Most people work late to avoid getting up early, except in Chennai, where everyone gets up at 4 and starts washing clothes and grinding coffee. In most other cities, the practice of working late is becoming increasingly widespread. There are a variety of reasons for this. One key contributing factor has been the death of Steve Jobs. Ever since his passing, there’s been a deluge of books, films, articles, and in some rare cases, poems, revealing how he was rude, demanding and unreasonable. Bosses across the world reached the obvious conclusion. They needed to shout more.
Consequently, employees worldwide are being threatened more often. In the old days, if you failed to complete your work, most bosses would give you a regretful look, and come April, a slightly smaller increment than expected. Since you were expecting very little to begin with, this was never a problem. It was a stable equilibrium, leaving both of you in a state of mild unhappiness. But ever since he unleashed his inner Jobs, your standard modern boss now grinds his teeth, bangs on your table and threatens to slay your family. As a result, people are now working late far more than they used to.
Another reason for working at night is an aversion to working during the day. I suffer from this myself. During the day, there’s so much else to be done, especially if the weather is good. Writing seems so unnecessary. Besides, does anyone really want to know my opinion? And if they do, are those the kind of people I should be encouraging? Late in the evening, the realisation dawns on me that in order to get paid, I have to finish things and submit them. I mentally prepare myself for the next two or three hours for the work that lies ahead. I have a drink or two to steady my nerves, followed by one or two more to settle my stomach.
By this time, it’s usually quite late. I do a lot of research on what great writers do, because this is much easier than actually writing. Many of them play music, apparently. It inspires. It elevates. It helps set the mood. All of these things happen to me. It does not help me write however, because I’m too busy listening to the music. During one of these mood-setting exercises, aided by stimulants, I was completely convinced that I possessed the power to capture a guitar solo by Santana on paper.
I did several songs and went to sleep, satisfied with a job well done. The next morning I discovered that I had created pages and pages of squiggles, with peaks and troughs like an ECG. I look forward to having more such late-night adventures while working late. The only other option is to get up early in the morning, and do the work when you’re fresh and perky. But where’s the fun in that?
In Shovon Chowdhury’s most recent novel, Murder With Bengali Characteristics, Inspector Li doesn’t sleep much, because his wife keeps calling, even though she’s left him