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Frustrated with a toxic workplace and even more toxic managers, I decided to quit this place for my own peace of mind and better prospects.
The world of toxic corporate jobs and nasty bosses is more glamorous than a Farah Khan movie – where daily presence for most of them is like a stroll through a field of tulips and orchids, wearing chiffon saree designed by Manish Malhotra and dancing to melodies or item songs of Vishal & Shekhar, but the reality I faced is that the roses with thorns are on fire and the field is in the seventh circle of inferno.
I artfully dodged the bullets of my workplace and bid farewell to my delightful boss. I am proud that I freed myself from a toxic job and saved myself from getting admitted into a mental health facility.
My last workplace – one of the country’s so-called best EdTech companies was so toxic, it surely made Chernobyl look like a wellness retreat. My boss was the Picasso of passive aggression, virtuoso of vanity and the sultan of narcissism. None of the days started with a cheerful “Good morning” but always with a question to me by my boss- why do you ask “How are you” as a reply to Good Morning, why can’t you just reply Good Morning and keep your mouth shut?
The day started always with some unwanted criticisms followed by zoom calls with other offices, where only one person spoke and others just said YES to everything – the meetings were so thick I could cut it with a knife, but instead of cutting through it, I decided to weave a tapestry of misery and self-loathing. Ah, the joys of corporate meetings.
Reality was an elusive concept, much like finding a unicorn at a gas station. My designation and job profile had no match, they were poles apart. The idea of making new friends vanished from my mind when my colleagues sympathized over coffee and the collective sighs echoing through the office. Building a support system became less about uplifting each other and more about creating a survival squad to navigate the treacherous waters of pointless meetings and passive-aggressive email chains and WhatsApp messages at 2am in the morning.
In my job, personal growth meant mastering the art of keeping a straight face when my boss suggested that working on Saturday and Sunday is an excellent team-building exercise and sleeping on Monday helps in making the week interesting.
Trying to decipher the working method and requirements of more than God like boss was like attempting to translate Shakespeare into Mandarin – utterly nonsensical.
Decisions were made with the precision of a blindfolded archer – my boss, and logic was a foreign language spoken only by me in the office. I realized that my values, work ethic, and aspirations were fundamentally misaligned. The God-like boss was a source of frustration; it became apparent that this was a roadblock to my personal and professional development. Recognising this incompatibility was the first step towards reclaiming control over my career narrative.
The decision to break free marked the beginning of a glorious revolution. Embracing change meant accepting that my comfort zone was more like a discomfort hammock. I embraced the uncertainty of the unknown like a rope walker – imagine the rope made of spaghetti and the safety net was a trampoline missing a few springs. Plotting my escape from this corporate circus was no less than a Netflix drama series.
Breaking free wasn’t just an escape; it was a renaissance. It wasn’t just a career move; it was an epic tale of survival, resilience, and a stubborn refusal to let corporate absurdity dampen the spirit. Like a phoenix, I rose from the ashes of my toxic job, but instead of feathers, I had a newfound appreciation for good coffee from a cafe opposite to my office building and freedom from a workplace that didn’t make me want to pull my hair out. And let me tell you, my hair is too fabulous to be pulled out.
My exit as I call it today was a comedy of errors that left me with a treasure trove of absurd anecdotes and a renewed appreciation for the lighter side of professional life. So here’s to breaking free, embracing the hilarity, and navigating the corporate circus with my wide smile that says, “I survived, and I’m funnier for it and YES I DID IT.
Image source: by nicexray from Getty Images Free for Canva Pro
Dr. Romila Chitturi, started writing at the age of 13 when most of the people of her age during the 90's had other boring interests in life. She turned Blogger at 20, an Author read more...
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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