Shit! I'll Never be Happy

Four years ago, I took a flight from Kolkata and reached Chennai to join my new service in ‘prestigious’ Customs Department. It was evening. My eyes were sparkling and mind was hyper-excited in anticipation of the powers associated with the post of the Inspector, atleast whatever my ‘well-wishers’ back at home made me believe. I did not mind that the taxi driver charged me astronomically or I could not take my dinner for a completely weird and extraterrestrial food consisting of lots of coloured liquids. I did not mind even the silent and signaled conversation with others for I did not understand their language a bit. I did not mind a thousand of things. But when I reached my office to join, my mind started minding a lot and I could not help it. And why not?

To me, a guy who had not gone outside his state so far, Chennai was a real big thing. And now, they were throwing me in Trichy, a city 500 km away from Chennai, instructing me to join next day. Frankly speaking, I was damn scared. I took a night bus, reached Trichy by four in morning, again paid exorbitant auto charge for a 1 km distance and there I was, in front of our office, a massive cream coloured building. Next day I felt better, as I met with others, ‘fellow victims’. They spoke in piteous voices, complained about their wretched fates and scared the shit out of me. Trichy office also had no vacancy! Fuckkkkkk!! They suggested me to request (read ‘beg’) higher officials to post me around Trichy, because, they informed me with fear in their eyes, ‘outside’ meant a horrible hostile place, where I would be treated as a foreigner or if bad luck, a North Indian. Bad omen was with me. I was thrown out again. Now to a place called Ramnad, 250 km south of Trichy. And from there, I was kicked to the coastline, Kilakarai, 30 km away from Ramnad. First day, I stared at my office in Kilakarai, and I laughed aloud. A dilapidated rented building with the worst ever toilet; my table among broken seized shits and red eyed drunk subordinates and a belly protruding boss, who used to stay in office max for one hour! I compared it with my last office in Haldia, a SBI branch, and I felt instantly sorry for me. Life was truly ironical. There I got a good office, but my salary was pathetic. And here this office was the worst, but my salary was handsome!

I am not being nostalgic. But a few days before, while entering North Block, to the supreme office of our department and while my bag was being screened by some grimly faced CISF men, a tiny fraction of memory popped up in my brain, and I could see myself entering my office in Kilakarai, with a bag on my back, listening the continuous snoring of sea, way to my tidy dirty table in a broken small room in an abandoned primary school building turned Customs office. I was completely helpless then, when I had to communicate with my subordinates with a language I did not know; in a jeep I had to patrol throughout nights along the coastal lines with none other than a driver and a drunkard sepoy, who used to extort money in my name from the ‘sea-cucumber’ smugglers; and in morning I had to patrol the coastal sea and uninhabited islets in an expensive category III boat with some marine crews, who were utterly abusive to the local fishermen. The flashbacks were on. I did not know when I was in the first floor after breaking the stairs covered in lavish red carpet, obviously meant for the Finance Minister of India, whose office was in the first left corner, adorned by a beautiful Ganesh idol. My ID card with a blue ribbon was hanging around near my chest. I took a turn to right, passed the office of MOS of Finance and then other unknown high profile rooms, and there I was, panting, in front of a closed door with a red light on above. ‘You’re late sir. Madam was expecting you’, I heard and turned to the smiling peon sitting across a sofa. ‘Don’t worry about the red light sir, you can go inside’, his voice was assuring. I knew I could and I had to. I paused a while, took a deep breath and a small notepad in my sweating hand and knocked the door with meek voice. ‘May I come in maa’m’? And I was there, in front of the Member, sitting behind an elegant mahogany table in an adorned white room. Her table was full of bulky files. She pierced me through her specs and signaled me to sit down. There was another person in the room with a serious face with a red ribbon around neck. Must be a Commissioner or above, I thought. Whole room was dead silent. I knew I was also dead.

After getting transfer to Delhi and getting my new assignment in Board, I have received mixed responses. Some say, this is sort of unbelievable achievement. I mean, directly dealing with the top most bureaucrats and policy makers!! Come on. That’s cool. While in Kilakarai, a Deputy Commissioner was the biggest shot, here even a Chief Commissioner could not even enter Member’s chamber! But others sympathize, ‘You’ve been entrapped dude’. Brushing shoulders with Secretaries has some obvious disadvantages. I am being late for home for every single day or hey, do you know, I am working on holidays too! That’s uncool. And the wrath of titans! You never know, when you’re going to be banged or thrashed for a mistake, which is even not yours. So I personally synchronize with the latter response. I’m so entrapped.

This brings to me a whole new realization. I can never be happy with my job. I mean ever. My first job was with LICI. Though my office was clean and salary was good, I was totally unhappy with my job profile. Then in SBI, I had the greatest office and interesting profile, but my pay was pathetic. In Kilakarai, I had the worst nightmarish office and in Trichy, while posted as the Protocol Officer of the Commissioner, I got a better office, but I was a little more than ‘slave’. I couldn’t sustain in Airport, because I was not upto the ongoing game, and I was feeling guilty in Chief Commissioner’s Office for I was drawing salary without any meaningful work. And now here. I ‘m doing extra work in extra time with extraordinary people, and I’m totally not okay with that.

My wife says, ‘Your life has been totally fucked up’. Expert’s opinion. That’s it.