Excerpt Primus :Short notes from a recent corporate slave and perpetually unsatisfied moron

Learning to Fly

Sabbatical. The ultimate Mecca of every employed nine to X’O clocker.

It brings back fond memories of college life, when we were relaxed and unfettered, unburdened by responsibility. Lodging was dad’s hotel, food was mom’s insistence and exams were the price of living. We yearned for the days of travelling by cabs rather than buses/trains and being able to buy the latest gadgets, travelling to the farthest corners of the world, the sky was our limit.

But the reality is that gravity is stronger than soaring dreams in the market place. It pulls inexorably towards Planet Earth, reminding you in meetings, conference calls, appraisals, mails that you are only as good as you do. If you can’t deliver, timely and accurately, you may not be crushed but you will be lost in oblivion. Being a name that someone cannot remember is every ambitious person’s greatest fear. So he works, frantic and ceaseless, trying to impress senior, impress upon juniors, making friends with colleagues (friends for a common cause naturally). Sleepless nights, endless days, infinite cuppas of chai or coffee, a bulging belly from eating out, jet lag from continuous travel. And what does all this give you, you ask. A generous salary, benefits, perks and the next year’s target,  at least a 100% higher than the one you still haven’t achieved.

So he takes time off, shops until his credit card drops, his wallet screams in protest, plays sports, meets friends on weekends, meets family at late night, holidays in the latest hotspot (where he answers his phone and checks his e-mail, because he can’t not do that) and comes back to feel rejuvenated. Oh yeah, this is good. I can do this, totally conquer every mountain and shut up every competitor. Target, big deal, Everest isn’t high enough for my capabilities.

So why is it that it starts again. The fatigue, inertia, listlessness, the fuss and the cribbing. What is it that drives one to say, “Enough is enough. I need to stop.” Some call it cowardice, rather most do. The ones who got minnnowed away, who faded away in the books of history, the ones who came second, the quitters.

What do I call it? I, who gave up a well paying job in a reputed organization to pursue a dream as insubstantial as a mirage in the desert.  Voluntarily. Well, I could call it temporary insanity but I chose not to.  No, I call it riding a bicycle. This thing, this most basic of motor skills which I never learnt, which nearly everyone knows and which embarrasses me to admit ignorance to. I can’t ride a bicycle but I want to. I can’t be a writer, but I want to. So better late than never. I’m gonna try, give it my all and see where I land. It’s a little like jumping off a plane with a parachute. The landing could be soft, but you won’t know until you land. 

I’m on sabbatical, I’m going to be for some time, let me fly with the seagulls.