Anything and everything I remember about economics from my academic years is the Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility. It applies to me in the sense that one always looks for change—something new, something different, something never experienced before.

While recollecting memories of my first formal job, it’s not that I’m consciously avoiding the traumatic details of that period or the hardships I faced during those four months of laborious work. Factually, I seem to have forgotten most of the negativity surrounding that time. Even when I try hard to recall, I can’t remember anecdotes involving negative or evil people. Nor can I find memories of my own work-related demons—moments where I acted or reacted negatively.

In a way, this feels like a good sign: either all those memories have turned sweet with time, or the human mind erases certain details on its own to preserve a healthy present.

Having said that, we often suppress emotions at work, reducing everything to maths and numbers. This is widely practised, though I don’t agree with the idea of emotional suppression in practical life. To my humble understanding, social animals are emotional animals to begin with.

The bike.

I can’t recall the exact year when I bought—or managed to buy—my first bike. My very first one, a Suzuki, I bought from a cousin for probably Rs. 3,000. Later, with the help of my family, I got a Honda 125. I mention the bike because of its importance for a freshly graduated salesperson, and surprisingly, it remains equally important for the middle-class youth even today.

Public transportation may be much better now, though it wasn’t that bad back then either. I can recall the political scenario of that time and my own participation in student politics, but discussing that would deviate from my work biography—and enough of that is already going on around us—so I’ll skip that favourite subject and move ahead with the work story.

The good things about a sales job are many, and the bad things—every salesperson knows—are much easier to comprehend, depending on who we are. One of the best things is that you’re always on the move, day and night, and never become a couch potato. You use stairs more often, move from building to building (especially in a place like Blue Area).

Another positive aspect is that once you lock a deal—sometimes early in the morning and even receive an advance—you can wander around the rest of the day doing nothing, share the good news with the boss the next day, and no one asks what else you did during the day.

People generally appreciate the younger generation working hard and can relate to the ambition and vigour of youth. During that peak period of the early 20s, when you present yourself neatly to potential clients, your energy is often appreciated by mature people. Many would buy from you even if they didn’t really need what you were selling. This isn’t motivation theory—just my experience of that time.

Writing this now, as I approach 55, I realise that the narrative wouldn’t be the same had I documented it at 22. The reflection of events changes with time; perhaps events remain the same, but responses change—and those responses and reactions shape our lives.

Initially, my sales circle was limited to Blue Area, but I had to expand it to Super Market, Jinnah Super, I-9, and wherever my bike could take me in search of business. There were rude people, moody people, and all kinds of kind and unkind humans—just as the human race is designed.

I remember an art gallery owned by an old man somewhere in Blue Area. He was always there, painting. He welcomed me warmly and eventually became a friend. It took many visits and many cups of tea, but I never got business from him—perhaps because I never saw anyone buy a painting from him. Still, his unique politeness is engraved in my memory.

Some people were rude enough to shut doors on your face. At times, knocking itself felt awkward, as if you were invading someone’s privacy.

Receptionists in most offices were usually female—or receptionist-cum-phone operators. I often wondered why that was so. Most of the time, however, they were helpful in securing appointments with decision-makers and facilitating sales. Also, perhaps the undiluted innocence and a quiet, poetic sadness in my eyes stirred a compassionate response.

In my previous write-ups, I mentioned that landline phones were rare. On reflection, that wasn’t entirely correct. Landlines were abundant, but making calls was expensive. Every outgoing call was noted, and even local calls were considered an expense. Telecards, phone booths, and public exchanges existed as well. Fax machines, photocopiers, computer labs, and early Microsoft software were in use. However, the presence of the internet in 1992 doesn’t feature in my memory.

I realise that while writing this with faded memories and trying to maintain flow, I may have added some intellectual digressions that could feel boring to readers. My apologies for the length. I hope more memories will surface as I move to the next chapter, including details of side hustles.

Thank you to everyone who read till the end.

To be continued..