder. Of course it was not a weird or a strange thing! And ladders are meant to be climbed, are they not? So that was precisely what Julie was going to do.

She puts her second leg on the lowest rung. The ladder shivers again but stays in its place. Julie grins. “Look Ceasar, I’m climbing the ladder!” Ceasar woofs again, wagging his tail vigourously. He seems excited too. 

Emboldened by her first step, Julie climbs two more. Now she is a good 3 feet from the ground. Suddenly she hears her name. 

“Julie! Where are you, child?” It was Grandma. “Where are you? It’s lunchtime! I’ve made your favourite pasta.”

“Grandma!” Julie calls in return from the ladder. “Come and see me! I’m going to the top of the world! Come and see!”

Soon Grandma comes in sight. She is startled to find Julie halfway up her old rickety ladder. “Julie! What are you doing? That’s an old ladder, child. It can break any moment. Please get down from there.”

“But Grandma,” Julie protests, “it’s been great so far! It hardly ever shook when I climbed it. And see how far I am from the ground! I’m even taller than you and Ceasar! Please, Grandma! There are only 4 steps to go. I will climb them quickly, sit on the top of the world for some time and come back, ok?”

“Julie,“ Grandma sighs in exasperation, “It’s dangerous because it’s an old ladder. And who ever gave you the idea that when you climb it you will reach the top of the world? The ladder against a wall which is taller than the ladder, look! When you climb the ladder you are going to reach the wall, that’s all. And the wall is really high. You will not be able to look beyond the wall, let alone the top of the world!”

As realization hits, Julie’s face falls. She sniffs as she gets down to the ground. “Oh, Grandma. I was so excited. Can I never reach the top of the world?”

Grandma smiles fondly at the little girl. “Of course you can, dear. It’s all in your mind. You can be at the top of the world right now if you wish! Ok? Come on now, it’s getting late for lunch.”

---

Remember your first job? Or your first day in a new job? The adrenaline, the excitement, the enthusiasm to get somewhere, do something? That is like Julie finding the ladder. 

Remember asking yourself if this is what you signed up for 3, 5, 7, 10 years into Corporate life? Climbing an old rickety ladder in search of an unknown nirvana? Being sold the concept by the big bosses - that climbing the ladder of mediocrity is the only way, because “what else is there to do, dude”? Fighting the daily petty squabbles of who-said-what-to-whom, who-wrote-what-mail, whose-boss-is-an-idiot, who-has-to-have-the-last-word? Realizing that the end of the ladder is just another wall, which apart from banging your head on, is not useful for anything else?

Corporate life is like school uniform. It levels the playing field so that the mediocre can function. Don’t climb the ladder of mediocrity. Create your own boundaries, your own limitations. Get to the top of your world. Not the top that some self confessed egomaniac defined to celebrate his smallness of mind. Go, get a Life.

Sheesh.