Life just doesn’t stop tiring you down, I am lost, somewhere down the road, you end up losing direction even further…hit the dirt road. I am sure one moment that I must quit and unsure the other. Its rollercoaster ride of sorts. The politics of the art director is amusing. Work got stuck from my end to his, and I get scolded because the boss just had to say it to someone; better me, the newbie than him….his joker who dances to his tune. And the fool I am, I took it, thought that due to the new job title, maybe I was responsible for it. So everyday after finishing mag’s content, the clients’ work, the campaigns, the pone calls, the outdoor work, and then I would sit on the designer’s head and beg and cajole him to work. And then one fine day, after I had a showdown with a ‘friend’, I was told at work by the art director at 5 pm to stay back as late as I have to and have ensure that the design part of the campaign gets finished…..I don’t know if it was the former or the latter, or the combination of both…but after I got up from the prayer rug, I broke down and cried…and I just couldn’t stop, control myself from crying. And there wasn’t a place to cry…..the resilient, angry tears followed, I stood in bw and cried and kept on giving instructions and interjecting fake coughs to feign allergy…..when boss unexpectedly came up and stood besides me…he alarmingly retorted: what happened. And I said with a stone face: nothing, allergy. And he quickly withdrew. Then the coordinator strolled in and caught me, kept asking and dragged me out of the room. I couldn’t say anything. He then went in again, asked the designer to wrap up and ask whatever he needed to ask me quickly and then he literally pushed me out of the office. There have been times when I saw some girl crying in the bus, using the semi-darkness as an excuse….work, home, love, broken hearts? God knows and on that day I too cried shamelessly on my way back home, all the way….not caring who could see me or couldn’t. The cell was near about dead from low battery but I managed a garbled sms to my buddy about the meltdown. As I strolled back home very late at night, Buddy’s frantic sms and coordinator’s were there. Mom asked me if I was crying and I denied. She tried to fill me on the new catwalk details, I didn’t react, respond, reply. Just a whatever…i hate to see both of them get tense when these things start, it’s not their age to go through these, to hang on to the edge, to wait and hope….. cried the whole night, kept crying…..screaming, wailing…realized later that it was the start of the new Islamic year, got up prayed, cried, prayed…stupid apologetic msgs came …until morning got up and went back to work. Coordinator called up, we talked in hushed tones, so the bloody art director, who is always even dropping, won’t hear. The next day there was another clever push down from the art director to make me do something he was supposed to do in the first place. The coordinator came to know about it, went to the account director, I was called in, the door was closed. He said too me: “When someone is being bullied, it is equally the person’s fault. Probably the TORs aren’t clear and you are taking the art director’s slake. Don’t. be diplomatic but be firm with him. I don’t want to lose someone as good as passionate as you are to politics and burnout.” Coordinator whispered in my ear: “tell him how he asked you to come and work on two of the official holidays, even there was no work pending at your end.” I did and he said: “let me know come and talk to me if this happens again. Boss, him and I come to work sometimes on off days, but you, why should you.” This got settled down, the art director, being reprimanded threw menacing glances at me. The next day, the freelance editor started acting up, as soon as he got rid of the things stuck at his end and as soon a I finished the doing the work he was supposed to do in the first place. He started sending me terse emails, and CCing it to the boss, calling up, throwing tantrums at everything, questioning and criticizing everything. Rejecting all the editorial and proofreading changes I made in the writeups, making up blunders in his fit of rage. I replied to a few and when complained to boss, he admitted that the guy has severe attitude problems but I should stick to him as I would learn and that we cant let go off him as we need his services for the peanuts we give him and that the mag is his baby and that’s why he is touchy. Boss was coaxing me as if I am a baby. I cleaned out my desk before going to him with this issue, telling him that I wasn’t continuing. But then his coaxing and art director’s sniggering made me come back. That wasn’t the right time. The friends also cooled me down telling me to kill some more time here, as the job market was supposed to be dead or now. Well for me it’s dead anyways….be it the weird catwalks, or the random job interviews. I am permanently worn down. I walk with an old woman’s gait, my shoulders ache, the commute kills. I don’t use discretion at work, I let everyone see my sour, sullen moods, the panic attacks when the stupid editor calls up to criticize. I just don’t care to pretend anymore. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know. The prospect of sitting at home and being engulfed my depression is stopping me from quitting. I don’t know, I don’t know…I never saw myself as a meek pushover, but this place has made me realize that. I have seen worst times and have survived…..i will do it again……but I am just too tired of doing that, coming again and again to that dark road…..the plus points, the buddy came around on his rare off days and heard me rant…..the other friend, the one whose sister committed suicide, also emerges from her depression from time to time to support whatever move I am to make next.
