A donkey’s life

It feels like being whipped. And you are the donkey drawing the cart. The orders come at you fast and furious— like the searing pain inflicted by sharp lashes. And they draw blood. Working under people who are in a state of perpetual haste feels like that.

“Present that tomorrow morning.”” Complete this report by tonight.” “Why do you need a longer deadline?” The orders are spit out venomously. You are expected to toe the line and blindfold your brain. After all you are tied to the donkey cart and they lead the way. And woe begone, if you are led by three or four such ‘superior’ drivers. The problem with these kind of drivers is that they only know that they have slaves. The quality of work never matters to them. “Just complete the job,” they bark.

Creativity and quality both need space to breathe. You need to be able to pause to catch your breath to feel rejuvenated enough to embark on another journey. But no, there is no weekend of your own to recharge your cells. Just when you feel you have achieved the balance, your cart will be overloaded with a dozen other things, making you topple over. The pleasure behind creation is wiped out in the haste of overdoing the impossible and ruining it. The happiness of creating something novel is dissipated by the memories of the humiliation that came your way in the process of creating it. The creation is no longer a work of art, but simply a product which reminds your of your bonds.

It is futile to expect such slave drivers to ‘see’ the effort that goes behind seemingly simple things. If there is order in your organization, it probably is because someone is quietly taking care of the mayhem. I can read the pain in the eyes when I meet people now. The crush in their voices which replaces the pride of belonging to the organization. It is such an everyday thing. In the big scheme of things for the bigger vision, someone somewhere is always crushed without an ounce of acknowledgement.

But then when the destination is reached, the hard-working donkey who dragged the cart is always forgotten. What did you expect? It is a donkey’s life after all!

One Comment

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: