Aged 25 and living in poverty by choice, I must add, George Orwell in 1928 was hard at work in Paris. No, he wasn't actively writing at that time. There were no essays, novels or stories on his desk. There wasn't even a desk. Instead, he was working manual jobs. Most notable of these jobs was his stint with a grimy restaurant, where, after much struggle, Orwell had managed to get a job as a kitchen worker. For someone who had been educated in elite schools and Cambridge, this work was surprisingly banal. It involved scrubbing floors and washing utensils. Orwell enjoyed it!
Writing about his experience in Down And Out In Paris And London, a book that came into being only because Orwell did manual labour in his 20s, the famous writer said, "Except for about an hour, I was at work from seven in the morning till a quarter past nine at night; first at washing crockery, then at scrubbing the tables and floors of the employees’ dining-room, then at polishing glasses and knives, then at fetching meals, then at washing crockery again, then at fetching more meals and washing more crockery. It was easy work, and I got on well with it..."
Easy work! Orwell liked it.
I had noticed these lines a few years ago when I read Orwell. But yesterday they came to my mind again. The trigger was a tweet, now viral, in which a startup CEO was exhorting young people to have an 18-hour day. Interestingly, when you calculate it, what this CEO is suggesting sounds somewhat similar to the schedule that Orwell, later to be one of the top writers of the 20th century, was following in his 20s. The only difference, however, is that Orwell was doing hard manual labour in stuffy rooms and basements where there was no air-conditioning, whereas the CEO had in mind the knowledge workers who work through phones and computers with their ACs set at a comfortable 24 degrees Celsius.
Work, despite being the dirty word it has become nowadays, is as integral to humans as their other basic needs. Work, hunger, social connections, sex, sleep - all of them are fundamental to us. In fact, so much so that if work didn't exist most humans would go mad, including those who hold cushy jobs and often send agonising tweets like "I hate toxic work culture."
If work didn't exist, humans would invent it. Somewhat like the way they invented gods.
When it comes to our work culture, the question that needs to be asked is not "how much work." Instead, the question should be "why work and which work." And this is where I have my objection to the outrage and the herd-like, almost stupid, trolling that has followed that tweet.
"Why work and which work" are questions that can be answered only in a personal capacity. For George Orwell, working 14 hours straight in a basement with the kitchen furnace blazing above him was easy and meaningful work. And it was easy and meaningful because he was getting something out of it. He was harvesting an experience, a sort of raw material, that he would later craft into books.
Whenever I read about "toxic work culture" and "toxic people who stay late working in the office", I am reminded of my own life in my 20s. Long long time ago, I chose a particular career path. It was my own choice and I was lucky that I could make it. I decided to be a journalist, consciously knowing that it was an industry where work was fluid, hours were never fixed, the pay was relatively peanuts, and in the name of holidays, we got two -- Holi and Diwali. But I wasn't equipped to be a journalist writing in English. One big problem was that I didn't know how to write in English. And two, because I came to Delhi from a village -- a rather remote one -- I had no idea about the world around me, its pop culture, its people and hundreds of other things that knowledge workers like journalists and writers are supposed to know.
The only way for me to be a decent journalist, and I don't think I have entirely succeeded in my goal, was to work crazy hard. I did and I loved every minute of it. Metaphorically, I was that person who worked 18 hours a day in my 20s. I worked like this not because someone told me to, and not even because without it I couldn't have been a journalist. I could have been, although a different one, the kind I don't like. Instead, I worked, inside the office and out of it, because I enjoyed it and because I liked chasing my goals.
The best example of people who work hard can be seen in sports. Is there anyone doing competitive sports working less than 12 hours daily? In his formative years, did Sachin Tendulkar call it a day as soon as the clock hit 5 pm? I doubt it. But does anyone term Tendulkar toxic and setting a bad example for his fellow cricketers?
No one does. Because no one sees a cricketer practising for hours and then thinks "oh, what toxic work." Instead, people see it as him improving his skills. And they call him passionate and praise his persistence. And if people can praise Tendulkar for practising for hours, why do they not, in the same way, applaud a sales worker who work for hours on the phone and puts in leg work to grow connections? Maybe people will say that Tendulkar is enjoying it. But what if the sales worker too enjoys her work? Or maybe one would say that whatever Tendulkar is doing benefits Tendulkar in a direct way.
But then so does everything that the sales worker does. If she puts in the effort, she will get better promotions, and she will have a better career than people who haven't spent a similar, or required amount of time, needed to hone skills and build a network. Now, there is an argument that it doesn't matter because corporations, profits, salaries yada yada yada. Maybe it doesn't. But maybe it does. What matters to a person is such a personal thing that it is impossible for someone else to spell it out in public.
Work, or hard work, is a personal choice. The world is big and complex. And, this may come as a surprise to many, it is also grey and not black and white. The only issue with that viral tweet is the preaching it contains. Giving unsolicited gyan to adults is unnecessary and vain. Unfortunately, we Indians are masters at it, as WhatsApp forwards from uncles and aunties show.
If one wants to make something of life -- and it's alright if someone doesn't, because life is not two plus two equals to four -- crazy hard work is a necessity. This reminds me of another writer, Franz Kafka. During the day Kafka worked as a law clerk in an insurance company. At night he wrote feverishly and furiously, often pulling all-nighters before going to sleep at 6 am. He burned himself like candles and enjoyed it. And he did so consciously. In one of the letters to his girlfriend Felice, he explained his devotion to work. "Human weakness alone provides enough moderation," he wrote. "Shouldn't I stake all I have on the one thing I can do? What a hopeless fool I would be if I didn't!"
Indeed, what a hopeless fool one would be if they did not stake their being on something that can define them and their life. So, dear pontificating crowd on social media, hate not the 18 hours of work. If you must, hate the people who force others to work 18 hours a day. But if someone chooses to work 18 hours a day, don't call them toxic or part of the problem. Some people have dreams, and while to many they may seem trifling, they are dreams nonetheless.
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