Here’s to the unsung heroes

When you were born, you were asked to become a doctor or an engineer. But the world was thinking different. Doing different. You did not want to stay behind now, did you? So, you jumped onto the band wagon. To do something different. While the journey was right, the destination was still clueless. You took pleasure in the ‘journey is important’ philosophy and walked along. You saw many stumble upon their passions along the way and saw them achieve greatness. Lost souls found a purpose and they drifted towards their dream. You, on the other hand, had reached the end of the journey and you were still as clueless. Writers painted words. Painters wrote stories. Artists brought the good life on their canvas. Inspired and burning with envy you gave these wings a shot. Unfortunately, you did not fly. Rather you fell flat on your face. You took comfort in the fact that no one was watching. You dusted off the creative dirt and marched along the familiar path. You were accompanied by many such incompetent fools. Parental pressure, peer pressure and lack of self-confidence pushed you to knock on the doors of MBA. Some of you went to lesser known universities in The United Kingdom, while most of you filled up benches in the never before heard colleges of the city. The IIMS and IITS were out of your reach, or as you put it, not your cup of tea. So, your cutting chai generation barely passed through with flying colours.

Your childhood flashed in front of your eyes. The need to unbelong starting poking you in the rear. “Be different. Do different. Something. Anything”. These words starting haunting you. A wise man would have learnt from his mistakes. But you’d heard stories about being foolish and being stupid. So blindfolded you bent over into the world of advertising. You dreamt of changing markets. Leveraging brands. Digging deep into consumer insights. And using such jargons. But then, you met the other side of your world. One that you wanted to be a part of. One where your lack of talent betrayed you. You met the creative team.

You were welcomed with abuses. Sarcasm was darted at you under the garb of conversation. Respect was a word no longer found in your dictionary. As you walked of, you could hear mocking laughter behind you. Yet, you persevered. You bent over. You tried to bring intelligence to the table with your inputs, only to realize it was better to keep your mouth shut. Insults were hailed at you. Incompetence became your middle name. You got tea for the creative. Sometimes beer. You always got food, yet they treated you worse than a maid. Your clients thought you were good for nothing. They called you a pushover. They walked over you. Trampled your ego. And you started questioning your existence. You started questioning the MBA. You thought the world was going to end. And just then, you saw a glimmer of hope. A silver lining. Your belief in God was reinstated. After all these years, you had a dream. One that you could work towards. One that you could be proud of. Your children would hear these stories. And they would tell their children the same. Tales of honour. Of Valour. Of bravery. Of how you had lived a dream. When the odds were stacked against you, you beat them. Handsomely. In style. You started dreaming of that day. The day when you will win an EFFIE. Ha ha ha ha. Chut.

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