Ok – that’s what I am – an ‘Ad’-da! I have all the qualifications – I am a Bengali, an adman and I work outside Calcutta. What more could you ask? So Ad-da is here and it seems to stay. But then there is always a time when you pause, you reflect, you pontificate and other such words borrowed from the thesaurus on the shelf nearest you. How the hell did I get into advertising in the first place?
Hmm. Now is that a trick question? Quick mental scan and the answer hits me right in the solar plexus. Gasping and wheezing, reality lovingly takes me in her arms. I am in advertising because of one thing and one thing alone – DENIAL! Yes, denial is what has made me what I am (or am not) today. Denial has been my driving force, my inspiration, my V8 engine and hopefully will not go on to be my nemesis.
Let me cast some light on this murky subject. Not that I can for the life of me understand why anyone would be interested in reading why I am in advertising. But then wonders never cease! So just in case…
Well, let me begin at the beginning and end at the end. When I was very young, my foolish young mind entertained notions of being a doctor or even better a veterinary surgeon. My parents beamed at the first notion and scowled at the second. But their worries and ambitions were soon set to rest when I encountered a many-headed monster called Chemistry. As I lost round after round in my bouts with this canny opponent I decided that the time had come to revise my future professional life. Thus my life was shaped by denial – in this case, chemistry which denied me the chance to save some lives through my brilliant medical skill. However, the truth be told, I do still get a chance to save trees, tigers, water and sundry other ‘save-able and award-able’ objects through my ads.
Anyway, moving on to the next stage of denial. I decided that such being the case let me add some alphabets to my name – MBA seemed quite suitable. But then I got to know there was some creature I had to tame first – a CAT or something. Undaunted I whistled up all my animal magnetism and swaggered ahead. Couple of preparatory lessons and perusal of a few sample papers later I retreated, a trifle scratched. Denied passage by this feline fiend, I collected myself and resolved to stay a CAT aspirant forever. If not anything else it was a fitting reply to everyone who asked about my future plans. ‘Ohhh I am going to sit for the CAT’ – say this with a jaunty enough air and not only do you impress the person who posed the query, you actually begin to believe it yourself.
Suddenly shaken out of this stupor by friends landing plum jobs and not-to-be-scoffed-at salaries, I fell back on my sole capability – the English language. Racking my brains as to how I could exchange my hold over this language for cold hard cash, or at least a crisp cheque, I was not so subtly steered by a concerned acquaintance towards a newspaper office. That’s it I realized. Journalism – that’s what I was meant for – but hang on, how come I never thought of this before? Aaaah yes, probably because most of my acquaintance with newspapers was confined to when my dog was being housetrained.
Be that as it may I was actually convinced for about two and a half minutes that I had found my vocation in life. But then the mental machinery started rolling and denial tripped me up again. Now you may well ask where the hell did denial creep in here? But you see it did – and with a vengeance at that! With a jolt, I suddenly realized that before you write the news you actually have to collect it!!! Follow that train of thought and see where it leads. Of course, you get it – you actually have to run around in the sun, go to godforsaken places and collect material for all the stuff you write. My God! Narrow escape – phew! So there you go again – it’s sheer cussedness on part of the sun – denial, 100% denial. Solar intervention denied me my place in the journalistic sun!
Drifting along, doing nothing and getting better at it day by day, I suddenly and ineplicably (pardon my short-term memory loss) found myself in an ad agency, having a verbal duel with a myopic and presumably constipated receptionist. The bone of contention was believe it or not, the Creative Director. While she was adamant I would not meet him, I was adamant that I be directed towards this noble personage. Actually the word Director had impressed me no end. My mulish behaviour made an ass out of the receptionist at last and she went to all the trouble of picking up the phone and calling this lofty personage on the intercom. Soon, I was in the presence of greatness and after mumbling incoherently for about a minute or so I was left standing with a couple of pages in my hand – a sheet grandly titled Copy Test. Wondering exactly what I was supposed to copy I left the office threatening to be back with the Copy Test and bitterly casting aspersions on the parenthood of DENIAL which was obviously guilty of slacking on the job here, leaving me with no option but actually trying for a real job. And,believe it or not, getting it … sigh!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
What's in a name?
Everyone agrees that a name is what defines you - gives you your first identity - makes you an individual. Hence when I was about to choose a name for my blog I really didn't have to spend much time debating on what it was gonna be. Barkingmaddude! Those who know me well (or heck ...even know me will do) will probably agree that I couldn't have chosen a better name. But probably some light needs to be shed for the fortunate :-) few who have not yet had the pleasure of my acquaintance.
No beating around the bush on this one - barkingmad is what I am, but not strictly in the real sense of the term. A more literal definition applies here. To put it simply, I am crazy about dogs.
Big deal, some would say. And yes, I would probably agree with them but not because I actually agree but more because over time I have realised that it is futile to expect people to understand unless they are like-minded on the topic of dogs.
A mixed blessing (as even I realise), my love and extreme interest in the canine world has had interesting repercussions all my life. To start with my family. For a long time my parents were desperately going through hospital records trying to figure out if by any chance they took home the wrong baby! How else do you explain a phenomenon like me in a family where the closest anyone came to a dog in the last fourteen generations was when they read Tintin and casually noticed Snowy lurking around. However having failed to establish any hanky panky I was inducted as a slightly weird member of the family, albeit a little of the rocker and attempts were kept to keep me as far away from doggy influences as possible. But then I was dogged in more ways than one and well... the rest as they say is a mystery ... oops history! And then there was my elder sister!!! Caught more than once staring at me in a vaguely quizzical manner, Didi redefined dog aversion. Crossing the road when someone approached walking a dog, washing her hands twice if a street dog passed too close, and tearing up posters of dogs in case they were rabid :-) - shez done them all! Well actually not ... but there is some truth to these definitely ... some :-) So where was I? Oh yes, my sister ... so scared she would be bitten that she actually got bitten :-) Well-deserved, you say? Ok will pass it on to her - and I am not responsible for the consequences. Anyway I am digressing. Let's get back to my sis. There was this time when she actually got bitten in Bangalore and called me up for some advice???!!! Well the only thing I could think of console her was to tell her that she had been bitten by quite a rare breed of dog (Mudhol Hound in case you care) but I really don't think she saw eye to eye with me on that topic or any other topic for that matter. And what about my wife? Well, what about her? Actually I have this feeling that she's still reeling - she still has no clue what's hit her! But to her credit, she has tried to take things in her stride and collar the canine fixation of mine. A convert I exult, but only till such time as she plays along. But yes, hope reigns supreme ... and someday I hope to get my in-laws hunting through hospital records too :-)
Anyway this first post on my blog is just a sample of what you can expect over the next few days, decades or hours depending on how long my interest and tenacity hold out. This is just a small taste of all the rubbish and inane ramblings that will constitute the content of this slightly vague blog. Or at least I assume but it could go any which way. I might just end up writing about global warming, inflation and other such serious topics and scare the shit out of me. Or I could just doodle along and lose my way every so often. Anyway, you have been forewarned. Come back at your own risk!
No beating around the bush on this one - barkingmad is what I am, but not strictly in the real sense of the term. A more literal definition applies here. To put it simply, I am crazy about dogs.
Big deal, some would say. And yes, I would probably agree with them but not because I actually agree but more because over time I have realised that it is futile to expect people to understand unless they are like-minded on the topic of dogs.
A mixed blessing (as even I realise), my love and extreme interest in the canine world has had interesting repercussions all my life. To start with my family. For a long time my parents were desperately going through hospital records trying to figure out if by any chance they took home the wrong baby! How else do you explain a phenomenon like me in a family where the closest anyone came to a dog in the last fourteen generations was when they read Tintin and casually noticed Snowy lurking around. However having failed to establish any hanky panky I was inducted as a slightly weird member of the family, albeit a little of the rocker and attempts were kept to keep me as far away from doggy influences as possible. But then I was dogged in more ways than one and well... the rest as they say is a mystery ... oops history! And then there was my elder sister!!! Caught more than once staring at me in a vaguely quizzical manner, Didi redefined dog aversion. Crossing the road when someone approached walking a dog, washing her hands twice if a street dog passed too close, and tearing up posters of dogs in case they were rabid :-) - shez done them all! Well actually not ... but there is some truth to these definitely ... some :-) So where was I? Oh yes, my sister ... so scared she would be bitten that she actually got bitten :-) Well-deserved, you say? Ok will pass it on to her - and I am not responsible for the consequences. Anyway I am digressing. Let's get back to my sis. There was this time when she actually got bitten in Bangalore and called me up for some advice???!!! Well the only thing I could think of console her was to tell her that she had been bitten by quite a rare breed of dog (Mudhol Hound in case you care) but I really don't think she saw eye to eye with me on that topic or any other topic for that matter. And what about my wife? Well, what about her? Actually I have this feeling that she's still reeling - she still has no clue what's hit her! But to her credit, she has tried to take things in her stride and collar the canine fixation of mine. A convert I exult, but only till such time as she plays along. But yes, hope reigns supreme ... and someday I hope to get my in-laws hunting through hospital records too :-)
Anyway this first post on my blog is just a sample of what you can expect over the next few days, decades or hours depending on how long my interest and tenacity hold out. This is just a small taste of all the rubbish and inane ramblings that will constitute the content of this slightly vague blog. Or at least I assume but it could go any which way. I might just end up writing about global warming, inflation and other such serious topics and scare the shit out of me. Or I could just doodle along and lose my way every so often. Anyway, you have been forewarned. Come back at your own risk!
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