Episode 7
Our lives are determined by the humans around us—humans we have lived with, worked with; humans we have loved, humans we have hated; humans we have travelled with; humans we have made friends with and enemies of. It is all about humans. Either we are tied to them by nature, or we choose them to sail along with us. Humans we sell to and humans we buy from.
But we don’t want to remember too many names, and we often skim through names when it comes to reading someone else’s story. While curating this episode, it was all about many names—many humans—from my “blue door” world.
The people there, from those corridors till today, have made my life what it is. Can you live, survive, and throb without them? The question is more philosophical than economical, because economics needs a market, and the market is people.
It will be hard to avoid names now, at least during the introduction of my new workplace.
All of them were immaculate souls, as per my present state of mind while I think about that time.
There was a very old man then—short in height, dark in complexion—Mr. Rafi. He was an English copy and creative writer. I think he was in his late 60s. He had a great command of the English language, especially its crafting side. There is a saying that everyone is a villain in someone else’s life, but to me, all of them were heroes, with all their vulnerabilities and insecurities.
Mr. Rafi’s first response to any task would be, “Oh, I’m not in the mood for work, I’m so tired.” His second sentence would be, “I was just kidding.” Then he would immediately hold his magic pen, write the best copy, and revolve a bit in his chair.
While thinking about him now, I can draw a sketch of his face full of lines, and each line carried a story—unique and untold. I don’t know where Mr. Rafi is now, but he deserved a special space in this episode.
The position offered to me was Junior Client Service Executive, but in the very beginning, it was more like a dispatch rider. My job description initially included delivering invoices, getting work orders (if the fax machine was not working on both sides), picking up cheques, and many other trivial yet important tasks—like a runner.
There were two canvas bags—one black and the other khaki—full of documents. Every time, I was ready to kick-start and move around Islamabad and Rawalpindi. In the beginning, I was not attending presentations or high-level meetings, but I still had to be dressed formally, wearing a tie every day.
My student-life days were not very far behind, and a radically rebellious lad often awakened within me. Since I had been active in left-wing student politics, making speeches and all, that loudness had become a stubborn habit. It had yet to be tamed by the needs of the job and the strict discipline of this workplace.
There was a card-punch machine for attendance. A red punch meant you were late, and on the third consecutive red punch, you would be called by the GM for an explanation. He was a bald man, very strict about office timings. I can’t recall his first name, but his last name was Qureshi. He was second in command after the CEO’s son.
There was probably a meeting every day at 9:30, starting with a recitation. The environment was very serious. I always needed some laughter or lighter talk, but it was strictly business. Over time, I tried to change the environment a little, but I couldn’t change it much. Change and evolution are rarely accepted; humans, like all of us, tend to move smoothly with the status quo.
Yet, necessity shaped me for the time being. However, my desire for change—at least for myself—remained on a slow burner deep inside. I was learning a lot, but I felt chained.
My degree-less studies and destination-less learning paths continued. I’m not sure what I was studying at an academy in F-8. Somewhere else, I was studying for the CSS theory test at an academy in Super Market. I was studying law and had probably left ICMA by then. I do remember completing and passing the first year of law at a private college in Rawalpindi while working with Orient Advertising in Islamabad.
When I think about those days—this urge to study many subjects and explore many faculties—I feel life was full of foolishness and unguided struggle to find the self, or perhaps a track unknown.
My side hustles—home tuitions—were still going on. Somehow, I got a tuition in F-6/1, and there I met another human being: the grandmother, dadi jaan, of the children I was teaching.
In the journey onward, there was an impact of dadi jaan—a beautiful human being she was…