How would you feel when there's absolutely nothing to look forward to when you go home from office tonight? oops! did I say, home ? I didn't mean home, home is what I get to go to only in August (if everything works out well, that is) I go back to my room... to my beloved virus infested laptop and the same spik'n'span clean room with everything in its place.
Sometimes, the absence of anything great or different to do drives me crazy... sometimes its preserves my sanity and sometimes... its just flowing with the current...
There's absolutely nothing to look forward to...there's nothing to look forward to when I come to office and there's nothing to look forward to when I go home. Now I know why people go mad. Because nothing is happening. the gray mist never clears, the mundane reigns supreme in life and the urge to finish it off once and for all gnaws at my bone.
But I persist in my attempt to look for it a little longer, and please don't get me wrong; the presistence if more a result of the lack of conviction in my decisions than the hope of spring boarding back to being alive.
There is something different about working in a managerial position in a company which requires a lot of unskilled labour and people who hardly know anything more than earning their hundred bucks at the end of the day. You get a glimpse of the bigger picture of the country known to the world for its kings and elephants and now for its fast expanding cyber tentacles. Please don't confuse me with a typical cybercrazy Neophyte who figured his life cannot go on without a few hours spent in front of a computer tapping into the internet or a nihilist on his way to changing the world order and sweeping the cyber dependence away from our lives altogether.
I am talking about that unskilled rigger whose complete day's work comprises moving pipes. Just moving pipes. starting from the smallest of sizes and progressively moving higher. I am talking of the fitter who's only job is to align pipes and get them ready for welding. I am talking about the welder who creates one joint after another with a bidi break in between.
For these people their Saab is their God, the sole provider for their families. They'll make an extra effort to come and stand in front of you, maybe catch your eye for a fraction of a second and touch side of his plastic safety hat with the tip of his finger to say the customary Salaam and give you an apprehensive smile. And if you happen to smile back, you will get the biggest smile in return. Because for them, its not just a smile, its recognition, its an assurance that the Saab remembers him.
That face is the true face of our country. The face that is eager to please for that handful of foodgrains for his family, the man who works throughout the day pushing pipes.
They are my people and at times, I can't deny the pride I feel being called Saab by these people, because I can swear to God, I cannot do the kind of work they do with such painstaking accuracy and precision.