Morphology

This was one of those extremely rare days when we had spare time on hand.

It helped that we had lost a client or two, after they dared go up against LL's sacred and all too fragile ego, which couldn't be compromised even in the face of future loss of income. While LL lost his temper and alienated the clients irrevocably, it consequently left us with a little breathing space. 

This was because he couldn't pin the blame on any of us for a change. Witnesses, you see.

For the forever-politically-correct and give-the-guy-a-break type of folk reading this, do understand that am not being unduly harsh in this pronouncement.

Imagine my surprise when on a goodbye call with the managing director of one of my favourite clients who had terminated our services last week, he expressed that he was really happy with me and my team's work over the last few years and was sorry that his falling out with LL and discovery about his prevarication on an important matter had led to this. Especially as LL had called a sombre group meeting and claimed that this client had resigned because of dissatisfaction with the way my team and I had handled things. This would have had implications on our annual increment as well as bonuses due. 

While I was still dazed and ruminating on the implications of being stabbed in the back by one's own boss and owner of our fascism, uh.. company, LL called another meeting for group heads. 

This meeting was to do with our Internal Projects. This meant tasks like public relations for LL, making sure he was spotted on TV and interviewed on radio. It included displaying our work for various brands on whiteboards dotted around our office. The whiteboards were strategically placed so that any client and coterie would spot them on the way to the conference rooms. 

When I walked into LL's cabin, our event photographer Jignesh, was present too. This guy's expertise so far had been wedding videos and still shots of brides and grooms on stage in various simpering poses. Different weddings ofcourse.

No doubt, he fit right into LL's thrifty budget, but why LL favoured him was a mystery to me. When it came to promoting himself, LL unhesitatingly spent top dollar.

Call me biased, but I'd reached a stage given recent events where I was wary of anyone whom LL considered a friend. Besides, trigger-happy Jignesh was just a little too eager to please and shifty.

"I'd like some of my photos up on the boards", said LL.

Puzzled, I looked at him. "They're already there. Saw to it myself."

"No, no, I mean this", he said, chuckling.

He had pictures of himself at various award ceremonies, and some other group pictures with each client and their teams spread over his desk.

"Alright, would you like me to select a few?", I asked.

"No, I mean this one", he said, waving the one picture he held tightly in his hand. "This one is really good, Jignesh, am so glad you found it!" said LL full of rapture, looking at it.

He turned it over, still not letting go and I got a look. I could hardly believe my eyes. This was a picture of LL walking slightly behind St. Meresa*. No, there isn't any snarky follow up here. I do really mean St. Meresa.

* Since am painstakingly disguising all identities here, this is just to keep up with the overall theme.

LL looked much younger in the snap and I wondered how he'd managed it.

To me, this seemed blasphemous. Like the end of all good things as we know it.

Like seeing Osama posing with Nelson Mandela or Saddam with Aung San Suu Kyi.

I looked closely, too stunned to comment. LL was looking directly at the camera lens and smiling widely, but St. Meresa, bless her, seemed to be unaware of the lens and her gaze was focussed in the opposite direction, with a kindly expression.

I have to admit that yet again, I felt a grudging respect for LL and his methods. Somehow he'd managed to be in the right place at the right time. Isn't that what success is all about? Superficial success, at least.

This didn't impress me at all though, as the right PR can get you any image you care to project to the world.

"My family too had met her, but we don't have a picture", said he. "Anyway, you can send the others across as soon as you redevelop them", were his final instructions to Jignesh.

"Oh, and AJ, you need to tone down the language in your reports. Don't use big words. Some of our clients can't understand it."

Having perfected my deadpan look, I managed not to show any reaction. Our clients seemed quite well read and articulate and given that English is one of the easiest languages to learn, I was sure that linguistically, my reports were not a difficult read at all. I wondered if this was another fabrication on LL's part to find fault with my work.  

LL handed over the snapshot and I tacked it up on the most prominent board.

Over the course of the week, clients were suitably impressed and we spent a good fifteen minutes during each meeting discussing how, when and where this occurred.

As I walked in early next Monday morning at 6 a.m. to prepare for a 6.30 a.m. meeting, I ran a cursory eye over the boards. Something seemed different and I noticed a new photograph added to the crop of earlier ones. It showed LL's family posing with St. Meresa, oddly enough at what seemed to be their home's verandah. I was impressed this time.This seemed more than good PR. Had he contributed so much to the cause that she'd visited their home?

Effective PR can fool people, but St. Meresa's testimonial was convincing indeed.

The day was busy and much later mid-morning, I bumped into Sandra, current EA to LL looking at the same photograph. Except, she was peering at it very closely.

"This is really impressive", I commented.

She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. "Really?"

"Sure. I'd earlier thought it was just good PR, but if she actually visits his place, then... "

"Look carefully, AJ, how come you didn't notice this?", she grinned.

I peered closely too. It was a rather small photograph.

Sandra looked all around even though we were alone just then.

"Ssmorhhd..." she whispered, giggling at the same time.

"Sorry, what?"

"It's morphed!"

I've never met a saint, but I can say that I did experience enlightenment of one kind just then.

Looking at it with this newfound knowledge, one could see that the Saint indeed seemed to have astrally manifested herself into the photograph. She looked a little larger in size than the others and her body was angled differently from the others too.

I thanked Sandra for giving me my first real laugh of the day.

And decided not to worry too much about LL's directions, morphologically speaking.

What's an Introvert

…like you, doing in a field like this?

Good question. One that I got asked a lot. Of all the unlikely career choices, this was a big mistake, or so I was beginning to think.

Let some alternative titles I contemplated for this post serve as a warning in advance:

If Only I’d Known

While We're Dreaming

Speculation

Your Grass is SO much Greener

Everyone knows what an introvert is like. That would be my safe 'weakness' to list in a job app. So I've forced myself to cut you a break and delete a whole paragraph I just wrote on the subject.

Let me assure you - this is not a long whine about all the circumstances which led me to where I was. I've enjoyed my life. I totally get the fact that life does not run on some path that you imagined or romanticized in your teens. I never knew what career I was meant for and I probably still don't. I just went along. I still do. I'd better stop before this turns into a Dr. Seuss story.

I was quite happily settled into the routine, and more importantly, happy with what I was making. I liked what it did to my seriously introverted personality too. Nowadays, I languish somewhere in between the two extremes, but occasionally drift back to the Completely Introvert end of the scale. But off late, anyone I'd met or spoken with, who'd had the guts to start off doing something considered unlikely to survive at, was spectacularly better off for doing it.

Should I have taken the road less trampled? You bet.

I still remember the conversation that made me lose faith in the advice I'd come across so far. It was a rude awakening to how clueless we were.

The day had started with a news story about how roadside beggars in Mumbai, using ingenious methods were making more actual cash than, say, certain employed folks per day. Though it was sensationalized and glossed over the trials of the homeless, it was irksome to know I was making less per hour than the guy whose palm I'd dropped a buck into this morning.

On this day, my desk phone rang - a bright ex-batchmate. We'd all hung out together. We were all getting caught up in long hours and consequently keeping in touch less frequently than before.

Have cut out the preliminaries we chatted about - largely about a new cocktail he'd mixed which I simply had to taste and his coolest new pair of shoes.

College Batchmate (CB) : "So hey, am thinking of quitting..."

Me : "And go where? You're in such a fabulous job already"

CB : "Actually, I'm planning to join ##TV."

Me : "Really? Do they have much going on for Finance grads like you?"

CB: "Are you kidding me??"

CB (lowering his voice) : "That's what I wondered at first too. But this is the most amazing thing I've discovered."

Me (mystified and because it's catching, whispering): "What?? Go on"

CB : "This group, has something called a media sales team."

Me (finally in a position to display some competitive superiority) : "Yeah, I know all about that. We get them all the time, nearly half a dozen channels all day. But aren’t those marketing/ sales folks? Are you Switching Fields??"

Though I tried not to, my tone implied this was a sin that ranked higher than Moses' top 10. I was slightly prissy about such things*.

* Back then.

CB : No, no. They sell media spots…

Me (interrupting**): "Hey trust me. I could write a thesis on the subject. Have had the benefit of being involved in media planning for nearly five clients at the mo. We've had the top few agencies here - I know how it all works with them."

** I do that a lot. Sometimes when you call, I'll carry on the whole conversation myself if you're not careful.

CB : "Cool. So you know about the commission, right?"

Me (even more mystified) : "Commission?"

CB : "Yeah, the media sales guys get commission.."

Me : "Wait, but the real work's all done by the media planners."

CB : "Really? But listen to this. At ## TV, you get the commission on whatever deals you freeze with media planners."

I felt I'd been sucker punched in the small of my tum and lost my breath, momentarily.

Me : "But these plans are worth crores for a year. Spends on one channel run in to lakhs for just one account!"

CB : "Exactly!"

I was about to throw up at this point, I felt so sick.

How come I didn't know this? I would have taken up working in Finance for a TV channel. Was this true? Or an urban legend, a myth sent out to lure bright stars like my friend here? Why couldn’t college equip us for this kind of knowledge?

CB : "Which is why am mostly taking this up - just waiting for another place's offer before I decide."

Me : "That is so good! Congrats!"

And I meant it. It's an instant mood lifter to hear of something good in anyone's life. It's our way of assuring ourselves that good things happen to good people. Maybe that's why the Chicken soup series are so popular. I may be wrong though, I haven't read any myself.

The day moved along in a slow crawl. I got this uneasy feeling I was working in the kind of place from which you could check out but never leave, when my cousin called.

Have cut out the preliminaries we chatted about - largely about designer unmentionables she'd splurged on and her coolest new pair of shoes.

Cuz : "So hey girl, come over, spend the weekend at my place."

Her place was this sprawling company acco in Breach Candy - always a pleasure.

Me : "Tempting! Let’s try catch the late night show too. And a much lighter dinner this time."

Post window shopping, we tended to eat out like we'd been starving all week.

Cuz : "I've just had the heaviest lunch ever at Lings, so don't worry about that. I'm still so full."

Me : "How come? Celebrating something?"

Cuz : "For an ex colleague - do you remember him? From my housewarming? He'd called us to celebrate his new job."

Me : "Nice. Everyone seems to be job hopping these days".

Cuz : "Yes...and he's moving to his penthouse soon. Can't wait for the parties there!"

Me : "Really? Penthouse? What kind of job gets you one?" 

Cuz : "Well, he's an investment banker, y'know. Packages are hitting the roof for them - given what's happening."

She meant economically.

I couldn’t quite picture the man I’d met as a successful investment banker. I mean, he was not THAT much different from me. To me***, investment bankers ranked somewhere up there with fighter plane pilots. The Tom Cruise in Top Gun kind.

*** Back then. I cannot emphasize this enough.

Me : "I've always wanted to know this, just how do companies afford investment bankers' salaries?"

Cuz : "Didn't you know? They get paid on every merger/ acquisition they work on."

Me (still not getting it) : "Sure, but why is it in crores? I mean, how come it's so stark a difference?"

Cuz : "It is a very high profile line of work and extremely high anxiety too, burn out rates are really high, a lot of them need counselling. I have a friend who apparently used to talk in his sleep, he was that stressed - but the incentive is, they get a percentage on the total amount of the deal for the acquisition."

Cuz : "Helloo…? You there?"

I was experiencing nausea once again.

Maybe this is fancy - but I swear I'd have studied harder had I known it was possible to earn in crores working a job! I could've conned my way somehow through one such deal and then joined something a little less stressful.

It made me think of what I could've or would've been if only I’d known better, or to be more honest, if I’d had the guts.

Or taken more interest. Or, to be fair, had the opportunity. Thank you, Malcolm Gladwell.

I seemed to have spent that entire week talking to people who were earning a comfortable living doing what they enjoyed and who were probably laughed down in their time for doing it. But this very same fact made worklife tolerable.

Sitting in my cramped space, I allowed myself a two-minute daydream of visualizing something wondrous I could've been doing work wise, if only I'd thought of it then.

I could see it all - with a backdrop of fruit laden green trees, fresh air, azure water, crisp blue sky, chirping birds and happy sunlight. Utopia for the employed.

To pen it all down, here's my list, which seems to grow longer each time I look at it.

If I hear you laugh, we're through.

An Indian classical dancer

An archaeologist

An anthropologist

A singer (you never know)

An Indian classical musician (you really never know)

An artist

Writer

Teacher (Preferably kindergarten or primary school)

College lecturer

A manager of museums (I don't know where that's coming from)

A book store owner

Gym aerobics instructor (where you get paid to conduct aerobics and end up with a fantastically toned body yourself on account of all that exercise)

Conservationist

A photographer (Ideally, following a conservationist)

At an embassy (Everyone says the perks are great)

Travelling show host (Or heck, more realistically, the camera asst., or equipment incharge or bag carrier or anything that gets me to go with them.)

The job of the desk guy overlooking boat trips at a holiday resort on Lake Vembanad in Kerala. (Am serious. You should see the view he's got.)

Exotic holiday home manager (In the wilderness, or any beautiful locale like Goa).

Wait. Any job in Goa.

Okay, this was fun.

Do you have a list?

The Pursuit of Bollyness-II : Wagging the Dog

Continued from P of B Part-I…

For the next couple of weeks things got so hectic that there was no time to worry about the promise made to Mr. Prakash and the next meeting due.

A scene I was beginning to picture increasingly with graphic images of dangling Damocles' swords and me as the hapless Damocles. Uneasy, however, did not seem to lie our modern day Dionysius' head. At least, to all outward appearance.

I tried calling Karan Sabjan for his opinion on whether the Big M would be interested. Sabjan thanked me for adding years to his life by giving him his best laugh of the month.

This was one situation where I had nothing further to contribute. Either one knew how to get to Amibath Machchan or didn’t. I didn’t.

Feeling a bit like Pandora, with thoughts leaning increasingly towards aftermaths of usual Greek tragedies, I decided to broach the subject with LL.

As the days went by, this was not easy though. Surely he wasn't avoiding me?

With the next meeting just a couple of days away, I redoubled my efforts to corner LL and ask him for strategic guidance*.

*This is polite subordinate to boss management-speak for: Hey, you got us into this mess, and this time, you've gotta get us out.

"Get me Prakash", said LL.

Having got him on phone, LL proceeded to tell him how his father had an urgent though minor surgical procedure due on the very same morning of the next meeting scheduled and could we reschedule it? Mr. P was fortunately off to Denmark and so the next meeting was fixed up to be a whole two and a half weeks away.

Admiring this adroit manoeuvre; I admit it freely, would have never thought of it - we heaved collective sighs of relief, but I felt the figurative dangling thread fray a bit, and the sword inch closer.

But LL had thought of something.

There were only two possible approaches as advised by LL's role model Confucius:
One - Man who run in front of car get tired.
Conversely, also known as - Man who run behind car get exhausted.
Two - He who will not economize will agonize.

Next meeting, Mr. Prakash walked in fully expecting to see Machchan ensconced in our humble office abode. In his best suit and tie too. Mr. P, I mean.

LL informed him that we had contacted the Big M and that he had quoted an astronomical rate similar to his Badur contract.

I adjusted my expression accordingly so as to try look like we were the sort of people who had Machchan on call.

Knowing fully well Mr. Prakash would have never been able to loosen his purse strings to this extent, LL then commenced upon a severe campaign against using celebrities in advertising. Having embarked upon the celebrity route once, you are stuck with them forever. You've got to continue using a well known face else all will be lost. The fickle customer would move on. The astronomical fees you pay would have to be permanently budgeted for.

In short, hiring a celebrity for advertising would be like riding a tiger. You couldn't ever get off.

And what if the celebrity you've chosen lost popularity suddenly? Made a racist slur or in a drunken haze drive over a number of innocent people on the footpath. It would rub off negatively on your brand. A dreadful fate indeed.

Having made this convincing argument, LL decided to hammer the final nail in the coffin.

Amibath Machchan, while shooting in a rural, drought prone area for his next film, had insisted on a truckload of mineral water bottles. No, not for distributing amongst the thirsty populace as you may be excused for imagining. The popular brand of bottled water was used by him - wait for it - to bathe.

As LL would have it, this generated a lot of controversy and criticism for the Big M. In reality, it was soon forgotten.

This same region incidentally was an important one for Mr. Prakash's brands, generating a substantial amount of sales. As LL drew an eloquent picture as to what would have happened had we paid so many millions for the Big M; Mr. Prakash's disillusionment was complete.

Having reacted true to type, he now thanked us fervently as we had been personally responsible for saving him from a fate worse than death.

It took him only another ten more minutes to decide that he had actually arrived at this conclusion himself and claim that he had already planned to decline the offer for Machchan's endorsement should he have been ready and willing.

It is just as well the Big M would never know how far he fell from grace in our conference room in that one hour.

To soften the overall blow, LL suggested several second and third level Bollywood stars but Mr. Prakash was now a staunch convert to our cause. He happily agreed to endorsement from a humbler actor, known for playing character-led roles, suggested by Karan Sabjan.

Thus concluded another successful chapter of a highly strategic, skilfully played zero sum game.

Mafia Marketing

For weeks now, we had been noticing a simmering of excitement in LL's demeanour.

He would spend hours closeted in his cabin with his EA, who would then stumble out unsteadily, with sheaves of papers spilling out of her file.

Post such a tete-a-tete, we would often see her stagger back into our workstation* with a disoriented air, blinking a little. A bit like a convict let out into the free world after long incarceration. Then spend the rest of her time feverishly typing at her top speed.

* For those who've chanced upon this only now, scroll through the archives for a description of the Workstation in the introductory paragraphs of 'The Day of the Call - I'

I didn't ask her what it was all about as she'd been working beyond her usual 5 p.m. deadline and was consequently frazzled and tight-lipped.

I didn’t mind. It was so good to have some human company in the evening hours besides the hunk of machinery that crowded in from every angle.

I knew LL would tell us himself. All in good time. Ever paranoid about leaked secrets, it was usual for him to act like we were the headquarters of the NSA**. Or that there were hostile agents out to get his cherished trade secrets. This delusion was so much part of his personality that we learned to work with it.

** Oh c'mon! You've read Dan Brown, haven't you?

Besides we'd already guessed. His desktop was littered with mountainous piles of books on branding and marketing by authors both Indian and international.

On this day, he called me in to be witness to a contract for his first literary effort. The success of the Ries' recently launched book on 22 laws had cut him to the quick. Not to be left far behind, he'd decided to pen his own, for Indian markets. He was fulfilling yet another desire to be famous, this time as an author.

Over the next few weeks, any activity that wasn't linked to his book's launch was put on the back burner.

We sent out mailers on priority basis to every unfortunate who'd ever had reason to mail us in the past. No one was spared - this included job applicants to our organisation, cumulatively numbering in their hundreds.

The uncharitable would've called it spam, which we did try explaining but he chose to be conveniently obtuse and said that he didn't understand all these new age words.

Still marvelling at LL's clever and precautionary brainwave of inviting a whole regional sales team to the book launch event ensuring that the venue would appear to be bursting at the seams by his eager fans, we also prepared to attend it ourselves.

After LL grudgingly agreed to contribute cab fare for our 'voluntary' visit to his event, we all closed the office down early, for the first time in the history of Marrkit.

LL had also the foresight to order us to buy one copy each of his book that same evening from the store.

Needless to say, the launch event was deemed a success by the store manager who was bedazzled by the record sales of the book that same evening.

But LL couldn’t relax just yet.

Like an anxious new mother, he would daily scan the 'Bestseller' lists published by a variety of newspapers.

Finally, his book entered second from last - that too in a local rag.

This was unthinkable. Clearly the world would have to be made to sit up and take notice.

The lists were based on sales of books in categories of fiction and non-fiction compiled weekly book-shop wise, which the newspaper then printed as gospel. Having ascertained this fact from the newspaper's editor, LL set his well thought out master plan into motion.

It remains the most perfect campaign I've ever seen. With a hundred percent success rate.

Directed personally by LL, with great finesse and precision.

To digress a bit, altruist that I am, here are pointers for those authors who aspire to bestseller glory:

• Call up certain friendly college principals and tell them about how the book has taken everyone by storm.

• Corleone style, make them an offer they can't refuse. Suggest that you would, as a friendly gesture, like to donate your book to the college library.

• Further suggest that one book would not do for so many b-school students. You'd like to donate one for each student, but please don't tell them that as you would like to keep your act of generosity anonymous.

• Send out an office employee, your very own trusted Sonny, to various bookstores in each suburb that happen to stock your book to place orders for it. Payments to be made only in cash, lest anyone suspect that the buyer is linked with you in any capacity.

• Give your gang of employees the mandate to buy your book, minimum 12 copies each over the weekend, again - payments to be made only in cash without revealing names or whom they really work for. Later, reimburse the amount to each employee. Extra books thus amassed at the office can be gifted complimentary to your clients or anyone who happens to wander in at your workplace.

• Ring up the remaining institute directors and drop into the conversation that so-and-so college has ordered 40 copies of your book for their marketing students and how they are simply cutting-edge when it comes to providing every sort of facility to their students.

• Tell anyone else who happens to ask that you don't believe in the 'Bestseller' lists and that's not important to you at all. After all, who ever understood the TRP racket? This is much the same. What matters to you is that only one, just one person find your book useful. That is all that would make you feel completely fulfilled. Really.

• Dial store managers of leading book shops and tell them how successful your book launch event at the other store was. Suggest that you are booked up for various other such launches but you can make time for their store if need be. Do this for all other metro cities too and plan your travel accordingly.

• Never let anyone outside the Family, know any of this.

Follow this and success is guaranteed. If you are a marketing person***, all this should come easily to you.

*** See 'Glossary' section for definition of a marketing person.

Thank you in advance and the least you could do to express your gratitude is send me a complimentary copy of your book.

And well, some day, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me.

Nothing personal, strictly business.

Oh and before I forget, for those wondering about the fate of LL's first book, by next fortnight it had blazed its way right to the top, no less than Number 1 on the bestseller lists of the two leading newspapers.

Heil LL!

The Curious Case of a Chocolate Flan

On the personal front, I'd started feeling that anyone interesting of the male variety I'd lately met (or not met), fell into five categories. By interesting I mean - humane, witty, intelligent and attractive (to me).

This only reconfirmed my theory refined over the years, that all the good guys: 

1. Have left the country for the USA, UK, Australia, New Zealand or S.E.A.*

 
2. Are about to leave the country for USA, UK, Australia, New Zealand or S.E.A.

 
3. Are married or taken.

 
4. Are gay.

 
5. Are too young for me.

For obvious reasons I refuse to acknowledge those who were just not interested in me.

* These are the most attractive destinations for all working professionals out here. In USA it would be NY winning hands down as the leading destination of the pack.

Not that it mattered. My working hours and the way I consequently looked over weekends - eyes ringed with dark c's, the occasional sniffle attack due to sudden transition from heavy cool air-conditioning to searing or humid heat - did not leave me with the time nor inclination to socialize. Story of my life, so far.

On this day, I was geared up for my first day long excursion with LL. Naïve newcomer that I was, as per his instructions, I'd shown up on the dot at 7 a.m. below his residence building and was instructed to wait in his car, manned by his driver.

LL joined us at 8.30 a.m.

Though my enthusiasm for the exciting day ahead had wilted somewhat, it quickly revived as we started our journey.

In stark contrast to our claustrophobic workstation sans windows, it was nice to look at the blue sky, puffs of clouds and the lazy marshes whiz by.

Running late for the first meeting meant that we were hard pressed for time, and by late afternoon, having managed to pacify and satisfy various clients along the way who were not expecting us to show up considerably more than an hour after the scheduled time, we unpacked our delayed lunch tiffins of biryani (LL's) and soggy sandwiches (mine) as we drove to our final two meetings from the suburbs to the South of Bombay.

On such days LL's car resembled a mobile makeshift office, with files piled up on whatever space the driver, LL and I didn't occupy.

Both LL, I and the driver were usually on calls the entire time, with brief intervals of respite. 

Why was the driver on phone? Because LL never spoke directly to his driver.

All instructions were conveyed by LL's wife from home to the driver. For any last minute change in route, LL would first call his wife and then she would call his driver. Watching this ritual did get my blood pressure up a little higher, but I never knew why it was done, so don't ask.

Despite everything, our meetings were successful and the view from the window again captivated me. Okay, so this time, it was more buildings, shopfronts, hoardings and less horizon, but Bombay looks progressively cleaner and somewhat wealthier as you head southwards which gives a feeling of ascension to something better that really lifts your spirits. Only true Bombay 'burbies will understand this. 

Just before we reached our client's office, he called LL and cancelled the meeting due to some urgent reasons. This gave us a couple of hours to kill until our next one.

I stayed quiet, waiting to hear what his next instruction to Mrs. LL would be. Strangely, LL made no move to speed dial her number. Curious and curiouser.

"Oberoi chalo", said LL, spraying Polo liberally all over himself.

The car swerved slightly.

Bablu the driver recovered quickly from his shock at being addressed directly and drove on.

I slid open my window slightly so I could breathe again.

For once, the scenic curve of Marine Drive failed to capture my attention. The expression on LL's face was very familiar - I'd seen it before. On kids who’ve discovered the junk food stash and TV remote while their parents are out.

"Let's take a break, eh? If Mrs. L calls up on your cell just pretend it's on silent", puffed LL. What fun. This was a side to LL I didn't know existed.

We plonked ourselves down on the plush couches in front of the famous windows at the cafe overlooking the sea. It was exciting. In pre office days and window shopping at the Oberoi, I would look with wonder at all the super-busy men and women lounging around the lobbies and cafes for power brunches, power lunches and power teas. It was all so aspirational. I wanted to be part of that fascinating world.

And there we were. I was no longer awe-struck student, walking past looking at all the corporate movers and shakers, but felt at home amongst them. 

Well, once you're seated, anywhere in the Oberoi can make you feel that way.

All around us were people just like us, seemingly in between meetings or conducting them. It was fun to mimic their snooty expression while glancing over to check them out.

LL, feigning disinterest, tried eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table. He fed me snippets of what he occasionally overheard.

I wondered though if that's all he would feed me on. 

I also wondered if it was okay to order myself, or wait for him to ask. I tried recalling etiquette pointers on 'when unexpectedly out with the Boss, first time'**, but nothing really came to mind. Slightly tense and conscious, on this my first social outing with the boss, I wanted to avoid a faux pas of any kind. Or what LL the Martian, oops sorry, LL the Marrkitian would consider one.

Even after half an hour of arriving, LL showed no signs of encouraging the occasionally hovering server. 

I remembered how my day had begun and steeled myself. "I think I'll have a juice", I ventured. 

"Sure! Ofcourse!!", said LL, ever the gentleman. "In fact, I'll have one too!", he boomed.

Midway through our juices, LL had thawed greatly. 

This was partly because, given his uncanny luck, the conversation he'd eavesdropped upon had yielded results. One of our client's competing product's advertising strategy was being laid bare by the loud and eloquent ad account manager to our left, straight into LL's eager ears. Having secured this little titbit of a nugget, LL leaned over to wink and whisper, "His voice got louder after he saw you. What a show off!". 

I didn't get it for quite some time. Hey I was younger and innocent then. Ofcourse it stumped me. A compliment? From LL? I didn't know how to react.

The other reason LL was really happy was that a group of newly hatched, smart MBAs at another table had recognised him and clustered around briefly telling him how much they admired him. Nothing made LL's day more than public recognition. After subjecting them to a fifteen minute homily, he'd let them go.

Meanwhile, LL, feeling expansive, said, "Let's celebrate. Order anything! This is for you, you deserve it!"

Recovering from this shocker, I took the menu he proffered. I knew him well enough to wait a bit.

"From here", he suggested, pointing to the truffles and pastries section. He still held on to one end of the massive menu so I pretended to study it and waited some more. 

"Let me help you. How about the chocolate flan? It's really good here, you must have it." 

I can never say no to chocolate but I knew LL well enough now not to get my hopes up.

"We'll have a chocolate flan pastry", said he to the server.

"Just one?", the superior looking server raised his eyebrows, flicking his glance at me.

Just in case you're wondering, the times I speak of, were not those of recession or economic slump. 

"Yes, yes, just one will do. It's for her, my colleague - I'm not allowed to have all this. I was telling her it's the best here", said LL loudly, playing the part of magnanimous, indulgent boss taking his employee out for a meal, for the benefit of his fans at the next table who were paying us a lot of attention. 

The flan arrived and I suddenly realized that it was a wise move on LL's part to order just one. It was massive, and flanked on either side by two dessert spoons. The server strategically placed it in the exact centre of the space between LL and me.

I picked up my spoon and waited for LL's move. He slid the plate slightly closer to my end of the table. 

Here was another etiquette related quandary. Given his oddities, would LL really not mind if I dug into the same pastry he would later have? Did he really want me to have it all? 

"I'm not allowed, this is all for you", he mourned. 

Unable to resist the charms of a good chocolate for long, I dug out a minuscule piece. It was melt-in-the-mouth gooey, dreamy, dark chocolate, and I couldn't wait to have more. 

I pushed the dish over to his side.

"Do have some, it's great", I offered, inviting him to taste it before I polished the rest off.

"No, no, I really am not allowed, if Mrs. LL finds out…" His gaze was fixed on the flan and his fist was clenched hard around the dessert spoon.

Perhaps I'd misjudged LL. He wasn't all self-centred and self-serving. I felt glad that he meant it this time and wasn't faking it. It's always a pity when people have to deprive themselves of the good things life has to offer. For the first time, I looked at LL with new eyes. I was slowly getting to see the real persona behind his "Boss" image.

I waited for form's sake while he took a call on his cell.

The loud-spoken agency guy had apparently finished his meeting and I watched him swagger out with his client.

My gaze wandered to the spectacular view which relaxed and mesmerized me once again. The gently swaying palms and the wide expanse of the aqua sea looked beautiful through the tinted windows.

LL was right. I deserved to indulge in chocolate like that. Eagerly anticipating the rest of it, I decided to pull the plate back to devote myself exclusively to the flan as the mandatory polite interval from the time I made the offer had passed. 

I turned around and reached out. To an empty plate. 

And saw LL, licking the last few crumbs off his spoon. 

It hadn't even taken him a minute. More fool me.

He caught my eye. "We won't tell Mrs. L about this okay?", he winked.

"Sure". 

** Given my valuable experience working with LL all these years, I decided to pen my own helpful list called "Etiquette pointers when out with the Boss, especially if he's LL ". Flatteringly, the list became worth it's weight in gold and folklore amongst Marrkitians old and new. Will add it to the archives another time, if you like.

Hex and the City

After week upon week of meeting heads of businesses big and small, the psyche of entrepreneurs still fascinated. 

I never tired of discovering anew another facet to their personality and work ethic. To add to this, the sheer variety of personalities was mind boggling, to say the least. 

Some were their polished best and others downright boorish. However, it seemed that though entrepreneurs may differ widely in appearance, mannerisms and behaviour, they all had something in common. Canny business sense, a no-nonsense risk-taker's ability and all the qualities that various management gurus have written more knowledgeably about

Knowing that sound business sense was the only driving force behind anything the directors decreed, I puzzled long and hard over what could be the logic and reasoning behind their decisions. 

The reason I bothered with bending my mind towards this, is that I was interested in what's called Acquired Learning*. Which is what I saw as a job perk, given that we didn't have anything else that could be labelled such. 

*In case anyone's planning to acquire learning from me, note how I made the term sound like management-speak just by using caps. Refer to the "Glossary of Marrkit's Marketing Terms/ Office Jargon" section from the Archives for the definition of Acquired Learning. 

Let me explain what I mean. For instance, one of our flamboyant clients, Mr. Mistry, closely connected with all things Bollywood (or so he claimed), apparently paid through his nose for our services. And let us know it each time he visited, at the top of his cultured voice - which seemed to lose that polished accent at the same rate that his temper accelerated. 

Watching him part with our monthly cheque due was like watching a schizophrenic will at work. He never presented it except with great reluctance, always implying that this was his last meeting with us ever. That we were leeches sucking his lifeblood away. 

Each time, I watched with bated breath to see if his iron grip on the cheque would relax enough to hand it over without tearing it into two. Just like the melodramatic movies he financed, after a few minutes he was back to feeling sentimental and maudlin about his not so veiled taunts and usually ended by spewing equally liberal praise on us. 

We didn't hold this against him though, as he had great charm, was otherwise cheerful to work with and one simply could not remain annoyed with him for more than a few seconds. Not with someone who usually offered us passes for the latest A-list movie premieres. Ofcourse not. 

Given this, it was odd to notice that he usually skipped two meetings a month. This was pointed out to me by LL's EA, who was similarly puzzled. 

Two meetings a month on an average was huge, as from his point of view it was a considerable financial loss. 

What was more of a mystery was that his team seemed to know in advance they needn't visit, even though he always made a last minute call to us cancelling his meeting. I know this because he had me do the tedious job of calling his team up one by one, to tell them the meeting was off. Yes, we also threw in such secretarial add-ons for our clients, especially ones like Mr. Mistry who felt that by getting us to do these small additional tasks, he was getting his money's worth out of our firm.

His being the last meeting of the day, scheduled at the unearthly hour of 8 p.m. onwards and ending at roughly 11 p.m., I celebrated each cancellation. It meant I'd reach home while my parents were still up and not have mom suspecting I'd been doing the usual movie and dinner thing with some unidentified guy about to lead me astray. As if. I'd have killed for that sort of attention. But unfortunately, the eligible single male did not ever enter the borders of the office complex we worked out of. The sort that did make it deserve an exclusively devoted chapter - some other time. 

One week, on the day Mr. Mistry's meeting was scheduled, I made a routine reminder call to Andy, Mr. Mistry's operations head. 

"Morning Andy! Just wanted to warn you that the report you're looking for won't actually be ready for Mr. Mistry and you in time for today's meeting, but it will be done day after for sure", I said. 

"No probs, Ash", said Andy, warmly. "Send it whenever. In fact, I don't need it today for sure. Take your time." 

Hoping that Mr. Mistry would take this news as breezily as Andy had, I decided to bite the bullet and break the bad news to him in person. "That's great Andy, but I'd still better speak to Mr. Mistry now and explain why." 

"Oh, he's not here. How about a movie this evening? A group of us from office are planning to see the 8 p.m. show. We have complimentary passes. Join us?", trilled Andy. 

"You're kidding, right. Are you planning a mass bunk? Have you forgotten, your meeting with us is for today!" 

"Ha ha!" sang Andy, sounding way too cheerful. "There won't be a meeting today. Except, yeah, at the cinema." 

"Okay", I said, "are you officially informing me that the meeting is off?" 

"No", said Andy, "Unofficially. And you didn't hear it from me." 

"How can you be sure? And where is Mr. Mistry? Travelling?", I asked, hoping this tale of cancellation was true and not just something to do with Andy's quirky humour. 

"No, he's very much at his own home, watching the match." 

"Right. And we both know even cricket wouldn't keep him away from our expensive doors", I said, disappointed that that was all Andy was making a fuss about. "So, forget the movie." 

"You mean you were ready to make it for the movie? Cool! So am holding a pass for you", persisted Andy, maddeningly. 

"Noooo!", I screeched, sounding a lot like Mr. Mistry at a cheque parting. "You go ahead and take on Mr. Mistry if you want, but I can't bunk the meeting." 

"Hey chill", said Andy, "Okay, tell me, how many meetings has he cancelled in the last three months?" 

"That would be…seven at least?", I answered, marvelling anew at this statistic. 

"And what reasons did he give?", questioned Andy. 

"The usual kind, I guess", I said, trying to remember. "Someone visiting for dinner, another important meeting, or travelling."

"Well, that's all bull!" 

"How's that?" 

"I'll tell you, but you can't let onto Mr. M or anyone that you know this. And one more thing - you have to come for the show", said Andy, cunningly. 

"Sure, Andy. I do like the big screen experience. Just not at the cost of Mr. Mistry. So tell all." I was intrigued by all this suspense and partly convinced that Andy was just wasting my time.

"What's today's date?" asked Andy. 

"17th", I said, wondering where this was going. 

"Which adds up to the dreaded number 8. Mr. Mistry's worst nightmare. He's rabidly afraid of the number and his astrologer told him to never step out of the house on those days. Woooo… careful, it’s the 17th today!", hooted Andy, irreverently. 

"So, you see", continued Andy, "He'll never show up for a meeting on the 8th, 17th and 26th of the month. See you at the movie, then!"

Okay, well. 

Sometimes there was no logic or reasoning.

Say Cheers

A meeting which typically had an agency/ freelancer or two present in addition to the client sometimes posed diplomatic conundrums.

Especially when it came to Desmond, who for some unknown reason, was LL's favourite man of all work of the small time advertising kind. Drinking Desmond was my moniker for him, for reasons which will become clear as you read on.

Desmond wore a jacket for most meetings, which really impressed me, since no one bothered with very formal attire at work except for certain occasions. In Bombay, the weather does not permit it.

Having believed in always erring on the side of being formal rather than informal when in doubt, I liked the formal corporate image Desmond projected amidst the denim clad, unshaven, pony-tailed, often tattooed and earring-adorned men which dominate the creative half of the advertising world. And there's something about a jacket that just adds oodles of personality to any man.

I'm a sucker for just three things - guys who play the guitar/ drums, very tall guys and guys in jackets. I don't know why, but these three and if luckily in combination together, are quite irresistible. Okay, getting back to the point now. And hey am not that shallow really - it's always about the brain, not brawn.

My admiration for Desmond lasted only briefly however. Right upto the moment I realized exactly why he'd invested in a jacket.

It had a useful inner pocket that made a snug receptor for his favourite whiskey flask from which he no doubt derived great solace and sustenance for all the stressful meetings he had to make. Meetings where he had to explain to my maddened clients why he had skipped yet another deadline.

A typical meeting would consist of these attendees:

From the Client's end:
- Owners/ managing directors (very often, a pair of brothers or, father & son, or MD & CFO)
- Their EAs or PAs as the case may be
- Resident astrologer and/ or current pundit in favour
- Family friend and/ or time-honoured well-wisher

Allied agency:

- The freelancer/s or head of agency handling any allied function like communication, PR, events, and so on

From our end:
- LL
- Me
- LL's wife (sometimes)
- One of LL's children (sometimes)*

* This was LL's big family succession plan. His worst nightmare was that his children would not want to take over the mantle when the time came and fly away from his overprotective nest. So, LL decided to give new meaning to the devious gambit of starting them young. That his children were just 9 and 12 years of age, seemed to make no difference.

Our meetings were always extremely formal occasions - with preset agendas, and time limits to be adhered to. There were however, exceptions to this rule and this is one such chronicle.

One of our clients from an exotic state far, far away, whose company stock was considered the bluest of blue chip, was visiting us for a marathon session of meetings that would last the entire day.

The Director of this group, lets call him Mr. Kapil, was a born tycoon, with a stiff, aristocratic demeanour to match. I'd never ever seen him smile. Post meetings, I could never quite recall what I'd ever said to him. Somehow it was always blanked out thanks to his intimidating persona. I was always conscious of being in the presence of someone who personally contributed a healthy percentage to the annual GDP of India and generated employment for hundreds of people across rural areas.

Often, the meeting would take place in a room in our office that resembled the living room cum lounge of a typical home - complete with wall unit, couches lining the walls and helpfully placed corner tables, apart from two largish centrally placed ones. The couches were deep and comfortable.

That a client meeting held here consequently resembled a drawing room reunion amongst family members, some of whom are glad to meet each other again and some not, was not surprising.

On this day in my routine check of the room before the meeting, it struck me that some of the ceiling incandescent lights had blown out. It left the room much more dimly lit than usual. We'd still have to use this room as no other room would accommodate the sheer number of people we had to meet.

The reasons why I did not allow any of my clients to walk into this room without having checked it first were manifold. I remember one occasion when the client got settled comfortably in, and the air conditioning refused to work. Another time, the lights fused at one go. Yet another time, an office boy was found stretched full length and snoring on the couch.

The best or worst incident, depending on how you see it, was when a swarm of dragonflies flew out of the room straight at three co-directors about to walk in when the door was opened. Somehow, they'd gotten in through the window of an adjoining room and gotten locked in. Those directors flew out of our office too and were never seen again after making understandably snide remarks about the ten plagues of Marrkit.

On this day, the client arrived at 8:30 a.m. on the dot with an excited air and a bright glitter in his eye. Along with him came a pair of large carry-ons and he requested to be left alone for a while with his team of attendant CFO, wife, uncle, marketing manager, sales head, admin manager and other assorted coterie accompanying him.

Intrigued, LL and I waited for him to unveil the surprise. Which indeed it was.

Every table in the room was covered with a set of totally 3 dozen roughly pint sized bottles, called alcopops or breezers here. One half of these were a recently launched popular brand of alcopops that had taken metros in India by storm for it's low price, low alcohol content and flavours like cranberry, cola and lime, attracting the young, and especially women.

Explaining that this was a new business he was planning to invest in, the Director waved us in and stated that most of his existing infrastructure would double to produce what is known here as Indian Made Foreign Liquor. For those who don’t believe I didn't just make that term up, google IMFL and read all about it. Would not like to bore my better informed readers here.

The client was cleverly taking advantage of the fact that as per our terms, we would consult within the same fee for all their businesses, and any new ventures. We never dreamed that he would want to diversify into country liquor.

I wasn't feeling comfortable about this.

My support lay entirely with those brave rural women who'd recently kicked their no-good drunkard husbands out in a mini-revolution of sorts. And now we would be contributing to placing a new label within reach of their misguided men.

It was disillusionment of a different kind. That of all people, it had to be Mr. Kapil indulging in a spectacular breakaway from the respectable family business, a cherished dream, handed down over generations and sow his alcoholic oats within the populace, so to speak.

But the sight of all the glowing colourful bottles had a different effect on LL.

He now appeared just as excited as every other man in the room.

Mentally, I started formulating strategy of a different kind. To ease away from this client - and how to bring that up with LL. I passed him a quick note saying I'd like to meet him briefly in private, whenever possible. No doubt, he'd be difficult. He had only one criteria for client selection - that they be able to pay our fees on time. No ethical scruples would be entertained.

This was apparently a tasting ceremony. Having come well prepared with lots of disposable glasses, the client flatteringly wanted our opinion on each and every flavour and help shortlist the final four to be selected for launch. Mine, particularly for what would appeal to the palate of women in general.

All the bottles were stuffed into every inch of our pantry fridge and so it came to pass that by 11 a.m. the bottles were pulled out and pressed into service. In that time we'd quickly prepared enough prints of an evaluation matrix with attributes for everyone to mark down rankings, flavour-wise, for the home brand versus the competitor's. I mention this only so everyone knows some work actually got done too.

Before that, we called in Desmond to finalise the newsletter design and complete other sundry matters. For once Desmond had been suitably awed to actually bring the artwork and proofs along without mistakes, and in a generous mood, the Client invited him to join the tasting spree.

Desmond appeared delighted to oblige. I was sure he had taken a few fortifying swigs already to steady himself before the meeting but the client had no way of knowing that. Desmond, who couldn't take his eyes off the glittering array of bottles, happily settled down in a nook.

We all dutifully sipped just one or two mouthfuls of each flavour and I was surprised to note that I couldn't really tell the difference between the branded and the yet to be launched brand - but for one or two exceptions, which we duly noted.

I had seen wine tasting ceremonies on TV where people discreetly spit out the wine in a handy receptor, but come on, what do etiquette books say about doing the same thing in such a context? I wouldn't dream of doing something that crass in front of people who probably rounded each meal off with caviar. Besides, they may have found it insulting, given they'd brewed it in the first place.

After a few more rounds of tasting everything, the client suggested a repeat of the whole thing. His point was that we should have a second round just in case we changed our minds about what we thought the first time.

No one disagreed with him.

As I sipped on, I had to admit it, the bottles looked really pretty.

An array of golden yellow, cranberry red, deep purple and sparkling lime, which seemed to glow from within as I gazed at them.

The soft clinking sound of bottles being passed around merged well with the dim, diffused yellow lights of the room.

Conversation began to flow more freely. We discussed a whole lot of interesting subjects - where we'd all vacationed last, what we did weekends, which movies we had caught lately, which book we would pick to read on a two-hour flight and many other absorbing issues like that. Mr. Kapil's most trusted right hand man, the finance whiz, Mr. Jha suggested I use his first name only and offered to give me advice anytime on my tax planning. The jackets were flung over armchairs and the men's ties seemed to have lost their perfected knots. I idly watched Desmond, lulled into a happy snooze, who was still sitting upright with one of the bottles balanced precariously on his belly.

Mr. Kapil described their huge family estate and invited LL and I to schedule an offsite visit. We were duly flattered to accept.

For the first time, I heard Mr. Kapil laugh out loud. A nice, honest laugh.

He seemed to be listing slightly to one side on his couch, but looked immensely comfortable and somehow more humane. Like just another regular guy, not a tycoon. Finding it more and more difficult to remember what exactly my objections were, I couldn't understand why I'd ever thought of him as uptight or sombre.

Settling back more comfortably amongst the deep cushions in a happy haze, and helping myself to more of the cranberry, I realized LL was trying to catch my eye. He'd seen Desmond too and I could tell he hoped the client wouldn't notice. He waved me over and said that he was stepping into his office cabin briefly. I guessed the excess alcohol was catching up with him.

I was still wondering why on earth LL wanted me to go along, unless I had to help carry him, when LL prompted, "Didn’t you want to see me about something?"

"Who me?", I responded. "No, not at all!"

Most guys I know have been found imbibing before noon at least once, and I had always found their tales intriguing. The scene of the crime in such cases is usually a destination like Goa, a land where all is forgiven. This is one account where I too stood guilty as charged, but as I'm sure you agree - amidst impeccable company.