Monday, 27 January 2014

Got It Right Punk

I was sitting in this call centre and thinking to myself, "damn, when does this shift get over?" and this was a daily routine, get to work at 10 pm and finish the 9 hour shift and get back at 8am.  After that there was dull stupor induced by alcohol and cigarettes, I was happy with my life, there was money, "The call centre pays well," mom had said with a wry smile on her face and there were friends to make, parties kept me busy on weekends.

"Hello, how may I help you?" I snapped back at the Avaya phone
as another caller called in, this time it had to do with a bank loan, "I have been paying my EMI's regularly and yet I still get charged a very high interest rate, you people are cheating me and this bank is no good" he had said with anger in his voice.
"Sir, could you give me your Loan Account No. or a Name followed by your date of birth," I said softly, I had been taught well and Snigdha had always warned me, 

                   "Never show sympathy or disdain, just empathize."

The caller gave me his account number and I tapped into my application on the screen and the history popped up on the screen, the Loan Amount, the EMI history, market credibility, the amount in the bank account and ET all.  My training had prepared me to scan this information in a few seconds and assimilate and then prepare for my next question, "I suppose this is a 100,000 dollar loan," I spoke rapidly as I verified all the information that was with me, "Keep it quick and fast, this is data that needs no verification but we are still empathizing."  He said yes to everything and we started to go about resolving his issues.

I got home around 8 am that morning and slept like a log till about 4 pm and as I started to get ready for work, my mind was toying around with an idea,  I was a guitarist and a pro at writing songs, my friends looked up at parties to write special songs for them and sing them out, “Then what was I doing in this God Forsaken Call Centre !”
I took out my guitar and started etching up notes for a new song

Intro (Jab Mila Tu) :


chords are C, G, Am, F(beginning), jab mila tu C Em F

It was a Hindi song, but music is a great unifier and translated it goes like this,

“ Like the Soul of a Watch,
  That Has Forsaken Time,
  Like the Sunlight in the Morning
  Is Separated from the Light
  That is How I am Without You”

I started to strum it and went into a world of my own, an hour went by and then two and then three, without a thought in my head except this song that I was writing for myself, my mind was in rapture and I was thinking
of this girl while I wrote, strummed and tested.  Love makes for fine companion especially when one is heart broken, creativity and pain, “tis’ I fine combination,” I said to myself, “Love Love and stay broken, that’s where your creativity comes from, man!”

I missed work that day, they were angry all these managerial staff, the CEO and Directors, it wasn’t for nothing that I didn’t go for work that day, one month from that day, I quit my job and started writing songs, its about talent and finding what you are made for. ( 

This morning I woke up and heard this advertisement on FM, “Go To UK”, the
best strummers are from around these parts, never miss out anything that we string out, remember Eddie Mercury, I still hang around these parts and of course, “I am too sexy for my Shoes.” 

The Royal School Of Music, just give me an entry ! .. So where is this Royal School of Music, it must be around somewhere, its somebody’s tip and I will get around to it this summer and with time I shall be amongst the best. 

 The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.................. From the “Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.”


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