Contests are Cruel

It was a quaint jewel, which would never yell once the treasure trunk was set open. The signboard was rusting from the edges and read "Central Juice Corner" in a shameless yellow, now sobered with age. Underneath the name, the tagline read a solemn truth -- Fresh Juice, Everytime. Neeti chose the darkest corner carefully, with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. She walked into the juice bar with the intent of a hunter. It felt like a storage of different smells -- sweet, spicy, cold, chatter of the juicer-grinder and secrets of the deep walls.

From the one-page laminated menu-card, she decided upon a watermelon and mint mix. As she opened her laptop, notebook and plugged in her earphones, she prepared herself for the assignment, heavily; the cashier prepared himself for a long sipping session from her. The impromptu ideation began thus, each followed by its deliberations:

How challenging is a contest? NO.

Does winning matter? NO-NO-NO.

Creation versus recognition. CLICHE.

Diffusing definitions. AM I A TAGLINE WRITER?

The Role of Challenges. REALLY?

Contests are Cruel. YES! THIS ONE.

Neeti called for the waiter and asked for a slice of lime. She knew she had found her pitch, her victim, and she was ready to aim at the kill. "Thank you" she smiled sweetly, and soaked in the props around her. The smells, they need to feature. The tastes too. Quickly she formatted them into bullets, to be shot later. She looked around for better baits. 

From the other corner of the juice centre, the cameraperson was focussing on Neeti's fingers, swiftly shifting from the keyboard to the pen and managing a sip of the juice in between. "She needs to tap on the keyboard" he whispered to the person next to him. "She typed the lines quite well, I didn't think she would need a reminder on the tapping!" 

"Do you think we should disturb the sequence for a mere tapping?" the assistant quipped.

Keshav now looked into his face. "Do I think? Yes, I do." Even as he spoke with refrain, his impatience was palpable. 

At the cashier's, the Director was on his third cigarette, on his mind the speck of doubt, like dust, had built large. Keshav can't be too wrong. But Neeti does look good without showing her body language disturbed. I wish I could go for a run. "Guys! Let's break for a ten."

Neeti quickly stood up and stretched. "I need a lime juice here!" As soon as she was done with it, she returned to her character. How the hell will she ever find her clue from the torn poster!

On resuming the shot, she tapped her fingers as was directed and vaguely looked at the walls. "Excuse me, could you put my phone on charge!" she told the waiter. He smiled and took it to the poster. It read, "Fre__ Ju__e, Every____" The fonts had faded. The focus came in from the camera behind her on the monitor. She typed:

Contests are Cruel.

Neeti took another sip from her watermelon juice. She continued:

Not everytime though.

She needed to feel it was a different "Central Juice Corner" this time. Jazzy. Snappy. These were the briefs as provided by the client. So they wrapped up for the day. The next shot would be on a stage where she would get an award for winning the contest which she won because she had the fresh juice. Lame. You could do better, Mr Director.

The people were happy with the final ad which showed an animation of a varitety of juices over Neeti's award, and a voice over saying, "Everything changes everywhere. But at Central Juice Corner -- Fresh Juice, Everytime."

Back on her bed with Keshav couple of weeks later, she ruffled his beard and asked, "You slept with him, didn't you?" Keshav looked back ferociously. "Well, it was a badly made ad. I couldn't have it on my profile. Yes, we needed to can it before it rolled out."

As he turned for a cigarette, "Cmon baby, everything changes everywhere, remember!" He laughed alone.

"Keshav! You knew how important this was for me. I needed the exposure." She smiled and put on the TV.

A look of concern on Keshav's face loomed large. The ad was out. And in a hour he understood how well it was received. "What did you do, Neeti?" he finally asked.

"Me? Nothing. I am fresh juice, everytime, baby. I just told him how good you are with me." 

Winning was a way of life for Neeti. It felt like the storage of different smells -- sweet, spicy, cold, chatter of the juicer-grinder and secrets of the deep walls.