The Delhi Chapter : Page 44

I overslept the next morning, when I was actually meant to go to work early.

Since Bodhi’d said he’d give me my first campaign to crack!

I cursed my alarm.

Cursed the weather.

Cursed the pillow.

And the blooming quilt!

Also used all the swear words I knew, on myself.

[ Given my slang vocab is acutely deplorable ]

For being so utterly callous.

Felt nostalgia of the strangest kind.

Of all my Morrison and Floyd and Straits nights.

Of all the midnight scribbling.

And humming and strumming.

Copious Nutella eating.

And Dan Brown reading.

[ As breaks from 'exam all-nighters']

And how I’d once fallen asleep at dawn on my desk studying.

And nearly missed my Chemistry pre-board paper.

****

I frisked about the house trying to put myself together.

To get garbed for work as fast as one possibly could.

[ Like one of those fast-forward videos you see on TV ]

Brushing, washing, dressing, dashing.

Combing, lotioning, zipping, packing.

Greeting the folks, newspaper skimming.

And tucking in a bowlful of cereal and fruit. 

The Delhi Chapter : Page 43

As I went back to my seat and started doodling carelessly, a few moments later I found a tall shadow crest over my head.

And darken my beige hand-made paper.

“Hey!

That’s quite cool.

What’re you drawing?

Haven’t seen you around before.

Art Intern?” an invigorating voice inquired.

As I turned around and slowly lifted up my head, I saw a man 6 feet something high.

A scanty French beard coating his chin.

Wearing a black t-shirt and pair of blue faded jeans.

[ Wouldn’t be a day older than 28. ]

He was standing like a tower next to my chair.

Clearly waiting for me to make conversation.

After studying his overwhelming frame for a few seconds, I told him what the assignment was all about.

And that I was actually a Copy Intern.

[ Who was also hugely interested in Art. ]

He held his hand out and introduced him warmly.

“Hi I’m Jonathan.

Sr. Art Director.

Just in case you’re wondering, this corner is infested with servants of all the liquor and poison brands.

We were in Bombay on a shoot the last couple o’ days.

Just got back this morning.”

[ I realised that his terminal was actually right next to mine when he switched on his gorgeous white Mac. ]

“You know, if you’re interested in Art, I’d suggest you catch hold of this guy who sits right there.

[ Pointing at an empty seat diagonally behind me. ]

Khurram is your man.

Ask him to get you acquainted with some of the regular softwares.

Like Photoshop, Illustrator, and you know da da da.

He’s a really friendly guy.

Superbly talented.

Just ask him sweetly, and I’m sure he’ll help you.

The team is away in Australia shooting for BP.

So once he’s back, try and catch him when you can.”

****

I always cherished my anonymity.

Liked being part of the crowd.

But somehow also always loved meeting new people.

Conversation and banter back and forth...

The Delhi Chapter : Page 42

That day passed like a blink.

Just as the first day did.  

And after many a bouncing off of ideas.

Of approvals and rejections.

Sanctions and revisions.

I finally had my train of thought heading somewhere.

The next step was to draw the story board.

And try my hardest to faintly make it resemble a comic strip.

So I went and grabbed myself a cup of tea first.

And then sat in that little room next to the library.

On one of those tall bar stools.

Slapped a few of my hand-made leaves on the counter.

And left a 3B graphite sketching pencil to casually roll over it.  

****

The hopeless romantic that I’ve always been, I knew I couldn’t possibly start doodling without looking out of that giant window. And gape for at least some minutes.

I noticed the winter approaching us, over an expanded concrete forest. 

One could feel the wind start up, the fog gently clot and the sun tenderly pelt.

One could see a wallpaper of cool blue shifting patterns in the sky.

A warm ochre 4 PM sun like a butterscotch scoop.  

Wrinkled pastel leaves.  

Sunburnt peeling dreams.

And a warm, tea-sipped, slow mood...

The Delhi Chapter : Page 41

I perched my head up once to see if Bodhi was in yet, and (as luck would have it) the instant I did so, I saw him swiping in and catching my head wobbling in the angle of his terminal, from behind my lofty soft-board.

As he walked in, he gesticulated with his head, tilting it for me to presumably go and report at his terminal.

And somewhere from all that distance, I think I saw a small smile on his face...

****

Purnima was not in yet. 

[ She was never in before 11. ]

So I always got my assignments first.

And also always got lesser time to crack them.

Assignment 2.

[ Till date my favourite assignment. ]

Not because, perhaps, I thought I'd do a solid job.

But because there was just so much to do with it.

a)     Write a concept note for a story of a comic strip.

b)     Write a paragraph each and flesh out individual character sketches.

c)     Once done, show.

d)     Then after (and only if) your concept gets approved, go ahead and make a comic strip.

e)     Make a story board.

f)      Draw your characters, give them faces.

g)     Create comic bubbles, give them voices.

h)     Make them talk with funny lines, etc (you get the drift).

As I went back to my desk, I could feel my head exploding with ideas.

My hot coffee by then had turned cold.

I sat there with my laptop open.

Threshing one idea at a time.

Calculating possibilities of development. 

It was tough to get a sharp shot at any one idea.

At one point.

Only in one angle.

I felt like I was snorkelling in a patch of deep blue, slowly drifting away from the group, and moving farther out into the ocean.  

Where a huge shoal, few thousand fishes strong were circling me, round and round. 

Just me, my ideas (like swirling fish)

And the open ocean whisking me into magic.

What an unforgettable feeling...

The Delhi Chapter : Page 40

I poured myself a cup of steaming, sugary, brown water from there.

(Which called itself 'Hot Coffee').

And knowing fully well I had to pack my DSLR back into my bag before anyone saw me loafing around on the floor, I went back to my desk, zipped it in and quietly turned on my laptop.

Started surfing, streaming videos, reading news, the usual.

Before the floor began to get fuller.

I saw a fair few of the inmates dribbling in.

Some back-lit browsing animals already devouring their Processors for breakfast.

Some clad in chequered three-quarters.

Some wearing interesting loafers.

Some in shorts and tees (with taglines)

Not a soul in a shirt or trousers.

[ After coming from an office where 'Formals' was the way to go.

And after belonging to life of arduous 'Maam-ing' and 'Sir-ring'.

This sure had to be an experience that would change me.

And my life for good.]

You know, it was like one of those spaces which allowed you to question.

To be curious.

To be a kid.

To be a nut.

To skip along.

Like one of those spaces which would not judge you if you wanted to stay up on a tree.
Or wander free.

Or splash in water.

Or dunk your hands in mud.

Like one of those spaces which would not stare at you if you walked in bare feet.

Or soaked in the rain.  

Wore a sock on your hand.

Or a frog on your head. 

****

It felt like a beautiful reminder of what life is actually meant to be. 

The 'just about right' kind of life.

Worth the risk. 

Worth the try.

The casting off of anchors.

To feel alive.

Sailing in tall, high winds...

The Delhi Chapter : Page 39

The persona of the place was such that, if you had even one creative bone in your body, you were sure to baptise it into your list of favourite spaces.

It just somehow had this talent to make you want to stay back.

Personally, my love-affair with Ogilvy (the office I mean) started rather early (of course).

And I wasn’t in the least bit keen to rupture the relationship.

Any time soon.

[ Which of course, meant ardently working myself to the bone.

For all of the next 2 months.

And then.

Landing that much-wished-for dream job on the last day of my internship. ]

My desk was right outside this little room next to a voluminous library (solidly stocked with almost every book that had any business with Advertising).

This room had a coffee / tea wending machine, a wooden counter overlooking a piece of the city and the tracks of the yellow line metro.

And a couple of tall revolving 'thinking stools'.

[ Which people like me often used to 'brainstorm' (which means to singly or collectively cogitate ideas for any creative assignment) and then marinate them, for as long as you wished.  ]

There was no one to disturb you there.

No one to curl over your shoulder.

A corner where you could think without the noise.

Where you could sit for as long as you liked.

Clearly my favourite place in Ogilvy.

The Delhi Chapter : Page 38

Day 2 resembled one of those perfect, bright days that have an air of positivity about them.

As I reached, both guards greeted me.

One of them politely swiped me in.

  

It was 9.20 AM by my watch.

Inside, it felt like there was order in the world.

[ Because no one was retarded enough to step in that early. ]


****

So an empty 8th floor.

What a treat to explore.

It would be, I thought to myself.

I plonked my laptop on my desk and hurriedly heaved out my DSLR from another jhola (a bottle green Khari printed one; which I'd picked up one time at the Kalaghoda Festival that happened in February once every year in Bombay).

Photography and cameras were something that always hoisted my interest.

Right from the time that I was little.

And Photo Journalism being a part of my post-graduation in Sophia (Mumbai) among the many other streams of Media, was the perfect excuse to burn an embarrassingly large hole in my dad's wallet, and buy one of those overpriced Digital cameras to flash around everywhere.

[ Whether I'd learnt even a thing about Photography in college, was well, a different question. ]

But even if I didn't have a drop of dexterity, when standing behind the lens.

I always still preferred being the photographer.

Better than being the shot.

So I started scrambling around the place slowly.
Wolfing down it's every detail.

Pictures, post-cards, comic strips, toys-cars.

Mugs, highlighters, lamps and dolls.

Doodles, posters, witty one liners.

Marble-paper kites, constellation of ads.

Files of empty bottles drained to the dregs.

Now giving life to little green saplings.

Some of these objects were just so incredibly arresting, I often forgot to click pictures...