The last one

 

This is the last one, and then I’ll stop. I’m not really addicted, its just good for me right now. Its what I need right now. I can stop whenever I want.

One more event, that’s what we tell ourselves.

Always the last event, before settling down into a respectable, predictable life.

At my very first job at the CWG Delhi 2010, I envied my Greek boss. He was in Delhi for 3-4 years, to make sure that the contingency relations and services department was running according to industry standard. I thought of his wife and 2 kids, and imagined it must be exciting to live in a new city like Delhi, and move to a new place every 4 years, to have a truly international upbringing. To be honest, I still do. I envy the travelling circus.

But as a 33-year-old woman, I hesitate to jump headlong into a life of semi-permanency. I ask myself whether I really have what it takes. I question whether my relationships will withstand the periodic disappearances that coincide with every operations mode. I wonder if the event cycle is a rhythm that a partner and a family can get used to.

Why do we do it? An event is gruelling, its hardcore, it strips you down to the core of your beliefs, in the absence of corporate bullshit. I think events keep us real, more real than the board meetings, annual appraisals and company outreach programs that attempt to make us feel like we a part of something bigger.

Events have 2 types of people. People who crumble under the pressure, and people who fly. You can ask someone to install a coffee machine in your new event-workspace, and you might receive a 20-minute-long speech on how everything is difficult, supplies are short, the sponsor has bailed, your venue is not as important as the other one, etc. Or you will receive an “okay, I will get it done”. These are the 2 types of event people.

At events, friendships are forged in the flaming fires of stress. Some survive the test of time, many don’t. But they all hold a special place in my memory. Adrenaline infused encounters merge with alcohol imbued evenings to create otherworldly impressions.

The thing about events is, when the first ball is bowled, when the first leg is run, when the first ceremony is inaugurated, when the first weights are lifted, you know. You know that without your superhuman effort, without that 1000%, it would have been 0.0001% more difficult for the event to lift off. It is simultaneously humbling and awe-inspiring. As you stand watching 40,000 people cheer as the first over of the IPL ends, you notice a tear running down your face. And you know. You know that you were in the stadium before there were seats installed. You know that you arrived at the village before even the furniture came in. You know your volunteers make you proud by everything they do above and beyond their job description. You know that despite the politics, the unsupportive media, the anxiety and turmoil, you are part of something great.

But its cost you a lot. Will you do it again?