"It Sucked"

It sucked.


One month of utter chaos. Cleaning up the mess. Making sense of pert charts, of designs, graphics and politics. Lugging a camera crew while burning up with fever. Headaches I wouldn’t allow myself to respond to.
Keep going, keep going. Tie up the loose ends and have faith. Faith that everyone will do their bit and its okay if I do mine and a lot extra.

Sleep and nourishment were non existent. I was flying between cities running from the airport to college to give my exams. Bloodshot eyes and looking like shit.

The events had problems no one could anticipate. After 8 re-runs, that happened smoothly, the DVD player conked out for a humiliating 45 seconds in the final show. Screaming into the clear comm, I could feel my head burst, and my blood freezing.

I was so tired. The lights guy couldn’t understand English or Hindi, same with the sound person. As the model took a turn center stage- the music conked out because “fade out” really didn’t mean anything besides ‘cut the music’ to the nodding moron that I was left to hopelessly scream at.

They asked me why I wasn’t dolled up. They think you can walk into your own event after spending five hours in a luxurious parlour. I mean, come on, you’re the CEO’s daughter what else should we expect?

My attendance was short. And is short. Letters and applications to college…my hands are tired of writing.

But wait. Don’t think this blog post is me cribbing. I took on this responsibility and I will not just sit back and complain about it.

This blog is about the “it sucked” people I met.
The media was good and bad to us. That’s how the media is supposed to be in any case. I am in that line. I understand that. If you don’t give unlimited booze to the media-well they go ahead and write unlimited shit about you, while munching on your snacks, sitting around and littering your venue.

But the ‘friends’ and relatives, your team members and people who didn’t quite do their bit well, turn around and tell you that it sucked, well they’re the ones I want to disown. Its then when I feel lonely, long for the strong support system you get when your younger and people respect you even though you haven’t done a damn.

Not a shred of support. Someone said to me recently, (while adding pointers about how and what was wrong with the event) “it takes a second to chop down a tree that’s taken ages to grow”

Don’t I know what went wrong? Don’t I know that about my own event?
Stop giving me advice that you’ve never followed. Talking about problems you’ve never faced. Shut up about your better catering services or which party you went to when and what and why it was better. Take a damned hint.

Doll up with your Chanel bags and get photographed in a planted news story growing in every page3. Talk about feng-shui, shopping and bed hopping.
Talk about the time you saw that beautiful show in Australia and that amazing dress in Singapore. Brag about your cousin’s friend who has now turned homosexual but doesn’t know it yet, but its okay because he’s so rich and now days its so stylish to be gay!

Just don’t talk to me. I want to hide behind the buttons and dials of the console, feeling like a sailor marooned aboard a ship in a stormy sea. Let me put on my clear comm. And watch the fuck up happen all over again. The people who didn’t do their jobs, the people who don’t put in their all.

Let me explain a thing or two about budgets to freeloaders and socialites. Let me tell them a thing or two about market research and strategies. About cutting costs, about working hard.

I may be twenty, but that doesn’t mean you talk to me like a child. Treat me with some respect, even though I may not have the time to put on my Armani shades and mascara my eyes.
I may not have a boy toy clinging to my waist and a D&G glittering in my hand. But one thing- and get it straight- I work harder than you.
And I respect hard work enough to not disrespect someone’s efforts. Not to be a bitchy bystander.

If something goes wrong, I’m going to be there. Tell you to be strong. Tell you it was great and there were, indeed, a lot of great things about what you did. That you’re learning, and there are people who criticize Mona Lisa, Shakespeare and Sigmund Freud! For god sake- there are people who criticize metal!
It in life’s testing moments like these, that I get a look at my real friends. I’d like to believe that all two hundred of them (believe me I have that many friends!) would be still there in that moment of truth, but I see just one or two.
Thank god for those two!

I’m not disappointed. I’m used to being left in times of miseries. I know most people are fair-weather friends. But I’m hoping they’ll change. I’m hoping again. Because when they’re in my situation- or something even close to it- they’ll realize that t wasn’t the event but they who sucked.


No consolation scraps please, your time has passed.