Posts Tagged ‘People’

Many years ago, the man who took me to do Copy at his agency, turned out to be a man of deep emotions. As much as he was his father’s pet and had spent a sizable amount of time, loafing around in different family businesses, he finally deserted it all to start out on his own. Together with a childhood friend he opened an agency which had ready clients from all segments. Naturally he did not have to do the licking arse kind of stunts because all our clients were in some way or the other related to his family.

Our agency was perpetually full of slender women with beautiful looks with high ambitions. Most of them were very professional too. Many of them found me their engagement outside the boss’s cabin and they sat and chatted with me forever. Among them were many who finally landed films and then forgot their small days as aspiring models in an advertising agency.

Among those of us who were working there, was one smart little lady, who knew how to get her way with the boss. She came in with a recommendation and quickly took up to habits that you wore to prove you were like ‘different’. She wore her sari low, exposing a milk white midriff and she wore her lips red, blazing red. And between her lips she always hung a Marlboro or a State Express, because the boss smoked 555. The aroma in the office was State Express, and our poor Five Square Kingsize took a real beating.

She hung around with the boss after hours while the Receptionist went off with clients. That dirty old Gupta of Meera Cookware was forever cooking up dates with her. In fact, he really cheated on us, because, he used all the ladies and took them to his pleasure chambers but returned with nothing for the agency.

One day the boss called me in. He said that the copy i wrote for Meera was great but the executive on the job killed it with her juices. I was aghast!

“I would have thrown her out,” he said, ‘had she not broken into tears and pleaded that, indeed, it is she who felt used, destroyed. I can’t bear to see women in tears.” He ended, looking at me seriously.

My mind went back to the tears my woman had shed, on the day we were leaving each other after nine months of loving each other. I remembered the tears remained like a patch on my white shirt of the school uniform and how, I never gave it for a wash, thereafter. How I would hold the shirt against my cheek as if I was holding her.

“I can’t bear to see women in tears, too.” I agreed.

My first boss and I shared a lot more between us. I was his kid – the cub copy writer in his first agency. It was my first job too.



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