The sandwich age

In April, I became a graduate, finally. I don8217;t think I grabbed the implications of that then.

Too young to report crime, but too old to while away time in a cafeacute;

In April, I became a graduate, finally. I don8217;t think I grabbed the implications of that then. But it meant that life had changed. There8217;d been changes before. After studying in four schools and two colleges, I was no stranger to change.

Having always been the puny one at school, I was used to being treated like the youngest one in the class. But I had pretty much got used to enjoying my seniority at college, what with being a contingent leader and managing my college8217;s cultural fests. Also when I could spare time I started working for a student organisation called AIESEC and was a team leader. Nothing can give a bigger kick than walking into a corporate office to represent this organisation and negotiate the details of an MoU.

When I became a graduate, I felt like I was more qualified then most of my friends. So when I got into the professional world, there no guarding or warning me against the fact that I was a rookie. Because that8217;s what I was.

Here, I was the only one in my peer group with a job I wanted. Unlike them, I wouldn8217;t crib about thankless hours spent in front of a computer and no meaningful or fun work to do since a job description rarely comes cooler than 8216;crime reporter8217;. There I was on top again.

But things couldn8217;t be further from the truth at office. I soon realised that my years in college had filled me with some sort of a complex that I was somehow better than most. The truth came crashing down to me in my first week as I struggled to get stories and bylines. When I was rushing to police stations looking for the details of the latest murder, I could read the look in the officer8217;s eyes: 8220;They get younger every year.8221; Once an officer even blurted, 8220;You are very young. How old really are you?8221;.

In fact in a certain press conference of doctors, someone actually asked the PR guys, 8220;Is he really a reporter? He looks like a child.8221; Pretending that I had not heard the whispers, I soldiered on. But the hammer really fell when my

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Editor-in-Chief looked at me and said 8220;It looks like someone8217;s brought his nephew to office.8221;

However, among my friends I am still the oldest. They take weekend off to go to Goa, bunk college and lounge in a cafeacute; and infuriate me with successive messages asking me to be with them in the afternoons when I work. The days I manage to go out to catch up them, I8217;m the late guy because of work. All8217;s fine till the pretty girl you were talking to suddenly asks which college you belong to. Her surprise that I work is followed by the incredulous 8220;How old are you?8221;.

So it seems I8217;m too young to work and too old to party. Harsh, isn8217;t it? I don8217;t know if I should crawl into some working class bar or head to the latest trendy nightspot.

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