The quiet scandal of job satisfaction

There is no greater social faux pas than enjoying your work. It's indecent - like whistling in a library, or wearing a Banarasi silk to a shradh. Work is supposed to be the universal complaint buffet: an endless line of grievances about bosses, work hours, dopamine-deprived colleagues. Yet, there you are, hiding behind your desk, scandalously happy, a workplace heretic who can't seem to contribute to the sacred ritual of moaning.

The tragedy isn't that you love your job. It's that you can't share this heretical information. Social contract demands shared suffering in the workplace. Without complaints, you are exiled from the communal bonfire of misery. True, you don't necessarily lurrv most of your co-workers who expect solidarity in fine whining. Your happiness can be read as professional treason. So, we deem it best that you sit quietly, pretending to hate Mondays, nodding gravely at shared complaints of new systems and HR memos - while secretly thrilled to keep your laptop open for business. Yes, it's ironic. Yes, it's faintly grotesque and even sad - that the only disappointment in loving your work is that you can't complain about it. And without complaints, what is any water cooler conversation? Job satisfaction is the last taboo. It's the scandal nobody wants to hear, the punchline without a joke. And you, dear reader, are guilty of that.