eleven Peace Offering
eleven
Peace Offering
Office paranoia was at its peak on the morning of Rajat’s team meeting. What if he announces layoffs? Has the company been acquired? Maybe someone’s getting promoted … Or fired? It could be about performance reviews. I think we’re getting a new boss. No, he’s probably bringing in consultants again.
It was safe to say that no work was going to get done until the mystery of the calendar invite had been solved.
Saloni was fluttering from desk to desk, trying to gather intel.
The sales and performance marketing guys were taking criminally long smoke breaks in the balcony.
Nitya and Jiya had already tried going into Varun’s office two times to check if he was in on it, but he’d sworn he knew nothing.
Tanya and I were glued to our chat boxes, sending each other memes about corporate doomsday.
The only person who didn’t seem to care was Neil.
He sat next to me with his AirPods plugged in, blissfully unaware of the collective spiral happening around him.
If yesterday’s ‘outing’ had humbled him, it didn’t show—he looked as self-assured as ever.
You’d think the flower market, the train ride and seven hours of Tanya screaming at him to ‘smile with his eyes’ might’ve done a number on him, but apparently nothing could faze Neil Desai, which made it harder to write him off as the poster boy of lazy privilege. It was actually quite infuriating.
‘Must be nice,’ I muttered under my breath.
‘Sorry?’ Neil plucked an earpiece out. ‘Did you say something?’
‘I said it must be nice to go through life this unbothered.’
‘Um … should I be bothered about something?’
He was Ranveer Singh from Dil Dhadakne Do and I had given him a taste of the Gully Boy life. Would it kill him to be butt-hurt about it for more than five seconds?
Gayatri, Rajat’s assistant, appeared by our bay before I could list out all the things he absolutely should’ve been bothered about, ready to herd us to the conference room.
There weren’t enough chairs around the table to seat us all, so Saloni sent her intern to grab a few from outside. I nudged Neil to go help her. But by the time he reached the door, Rajat was pulling it open.
‘Neil!’ He chirped, clapping him on the back.
‘So good to see you, bud.’ Save for a few raised eyebrows, no one seemed particularly shocked that the new intern was on friendly terms with the founder.
Clearly, Neil’s background had already made its way through the office grapevine. ‘Come, come, take a seat.’
The meeting began with a fifteen-minute cookie-cutter Canva presentation on Jharokha’s origin story.
I recognized the template—it wasn’t even a paid one.
When Rajat finally took the floor, he launched into a never-ending sermon about the brand’s holistic vision to promote sustainability and slow living.
It took him forty-five minutes to get to the point.
And when he finally did, the faces around the table were so checked out they couldn’t possibly have given him the reaction he’d hoped for.
‘I said,’ he repeated, louder and with more enthusiasm. ‘We are officially re-launching our clothing line.’
Someone in the back started to clap. I spun my head around to find Gayatri trying to will some life into the group.
We broke out into scattered applause and Varun let out a feeble whoop.
A few seconds later, Saloni’s hand shot up.
‘First of all, congrats, Rajat.’ She didn’t sound all that congratulatory. ‘I just have one question.’
Rajat sat back down in his chair and smiled encouragingly at her. ‘Ask as many as you want.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Um, is this the same clothing line that we lost … what, two crores on? Four years ago?’
The room went silent. Tanya and I exchanged looks, and I could see others doing the same.
Rajat’s smile didn’t falter, but it no longer looked effortless.
I’d never been a member of the Saloni Fan Club, per se, but I couldn’t help but admire her guts.
The woman didn’t have a diplomatic bone in her body.
‘Yes,’ Rajat said, nodding. ‘We did incur heavy losses and eventually had to pull the line off the market. It has kept me up at night ever since.’ There was a fleeting, almost pensive look in his eyes.
‘We faced some manufacturing and distribution issues, but in hindsight, it was a bigger marketing failure than anything else. We just couldn’t sell the story.
’ He glanced around the table, eyes resting on each one of us along the way—as if it had been our fault that the clothing line had shut down.
90 per cent of us hadn’t even been a part of the company back then, I wanted to remind him.
‘But here’s the thing,’ he continued, straightening up in his chair.
‘Mistakes only stay mistakes if you don’t learn from them.
We’ve learned. We’ve evolved. And this time, we’re going to get it right.
’ The optimism in his voice was contagious, though judging by the pin-drop silence in the room, no one had caught it yet.
Rajat clapped his hands once, breaking the lull.
‘Gayatri, can you please pass those around?’
Stacks of glossy booklets with linen dresses and cotton co-ord sets made their way down the table. ‘This,’ Rajat continued, holding an open booklet in his hand, ‘is our new apparel line. Minimal, mindful and made for the modern Indian. We’re relaunching it next month.’
A few heads lifted.
‘But before we can do that, we need to get the positioning right. The narrative. The soul of it.’ He paused for effect …
he loved pausing for effect. ‘That’s where marketing comes in.
I want ideas. Fresh ones. Which is why I’m opening this up to everyone.
Copy writers, brand managers, graphic designers …
everyone gets a shot. We’ll have a pitch-off in ten days. ’
There was a collective gasp.
‘A pitch-off?’ Varun sounded unsure. ‘Why not do this as a team? We can all sit and brainstorm together.’
‘I’ve seen what comes out of these brainstorming sessions.’ Rajat’s tone was dry. ‘That’s not going to cut it. Which is why I’m upping the stakes.’
Without realizing it, I leaned forward in my seat.
‘Whoever cracks the idea will get to lead the relaunch marketing campaign. You’ll own the pitch from start to finish …
strategy, execution, rollout, everything.
It’ll be your baby.’ He let that sink in for a second before adding, ‘And if the results are strong, there’s a good chance this could turn into a permanent leadership role in the new fashion vertical. ’
That did it. You could feel the energy shift in the room. The copy writers began murmuring to each other. Booklets that had been discarded to the side were picked up once again. And for the first time since the painfully long meeting had begun, everyone seemed to be wide awake.
I leaned back in my chair, clutching the booklet to my chest. This was the opportunity I’d been waiting for …
a chance to prove that I had more to offer than pretty fonts and aesthetic compositions.
And what had Rajat just said? A permanent leadership role.
It sounded like a promotion was on the line … and I bet it came with a hefty raise.
The thought alone made me dizzy. If I somehow managed to pull this off, maybe people would start taking me seriously around the office.
Work might finally start to feel creatively rewarding instead of just being an endless loop of resizing banners for twelve different platforms. And a raise would mean that I could finally start saving …
maybe even investing? Hell, maybe I could move out of my shoebox apartment and rent a place that was in the same area PIN code as the office.
A place with sunlight. Maybe even a balcony.
Okay, maybe a balcony was a bit much, but a girl can dream, right?
And then, just as quickly, the high simmered down, leaving behind a bundle of nerves.
Because I realized that everyone else in that room was probably thinking the exact same thing.
So what made me think that I could win this thing?
Saloni, Jiya, Tanya, Inayat … they had the right titles and a whole lot more experience than me.
I didn’t even have a marketing degree to my name—heck, I didn’t even have the NYU degree I’d pretended to have.
As the group dispersed, Varun briefly met my eye and nodded. Our conversation from weeks ago came to mind. ‘You have good ideas, Kavya,’ he had said. ‘I know you will do well in a marketing-first role.’
Tanya and I snuck out to the stairwell for our post-bomb debrief. She didn’t have to open her mouth for me to understand exactly what she was thinking. Was this really happening? The look on her face—a jittery cocktail of excitement, disbelief and absolute panic—mirrored what I felt in my gut.
‘Dude, I had no idea Jharokha ever had a clothing line before today.’ Tanya sat down on the concrete steps next to the elevator. ‘It must’ve been a massive failure.’
‘A massive marketing failure, if Rajat is to be believed,’ I pointed out, leaning against the wall beside her.
‘It’s obviously never his fault, even though he literally signs off on everything.’
‘You know what this means, right?’
She nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose.
‘If it flops a second time, it will totally backfire on the person in charge.’ Backfire was probably not a strong enough term.
Whoever was chosen to lead this campaign would either come out looking like a genius or go down with the ship. There was no in-between.
‘Do you think he was serious about the leadership thing? Like actual promotion-serious?’
‘It seemed like it,’ she said slowly. ‘What that means on paper though, I have no idea.’