Frogs in a well

I have a history of waxing eloquent about “forces that shaped me” at the worst of times, and the tendency is amplified manifold every time I am in Patna (as a host of “Patna” blog-posts would testify). My starting this blog post with that line should not give a false sense of security to the reader, this one isn’t going to be any different, though I shall make sure it quickly scratches my itch and shuts up.

Yesterday I had another one of those conversations with a ‘well-wisher’ neighbor who would drop in and do small talk. About the same age as me, SEC A/A+, quite rich, and yet I would face an immense amount of difficulty in trying to explain what I do for a living. The intricacies notwithstanding, just explaining what a marketing job is difficult in itself. The chasm exists not only in a professional understanding (a 8 year old girl next door, for example, doesn’t understand what an MBA is. What does she want to be when she grows up? IAS. Twenty years ago, the scenario was EXACTLY the same), but in expectations from food, from a marriage, an endless list. I look around, usually exasperated in “How did I turn out the way I did?”, where did my expectations originate from? Why do I have this attitude about me? Where did that come from?

I have long believed that I would be a very different person had I not stumbled on to the internet back in college, yes I would have been different if I had found the internet earlier or much later as well, but be as it may, engineering 2nd year was when I got hooked. When I started chatting with people around the world. That is all, the one and only single point of deflection.

Frogs in a well. With no idea or intent about just how vast Westeros is.

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