This day, 367 days ago, I got a cabin for myself. In the parlance of the over 100-year-old organisation, it was called ‘room’ (a very Bong way of speaking). It was a moment of pride and joy for me as getting a ‘room’ was a sign of coming of age in your career. A move from cubicle to cabin is a huge leap, my seniors used to say, and having experienced it myself, I couldn’t agree more. Another reason why it was called a room was perhaps because it was made like one, with no glass panel, only a window and a door and concrete walls. The only difference — there was no bed.
I was quite excited as there was no supervision and neither was I to supervise anyone, I was alone in my ‘room’. I thought my cabin was huge until I saw the cabins of the senior management. The higher you go the bigger it gets, the best being that of the promoter, which was quite justified since he paid for my cabin as well.
All was going well until I started feeling deserted in my cabin with no faces around. My window, unfortunately, opened to a boring view. I started keeping my door open, so that I could see humanity. But my boss asked me to keep my door closed (demands of decorum).
The cabin pressure was mounting and — I hate to say this — I was missing my cubicle. The best part was that there were a few who were eyeing my cabin as they were deprived of it when I joined. I really felt like giving it back— I would have loved to, but couldn’t.
One year later, back from the corporate world to journalism, I am again a cubicle man. I am happy that I see so much action around me. The anger, the shouting, the frustration, the disappointment as well as the achievement of bringing out a good edition that make a newsroom come alive. Yes I missed it, it’s good to be back, but sometimes I do miss my room, too. The cabin pressure, in fact, is back. But now, it’s in a different form.
I was quite excited as there was no supervision and neither was I to supervise anyone, I was alone in my ‘room’. I thought my cabin was huge until I saw the cabins of the senior management. The higher you go the bigger it gets, the best being that of the promoter, which was quite justified since he paid for my cabin as well.
All was going well until I started feeling deserted in my cabin with no faces around. My window, unfortunately, opened to a boring view. I started keeping my door open, so that I could see humanity. But my boss asked me to keep my door closed (demands of decorum).
The cabin pressure was mounting and — I hate to say this — I was missing my cubicle. The best part was that there were a few who were eyeing my cabin as they were deprived of it when I joined. I really felt like giving it back— I would have loved to, but couldn’t.
One year later, back from the corporate world to journalism, I am again a cubicle man. I am happy that I see so much action around me. The anger, the shouting, the frustration, the disappointment as well as the achievement of bringing out a good edition that make a newsroom come alive. Yes I missed it, it’s good to be back, but sometimes I do miss my room, too. The cabin pressure, in fact, is back. But now, it’s in a different form.
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