Monday, August 10, 2009

Cut. Cut. Cut.

When I was growing up, there was a little book that was passed down by my parents to my eldest sister, from her to my middle sister and from her to me. It was bland in design, blue and green, with white bold typography that read 'after 10+2 what?'. In those days, the book was considered the bible that parents held on to, to make sense of what apart from the conventional professions could their children do. An MBA was a hot favourite, which gave the regular B.Com courses in college that much deserved ego boost.

I however, had decided at age 5 (when I got gifted my first doctor set) that I wanted to be a surgeon. As the years passed by, my vision got clearer and I narrowed my cutting skills down to being a cardiothoracic surgeon. All this however, was set to change. The day I decided that cutting film seemed less squeamish to me, my parents searched high and low for the book. In a Dusty trunk numbered 76, was where mecca was found. They read and no matter how they tried, the book could not help make sense of their youngest daughter's wayward mind. But being the people they are, they let me go and do my own thing. Three years down the line, I decided I wanted to cut something else- words, copy, more words. By this time, 10+2 had found itself another owner. After all, I had at that time narrowed down to what I wanted to do.

The years in advertising fly by, especially when for most of your time, you sit gazing idly at a blinking cursor, waiting in vain for something to appear, so you can start cutting. These days, I stare at blinking mail buttons, waiting for my team to send me something to start cutting.

People, chests, film, copy- I cut them all (some in person, some in theory) but I'm still waiting to learn how to cut something else- Time.

Offices in advertising have all kinds of time schedules. There are those who walk in at 930 and leave at 530, come hell or high water. Those who come in at 845 and leave at 530. Those who come in at 1130 and leave at 530. Those who come at 1130 and leave at 2. And those like me, who stroll in at 1100 and can never decide when to leave. Truth be told, I'm bloody jealous of those who want to get home early, because they have something planned, or someone waiting.

Most of my friends, have something I call a fixed pattern, so many hours to something, so many to someone else. But me no.

I'm always trying to find excuses- traffic, work, artworks, deadlines etc etc. Because I don't know what to do once I get back home. I OD on TV during the weekend, and if I reach home during prime time, then dinner time would be left surfing.

Today, a thought struck me. Maybe someone, should have written another book that helped not to plan your career but helped you plan your life. Helped you decide between the things you can do, the ones you can't and the ones you shouldn't. Guaranteed hot-seller at your local crossword or ebay.

Such however is not the case, and people like me, (and I hope there are more like me out there) are left gazing, wondering and pondering on how to cut.

Cut time. Sometimes short. Sometimes in half. Sometimes long.