The Advertising writer

It never really was meant to be this way.
Not even in the most awkward dream. How it could be true? I mean, me-the-dreamer will have to struggle for a living, every day?! Worse, struggle within, trying to put myself in the shoes of an unemployed graduate, or a fat housewife wanting to shed weight, so that i gain an insight, and in turn the big idea. Work in graveyard shifts to turn that adult diapers ad into a metal winner. Ward-off those admonishing, discussions that friends often planned and try to convince me to look for a 'decent' job. Writing was probably for the society misfits , the khadi-wearing-bag-trotting people.

'My dear friends, worry not' I would address them patiently and convince them that I was here with a bigger purpose in life. I was the gift to mankind. After all, I didn't toss that Logarithm book away when the class teacher asked me to by-heart, for nothing.’ Why would all those midnight oil burning sessions thinking of 'big ideas' go wasted? It couldn't be. Wasn’t I supposed to be dodging bullets, flying at supersonic speeds conquering the world. Well, it wasn't. I took the wrong pill that 'Morpheus' offered. Back to insanity. Back to real world.

"How long do you take to write a 20-page brochure? It's already 1 week!" the 50 year old client servicing executive yelled in my ear. A long introspective nap was disturbed. Blank white pages stared into my eyes, It told me that you I was still 'the one' I could live my dream. It convinced me that I had the power to change things, change perceptions without budging from my comfortable chair. This white blank page showed me how I could create stories, build brands that didn't exist, conjure up ideas would change the world.
Ah! Finally I managed to sell this brilliant story to myself. Kudos! I guess that's where the journey began. That's when the gray matter wasn't good enough until it sold well. So, 'Greysells' it was.