History always remains doubtful, as the neutrality of the historian can always be questioned. Even in third-person narratives about an event, reality is shadowed under the influence of communication and linguistics. But the modern world is very different in the documentation of the present age; all happenings around us are recorded or saved live on social media handles. Decades from now, memories in human minds may probably be of no use at all, as everything about us will be saved on data servers and be accessible.

While I have taken up the task of writing this chronicle, it has made me live in that epoch, and the impact of nostalgia keeps the mind in illusions. When thoughts are curated and the fog is removed, even the sounds of rain and the rhythm of tiptoes are heard in the ears; the past looks present and vice versa.

Mr. Qureshi was one person who did not seem meant to be in advertising, judging by his conduct and protocols. As mentioned before, all the clients in our agency at that time were from the public sector, and the upper management was like a Xerox of government-style operations. It was more about administration and management of business from the government sector. The only life and colours were in the art department, but I was not an artist.

Being the junior-most, I was answerable under strict discipline and operating procedures, also because I was not innately made for acceptance and obedience of the status quo. In each and every area of work, I had many questions about the execution of tasks. My questions and disobedience made me a “bad guy,” and somehow more restrictions were imposed on me—mainly related to office timings, dress code, and the toughest tasks being assigned to me.

One anecdote I remember was about a billboard of a client somewhere far away, at the extreme corner of an adjacent city. The board fell down, and I had to fix it with my naïve skills, standing on my bike. Such tasks were either part of my training or punishment for my disobedience, but now they all looked like part of learning. There was always some reward—not necessarily from the boss—but kind words from colleagues, some empathy, some sympathy, and sometimes someone in your surroundings simply understanding your vigour and uncooked, undefined ideologies of life.

The world itself has evolved over the last few centuries in terms of systems of governance and administration. Though the ideal system universally agreed upon is considered to be democracy, it is not working smoothly everywhere, and elements of monarchy seem to be an instinctive human trait.

Somehow, the office was being run in a government-style administrative manner, which somehow made me a slightly different person and a bit disciplined for the time being, but rebellion to run away was being sown inside me. Although this administrative style was not the only reason to run away, it was one of them.

During those years, time was passing consciously unnoticed and unconsciously felt deeper. It was now mid-1993, and I was being noticed around, though I did not bring any business to the company; my position was strengthened a bit. My side hustle of home tuitions came to the knowledge of the company’s co-owner, and maybe for a month or so, I taught his children at a farmhouse near Rawal Lake. This gave me a small boost—not in terms of professional positioning, but in terms of PR with the company’s co-owner.

The story I am building around personality sketches of many humans cannot be avoided, as interactions with humans create events, and events create progress and productivity, which eventually bring growth.

We, in general, do not know how to make tea or coffee, yet in the public and private sectors of Pakistan there may be millions of people employed as kitchen handlers and tea makers in offices. My thoughts about them were cultivated when I met Gareeb Nawaz in 1993. I am not saying that tea makers should be deprived of their jobs. But the question that triggers my mind is whether tea boys and peons will always remain tea boys and peons, or whether there is growth in their careers—and what that elevation might look like.

In a country like Pakistan, we may have seen people assigned only to make tea who are now 58 and about to retire, having spent their entire lives making tea for others.

Gareeb Nawaz was from a remote area of KPK and, in the beginning, was very rude to my excessive demands of entering the kitchen. It was like a lion’s den, and Gareeb Nawaz was the boss of the kitchen. It was 1993, and mobile phones were entering the market like magic. Gareeb Nawaz may never have imagined in his entire life that AI would someday take over his job. Besides his beautiful and innocent mind, Gareeb Nawaz was such a hilarious and cool character that if he were in a film or drama, he would make the world laugh.

For many such people, the world remains paradise even if they remain tea makers until the end.

To be continued…