It is a horrible life that of a sales-person in one of the world's largest healthcare companies operating in the worst of economies . It is a particularly pure form of heinousness, trying to convince people that they NEED your criminally overpriced product, knowing full well that the poor guys would do about anything out of the fear of dying. And as if that is not enough, you end up in the field, working with your sales rep. Sales rep, whose behind you have been riding for "targets", whose job and livelihood you are after, convinced that he's just not making enough effort. And then you land up at the doorstep of a small home, in the backstreets of Villupuram (Tamil Nadu), which pretends to be a doctor's clinic. You end up staring at the helplessness of parents worried sick that their children just won't recover or of the son who has to attend to his unwell mother AND have 12 hour work days so he can pay the doctors fortnightly fee of Rs.50. You look back at the questioning eyes of your sales rep and read the scorn. That. That is the baptism by fire an MBA needs to finally break his soul. When you for the first time survive the collision of board-room talk of "potential" and "under-penetrated market" and the earnest helplessness of a patient's eyes reflecting the reality of that "potential". It is a horrible life. In many ways it was worse then selling cigarettes.
But there was a last leaf in those nightmare of days. Those days fulfilled the insatiable traveler in me beyond any expectations. It landed me in places I would have never imagined visiting. One day I would land in Doctor-Mandi of Muzzafarpur in Bihar and be amazed by how this country adopts to its needs and lack of resources. Next day I'd be in Nagapattinum, a town that was devastated during the Tsunami killing 50,000 or more. And I got to stare at that fateful shoreline and go for a slow and silent walk as I imagined that fateful day. A chance to imagine how slowly the fear would have begun to creep in replacing the nonchalance of people on that beach. The panic, mad rush to non existent safety. Or did they feel anything at all? Did they even get the time to feel anything at all? And I became witness to the spirit of life, greeted by a bustling small town which had put its past behind. Nothing in Nagapattinum reminds you of the day, apart from the two new constructions, one is a brand new SOS children's village that is coming up close the beach and the second a colony set up for the relocation of people who were displaced in the Tsunami. Awesome.
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But there was a last leaf in those nightmare of days. Those days fulfilled the insatiable traveler in me beyond any expectations. It landed me in places I would have never imagined visiting. One day I would land in Doctor-Mandi of Muzzafarpur in Bihar and be amazed by how this country adopts to its needs and lack of resources. Next day I'd be in Nagapattinum, a town that was devastated during the Tsunami killing 50,000 or more. And I got to stare at that fateful shoreline and go for a slow and silent walk as I imagined that fateful day. A chance to imagine how slowly the fear would have begun to creep in replacing the nonchalance of people on that beach. The panic, mad rush to non existent safety. Or did they feel anything at all? Did they even get the time to feel anything at all? And I became witness to the spirit of life, greeted by a bustling small town which had put its past behind. Nothing in Nagapattinum reminds you of the day, apart from the two new constructions, one is a brand new SOS children's village that is coming up close the beach and the second a colony set up for the relocation of people who were displaced in the Tsunami. Awesome.
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Then there were people. There were people I met in Kuala Lumpur...a Malaysian born ethnic Chinese woman who was a follower of Sathya Sai Baba, never having met him. Or the Gujarat born professional who didn't know who Sathya Sai Baba was. Tan and his family who would converge, all 4 generations of them, on a small pub near Bukit Bintang, every weekend. And drink and make merry while Blind Louie played "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie..." And there were people back here....when I sat with a Sadhu, blissfully unaware of the world or time, in the confines of the Brihadeswara temple. Or when a completely unknown family in the hinterland welcomed me and fed me.
And finally there were the experiences. Staring at an 8 foot long wild shark, 40 feet under water, in her own territory....and understanding for the first time what being helpless really meant. Hearing the unbelievable roar of formula one cars blazing through the Sepang circuit. Falling from the sky in Genting. Sleeping in the shadow of Anak Karkatoa. Playing cricket with village kids in Red Bengal. There were the beers at Deutsche Bierhaus. Or Roti Chennai in Brickfields. Lemon rice in Chennai. And Nasi Lemak in Mallacca.
As the years pass on, once you start working...the reality of life that hit you very hard in the first few days from college becomes surprisingly bearable. You find your absolute idealism give way to realism. Is that a good enough argument to justify what you do from there and beyond? I don't know. Does the money and the fringe benefits of working compensate for your absolute love for who you used to be? I do not have the answer to that either. I did learn two things though. First. There is evil and there is not. No middle path. Any shades of grey are just concoctions of our minds which help us deal with things. And second. Perhaps the only thing that can help you remember and preserve a tiny bit of who you really are / were....is to travel. Not to the fancy resorts or exotic cities but the backstreets. To places which do not find honorable mentions on the world's tourist maps. Random turns on the road. For it is with travel and travel alone you get to retain your feet on the ground. See, meet and feel for real people. Their joys and struggles. And wonder in absolute awe, how truly amazing a life well lived is.
And therein comes the submission. My work pays for my travel. That's all the justification I need. How ironic though...that you have to sell your soul to find some.
And finally there were the experiences. Staring at an 8 foot long wild shark, 40 feet under water, in her own territory....and understanding for the first time what being helpless really meant. Hearing the unbelievable roar of formula one cars blazing through the Sepang circuit. Falling from the sky in Genting. Sleeping in the shadow of Anak Karkatoa. Playing cricket with village kids in Red Bengal. There were the beers at Deutsche Bierhaus. Or Roti Chennai in Brickfields. Lemon rice in Chennai. And Nasi Lemak in Mallacca.
As the years pass on, once you start working...the reality of life that hit you very hard in the first few days from college becomes surprisingly bearable. You find your absolute idealism give way to realism. Is that a good enough argument to justify what you do from there and beyond? I don't know. Does the money and the fringe benefits of working compensate for your absolute love for who you used to be? I do not have the answer to that either. I did learn two things though. First. There is evil and there is not. No middle path. Any shades of grey are just concoctions of our minds which help us deal with things. And second. Perhaps the only thing that can help you remember and preserve a tiny bit of who you really are / were....is to travel. Not to the fancy resorts or exotic cities but the backstreets. To places which do not find honorable mentions on the world's tourist maps. Random turns on the road. For it is with travel and travel alone you get to retain your feet on the ground. See, meet and feel for real people. Their joys and struggles. And wonder in absolute awe, how truly amazing a life well lived is.
And therein comes the submission. My work pays for my travel. That's all the justification I need. How ironic though...that you have to sell your soul to find some.
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