So I visited my cousin today – this is one of the good ones. Not to be confused with the other voodoo dolls. And her daughter has now joined the only company that still feels like home to me.
I was back there around 20 days ago to MC an event and everything felt just as familiar as ever. I even choked up when they played the company anthem which is surprisingly tuneful though replete with absolutely corny bilge. The security staff remembered me as did the coffee guy at the Cafe Coffee Day outlet in Food Court 1 that I swear makes the best Tropical Iceberb in all of Bangalore. Still. And there were people I hugged and others who remembered the ‘glory days’ of the Voice of Youth.
So anyway today reminded me of days spent at an Indian Multi National Company. It was not the first place I worked at. No. But it was my first full-time, non-entrepreneurial job. The sort where you take a measly pay package home every month and carry a spot of lunch in a steel container every day. And where the government soaks you nice and good and calls this day-light robbery Income Tax. That sort of thing.
And then something happened later this evening that reminded me very pissedly of my last days there.
The thing is I didn’t want to ever resign from that place. Even though I knew I was being cheated, even though the scales were falling from my eyes, I still wanted to be there. It wasn’t just a job. It was my kingdom!
And I really believed that I was contributing to something worthwhile. I played incredibly diverse roles that satisfied me creatively. And though it was all highly competitive, and we played dirty politics till kingdom come I was just having too much fun to want to leave.
I loved so many people there. And believed I was verily the darling of the sensible lot there at least.
So when the time came to leave, and I was drafting my resignation letter, I was crying and unsure. So many uncertainties lay ahead. Personally. Professionally. And I wasn’t at all convinced that I was doing the right thing.
Love, verily, blinds you to so many things. And God, I swear, I loved that place even if I bitched about it. Even if I sometimes mocked it. But it had to be done. My friends and family threatened me of dire consequences if I didn’t quit just then. Especially given that I had had the offer I had had. And my mom was unusually insistent.
And so there I was drafting that resignation entirely unsure, completely in tears and when I’d finished I sent it to my super boss (my manager’s manager) and manager.
Going by my track-record I was hoping (and my friends were dreading) that the company might just say that they want me and I’d stay on. I was sure that if they told me that they wanted me, it would prove that they weren’t really cheating me and that they loved me as much as I loved working there and all that sort of mushy nonsense no woman should feel towards any employer. And were they to do that, I knew, I wouldn’t even bargain or negotiate but stay there and grow happily, powerfully old – a force to reckon with.
I was extra imaginative those days and all these emotional scenarios took place in my head where the powers that be would finally pat my head/shoulder and say, ‘Unthinkable, you leaving.’ And I’d say, ‘Oh thank you. Of course, I won’t.’
I know. Gag-worthy.
But that same afternoon super boss replied to my mail. Though we all knew he was a man of few words, that ‘official mail’ broke even his record.
He said, ‘Cool.’
And nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. No formal salutation, no body of letter, no signature. Just ‘Cool.’
And I was out of there.
So that’s the point I wanted to make – in an emotionally distraught situation with grave repercussions, the word ‘cool’ completely and effectively ends all speculation and dialogue.
And really the only people who sounded good using the word cool was Boney M. Remember Daddy Cool? Lame, I know, and not really a great connection, but I’m not a great thinker when I’m seeing so much red that I can’t even cuss. And all I can say is ‘I am furious’ in a clipped hiss.