It was not the first floor; I had actually gone to the basement of the building, which was not the admin or executive office. Someone guided me that if you are there for an ad for your magazine or Yellow Pages, you should go upstairs to the first floor. Entering the wrong doors and then finding the right ones after realising it was not unusual for me.

The same pattern is faced in life in general, except that some doors (we feel) are locked behind us forever after we enter them. Right or wrong, we live inside.

A quick note about memory lanes: when you start recalling events, memories begin to open up like a movie, and you start seeing all the nooks of places you have lived in. Even the shadows and shades of light you once observed begin to illuminate in your eyes and mind.

I entered, and a slightly tanned and gorgeous girl at the reception guided me towards a gentleman sitting at the far corner behind a semi-glass partition. His name was Adnan Shabbir—a slightly bald, dark man with an active smile and a calm voice.

I told him what I did, and he told me it was an advertising agency. I don’t remember whether I asked for a job or whether he considered me for one. My father was about to retire from ISPR as a superintendent, and while he was telling me about their work, he mentioned ISPR, the Pakistan Navy and many other government and semi-government organisations as their clients. He also happened to know my father.

This turned out to be my informal interview, and the process of application and waiting for a formal interview began from that first meeting.
The blue door belonged to Orient Advertising (Pvt) Ltd, and the CEO was Mr. S. H. Hashmi.

Before I proceed to unfold the beginning of my job at one of the top advertising agencies in Islamabad by the end of 1992, I want to reiterate that I am trying to write only a work biography. I decided at the start to stick to that, but it seems hard to filter through memories and keep the very personal self out of focus. I recall a quote by Gabriel García Márquez that humans have three lives: public, private, and personal. When you dive into a nostalgic gala of memories, it feels like discovering a new you within the old you, sitting somewhere far outside—like watching a movie in a theatre, unable to direct or redirect the scenes.

I hope to articulate life experiences within the surroundings of my work in these ongoing episodes.

I am not entirely sure if I was interviewed by the son of Mr. S. H. Hashmi, but Mr. Mehmood Hashmi was the top boss in Islamabad, and my immediate boss was Adnan Shabbir. It was largely due to his efforts and consideration that I came on board.

Looking back, I realise I was hired at such a junior-most position that everyone around me, from every department, was senior to me. For me, everyone was a boss.

The blue door felt like a gateway to a whole new universe—a deep blue sea for my naïve sight. A world of colours, graphics, design, photography, and videography. The art and craft of copywriting and creative writing. A world of media and evolving technologies. A world of business management, accounts, billing, and computers.

I was probably the youngest person in the office at that time, and everyone—from the peon to the management heads—was my teacher. The lessons learned there probably still stay with me even today.

Events unfolded, and the roads I chose ahead were completely untraveled, yet the interactions with people around me were immaculate and worthy of being penned down.

I met many beautiful human beings, and most of them were kind and generous…

To be continued…