Cinderella without Glass Slippers

I recently learnt that I am the modern day Cinderella. But my fairy tale isn’t sugary like you would expect it to be. You see, I haven’t found my glass slippers yet. Being “modern”, I know how the story goes exactly as it has been executed and has been told several times in the past. So, I already know that a Fairy God Mother is destined to come….

Who says that I am Cinderella? My boss does – and I agree, because you’re supposed to agree to your boss. To give you more color, this realization dawned upon me today when my boss remarked:

“The entire investment banking industry is in deep trouble. Banks are cutting jobs everywhere. People would give anything to be here right now. In my opinion, we are going to cut down 20% of our work force in the coming year. Please stop being Cinderella”

“Stop being Cinderella”. Full stop. Just like that – how easy is it to stop being who you think you are?

Since Fairy God Mother hasn’t turned up yet and for some reason, since I firmly believe that she/he will … I throw around attitude and mood swings because Cinderella is meant to strut around the world in beautiful glass slippers and I am not already doing that.

I attempt professional suicide when people like my boss are trying to make things work for me. I run after my reputation with a butcher’s knife. And so on and on and on….

Living Life in Reverse

The last few months have brought me plenty of news and an epiphany. Friends and acquaintances are getting new jobs, quitting old ones for new ones, quitting old ones for restlessness or starting their own businesses or moving things to the next level. Former protégés are growing up and proving it. Almost everyone I know from my circle is switching jobs, cities or countries; some moving closer to their dreams, others entrenching themselves in sinful living. Summing up, everyone is moving forward. I, on the other hand, seem to be living life in reverse.
When I was four years old, I was gripped by an existential question, Who am I? I would ask this question to everyone I met. People would point to their bodies, their hearts, their heads and I would drive them up the wall by saying, but that’s your body, who are you?
Now, at this age, I crave for bags & shoes and make up.

As an eighteen year-old, I religiously attended classes and saw myself in NASA as an outstanding performer. As a professional these days, I giggle, make jokes. Moving up in life? I quit a fabulous job to become a demented banker in a third rated bank (I am not kidding, I mean it) From Dom Perignon to two-buck chucks has been a lovely ride indeed! Almost as much fun as looking for jobs that pay less but respects you.
Till I was 16, I used to keep my hair really really tied up. I thought open hair was a sign of bondage, of submission to tradition, of conformity to male ideals of beauty. My subversive streak did not last too long. Two pairs of shoes in one month. I now drool, literally drool at the sight of pretty pumps. Why am I becoming shallower with every passing minute?
At 13 I had read Maxim Gorky’s Mother twice and knew Russian revolution like the back of my hand. Now, I know the Russians and Americans but stay away from any revolution unless its in fashion or makeup area. Is Delhi to blame? Soon, I might evaporate into nothingness.
At times I wonder, are you allotted just a certain measure of maturity? What if I used it all up as an annoying over-smart kid? Do I resign myself to a lifetime of finding joy in bubble wrap, silly crushes and chocolate cookies?

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