Desicritics Satire

Fiction: The Telephone Preference Service

Vinod Joseph — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 02:32:56 EDT

The Telephone Preference Service

'I wish I could take a day off and take you somewhere, but ..........' Adwait gave Nimisha a rueful grin.'

'No, that's fine. I'm absolutely alright. There are so many things to do here.'

'It's because I took two days off for the house hunting, then I was in India for 3 weeks...'

'Two weeks and three days. You rejoined work on a Thursday, didn't you?'

'I did. But Ralph manages to make it sound as if I've been away for four weeks.'

'I'm telling you, I really don't like the sound of him.'

'No, he isn't nasty. Almost all audit partners are like him. They are workhorses. They work hard and they want their assistants to work just as hard. If not harder.'

'You will kill yourself at this rate. You've worked on all weekends ever since we came back.'

'Just a few hours each day. That's nothing. There have been times when I've had to work ten or twelve hours each on Saturdays and Sundays.' Adwait couldn't help but sound like a martyr.

Nimisha glanced at the clock and said, 'You'll miss your Tube.'

Adwait drew Nimisha close to him and said, 'so what? There'll be another.'

Nimisha giggled.

Later that afternoon, Adwait called Nimisha from office and said, 'I don't know when I will get to leave today evening. It could be pretty late.'

'That's okay. I went for a walk after lunch.'

'How was it?'

'Did you know there's a park just ten minutes away?'

'No, I didn't. Actually wait. I think the letting agent did mention something like that.'

'And you didn't bother to verify it.' Adwait could see Nimisha's smile at the other end of the line. Thank God she was not one of those typical Indian women who couldn't take care of themselves when in a foreign land.

'Listen, I've got to go.' Someone was standing behind him. Was it Ralph? Adwait hanged up without waiting for Nimisha's response.

No, it was not Ralph. It was Darren, a fellow flunkey like him.

'Checking if your missus is okay, are you?'

'Just a quick call.'

'I just can't believe you married a girl you met only three times before.'

'It isn't as bad as it sounds.' Wearily Adwait launched into a hesitant explanation of how 'modern' arranged marriages were these days.

'There is no pressure to get married. My elder brother saw fifteen different girls before he agreed to marry one. And the one he married, they sort of went out four or five times before they decided to tie the knot.'

'But you didn't get to take out your wife before you married her, did you?'

'That's because I am here and she's ...' Adwait knew that his response sounded very un-English, which made him angry. No one had the right to judge him.

'It's worked out well for me. Touchwood.' Tap, tap, his knuckles rapped his desk.

'That's all that matters mate.' Darren tried to sound sincere.

'Aren't we going for that seminar tomorrow?'

'Yes, at four. It should get over by six. Six thirty, if a few idiots decide to ask questions at the end to show everyone how smart they are.'

'There'll always be at least one person who will have a question. Then someone else who was planning to be quiet until then will ask the second question, then a timid, balding man in the front row will overcome his inhibitions and ....'

Darren laughed at Adwait's joke. 'Ralph's balding,' he reminded Adwait. They both turned around guiltily to make sure Ralph wasn't around.

'Listen, the lads are planning to go out for a drink after that seminar. You game for it?'

'Yes of course,' Adwait replied with a sinking heart.

It was almost nine thirty as he got off the Tube and started to walk home. Wearily he dialled the home number. As soon as Nimisha said hello, he said, 'I hope you've had dinner.'

'No, I didn't. But if you were late by another ten minutes, I would have.'

'Atta girl, that's the way to go!' Adwait's spirits rose. It would have been dreadful if Nimisha had turned out to be some one who couldn't cope and sat around moping.

Later that night, he confessed to Nimisha. 'I'm going to be very late tomorrow.'

'Didn't you say you would be home early because you were going to a seminar and you would come home straight after that?'

'Yes, but we are supposed to go out for drinks after that. I just can't get out of that. Most probably we'll end up at Rhimjhim. That's the curry house we always go to.'

'So, you'll have fun.' Adwait anxiously searched Nimisha's face for any signs of anger or sadness. There was none, thankfully.

'I thought that everyone went out only on Fridays.'

'These days they prefer to have office evenings on Thursdays. On Fridays, people tend to go home straight after work.'

'So, will you come home straight after work on Friday?'

'Yes, I will.' The earnestness in Adwait's voice made Nimisha smile.

'By what time?'

'Ahhhh! I just don't know.'

The next evening, after the seminar, the reception after a seminar and a visit to a pub, they did end up eating dinner at Rhimjhim, as Adwait had predicted.

'Ad-Wait Chop-Raa! How are you?' Adwait couldn't place the middle-aged man sitting opposite him, who addressed him by his full name, as he took the Metropolitan Line home.

'Don't you remember me Ad-Wait? Don't you work for Stetson?'

'Yes, I do,' Adwait conceded. Was this one of their clients? Some one he had met during one of the audits.

'All well with you?'

'Yes. And how are you?' Adwait was forced to ask.

'Pretty good. Out with the guys?'

'Well yes.'

'How's Chris doing?'

'Chris?' Adwait thought for a few seconds before he asked, 'Which Chris?'

'Chris Lambert of course.'

Adwait pursed his lips and thought hard. Finally he conceded, 'I'm really sorry. I don't know any Chris.'

'Neither do I,' his companion said gently as Adwait tried to shake off the effects of the two bottles of Cobra beer he had during dinner, the two pints of Carlings he had at the pub and the small glass of red wine he had at the reception after the seminar.

Adwait started at the man.

'You know me, don't you?' he was asked.

'Yes, I do.' Adwait wanted to put his head between his legs and sleep.

The Tube pulled into Finchley Road Station. Another ten minutes and he would be home.

'I'm getting off here Ad-Wait,' the man said as he got up. 'If I were you, I'd take that badge off.' He gave the nametag pinned to Adwait's suit a tap with his forefinger and walked off.

Adwait almost ripped off the plastic in his shame. After a furious minute, he started to laugh. He was just overwrought. Nimisha was coping well, much better than he had ever expected she would. They would soon settle into a routine. He would get used to life as a married man with a hectic workload.

He put the tag which said 'Adwait Chopra, Audit Services, Stetson,' into a pocket.

It was almost eleven thirty when he got home. Feeling very tired, he walked in on tiptoe and took off his shoes before peeping into the bedroom. Thankfully Nimisha had gone to sleep.

'Please wake me up when you see this,' the yellow post-it on the fridge said. Like hell, he would. Adwait quietly brushed his teeth and stealthily crept into bed. He must have been a bit clumsy after all that liquor since Nimisha woke up almost immediately. Adwait touched her face, more to reassure him, and said, 'I'm back.'

The next day he was really busy in a series of meetings and didn't have the time to even call Nimisha until eight that evening, when he was ready to leave for home.

'I'll see you in an hour. And I am not going to do any work over the weekend!'

After they finished dinner, Nimisha told Adwait, 'I got a phone call today. Two calls actually.'

Adwait's eyes furrowed in concentration. 'Someone called you on this number?'

'Guess?' Nimisha teased him.

'I don't know.' Adwait picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen to wash up.

'You don't have to,' Nimisha said, but didn't really stop Adwait from washing the plates.

As he rinsed the bone china, he said, 'Was it Papa?'

'No, it wasn't him.' Nimisha's father had called them once so far, just to make sure Nimisha was doing okay. It couldn't be Daddy and Mummy, no, his parents would never call.

'Was it that woman? The one met at that Indian shop last Sunday. We gave her our number, didn't we?'

'And she gave us hers. I think she wants us to call her. No, it was not her. The calls were for you actually. The first call was a 'He'. I told him that you weren't here and later his colleague, a 'She', called back at seven hoping you'd be back. I had a long chat with the second caller.'

'Shit! They were marketing calls!'

'Yes. They wanted to sell us an insurance policy. They were very persistent. Wouldn't take no for an answer.'

'You ought to have slammed the phone down.'

'I was irritated a bit. Especially with the woman who called second. She seemed to think I was a fool who would believe everything she said.'

'Why didn't you cut her off?

'I should have,' Nimisha said ruefully, but I just couldn't be rude.'

'For God's sake, why can't you be rude? I'm going to place our number on the TPS right away.' Adwait went to the laptop and pulled up a chair.

'Do you know what the TPS is?' he asked Nimisha

'No. What's it?'

'The Telephone Preference Service. You go to the TPS website, enter your telephone number, email and house address and they will send you an email.' Adwait's stocky fingers quickly keyed the information in.

'I had done this when I was at my Ealing studio flat. Not a single bastard could trouble me then.'

Adwait went to his Yahoo mailbox and a new email had arrived. 'It's pretty simple. I just need to click on this link and......Done! But it'll take twenty eight days before it becomes effective.'

'What happens now?' Nimisha asked. 'What's it for?'

'Those marketing bastards can't make any unsolicited calls to this number once this becomes effective. They won't pester you at all.' Adwait took a deep satisfied breath and he turned around to look at Nimisha.

Nimisha's face had turned red. Her eyes were welling up.

'Hey! What's the matter?'

Nimisha burst into tears. 'Oh! You shouldn't have blocked those calls. They are the only ones I spoke with all day today,' she sobbed.

On the Task of Writing Meaningful Words

Zia Ahmad — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 20:02:32 EDT

Writer's block is fiction, doesn't happen, an excuse for pure dumb laziness and a supremely narcissistic and vain labored way to remind oneself of his/her pretentious talented bearings. Just as anyone can sing, cook and laugh, writing is a vocation any one can take up. Nothing to it, easiest thing in the world. Think about it, you have a brain, don't you? Out of all the creative forms, it's writing that asks for the most meager of capital investments: a pen and a piece of paper and if you are anything like me who has a hideous handwriting and finds pushing pencils down on paper woefully tedious, you can always type. No running away from writing.

Of course, being literate helps and so does a vocabulary but one does not has to worry about that for a thesaurus is never too far away. If soppy dumb housewives wheedle out God awful romance novels and cook books why can't anyone else.

There is an unbound wealth of topics, things, situations, stuff to write about. And don't let anyone tell you to do cumbersome Herculean tasks like doing research or be more than aptly knowledgeable about whatever you intend to write on. Just choose something to write about and go do it, hammer it down, and scribble it mercilessly. Take cue from the leaders of your country or where ever you work and don't think, proceed heedlessly. Write write till your fingers get crooked or your fingertips loose their sense of touch, smell and taste.

When I say to write without thinking, it doesn't necessarily mean to carve out plain dumb gibberish in the fabric of that most fine, pure and virgin stretch of white. in the mind of rodents you can be sad low timer in de woods. Hmm I wanted to demonstrate a point here but I guess I am talented and am utterly unable to write anything which is senseless. So that helps to be a good writer, talent. Schools teach you how to hone this talent and as you grow up you discover there are fancy schools which can help you with your talent through extorting you to astronomical amount of hard cash in fee, subjugating you to the whim and eventual degradation by your teachers in front of your peers and utter disrespect of people who are weary of the written word (they may number in millions), at the end of which, if nothing else, you will be well trained in the art of filling out birthday cards.

To write stories and scripts and other sundry variations of fiction, I find honesty and truth only to be an anchor to keep the whole firmament (feel free to use words in your writing you don’t even know the meaning to, it impresses stupid people) down to our very own flesh and bone world. Honesty and truth helps us relate to a story but you just have to use it enough for the sake of relevance. Don't over do it. It just has to form the background and the rest is up to the fruitful whimsies of your mind. Quoting a character from Star Trek (one of the various spinoffs), "truth is the lack of imagination". So in order to be a good storyteller, it is essential that you are a good and confident liar.

On the flip side, writing up factual stuff or non fiction as some stuck up librarians would correct you, is a piece of cake. You don't have to invent any spaceship or imaginary betrayals; you are just expected to give an account of whatever. It's really simple, just think about writing an essay on a trip to the zoo.

Teamwork

rads — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 00:03:29 EDT

Problem:

You land outside a center for your son's class. The doors are shut and the access requires the teacher to buzz doors open. The doorbell's busted. Three minutes left for the class to start and the son gets antsy.

Wife's solution:

1. Stress and curse under breath for a full minute, before wheels churn.
2. Ask son to check if he has the teacher's phone number written somewhere in his book.
3. Drive into an alley, put blinkers on, and shield the toddler's incessant questions on why the car was parked and not going the usual route.
4. Check phone to see if the phone number was miraculously saved. Realize it isn't and wonder why.
5. In the meanwhile, try calling another parent who also attends the same class. No answer.
6. Use the handy iPhone and check gmail to see if the number's in any email.
7. Acknowledge that gmail's superior search function in the new updated iPhone system is useless, unless the right query's inserted.
8. Think.
9. Realize with glee that the teacher had indeed called, but sadly 7 days ago.
10. Quickly stroll through the calls and find a number that could match the time when the call was received.
11. Thank iPhone's feature on saving all missed calls.
12. Dial.
13. Get a voicemail that says "am out of the country, but here's my sub's number"
14. Memorize the said number rattled out in a tone that resembles a desi version of Kramer on caffeine.
15. Dial the number.
16. Get the sub to open door for husband waiting outside.

Husband's solution:

1. Say 'Oh'.
2. Call the wife.

Phew!

Bubbly — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 10:22:49 EDT

(This is a humorous script in dialogues between a boy and a girl in a park. He is a narcissist and a stalker too. With a never-say-die spirit, the day is not far when he will meet his match.)

I love you...

I knew it. You love me. Since the first day I saw you in the park, I knew it. Deep in my heart, I had always seen a girl like you. And my dream has been answered. I always thought you were following me and today you have come and admitted it. You are...

Stop it. Stop it...

No, I will not stop. I will do anything you ask me but I will not stop. I have to tell you so many things. My heart is so full of love. It was finding an outlet. And today I have found you. Let me tell you something. I am looking forward to a blissful wedded life. A few kids and we will have a wholesome family. You will like your life with me...
Allow me to say something...

No, no, no. You don't have to say anything. You have already said everything. It is my turn now. I have so much to say. No girl ever said these three magical words to me. I can see the stars shining. It is such a sweet feeling. What are you doing this weekend? I...

Give me a break, will you? I wanted to say I love your poodle. It is so cute.

Oh! Then why didn't you stop me from talking so much.

I did but you...

Oh! I know, you like listening to me. Most girls are my fan. They love hearing what I have to say. They love hanging around me. I have the gift of gab. Even you...

You are nuts...

Most people do think that ways about me but then they come around. And then...

Help...help. Will someone help me, please? Police, police...

Yes, I am a cop. You will find none friendlier than me. I can help you out in any situation. If you need me in the dead of night, I will be there. I...

(She runs away.)

Oh! She's too shy. She just didn't have the time to hearme out... Never mind. There, that one. Hi...

Poetry: Bozo, My Dog

Bubbly — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 22:52:28 EDT

About him, I am always agog
He's web savvy, he loves to blog
In IT world, he fits like a cog
He is Bozo. He is my DOG

His breakfast begins with eggnog
His eyes are sharp in dark or fog
His interest lies in history and geog
Limelight he always tries to hog

My visitors, he is first to interrog
Regularly he goes for morning jog
In street fights, he acts as kenalog
On my friends, he maintains a log

At times, he whines in a monolog
Any stranger, he fixes as a nog
All passing beauties, he gladly og
He conducts marathon run after prog

He relishes a dish of yummy quahog
Drivers are wary when he's a roadhog
With a life of ease, he never ever slog
A city traveler, he's written a travelog

With his bark, a sink he can unclog
Against pollution, he lectures on vog
Against profanities, he's banned wog
He is always polite, he doesn't exag

He's a fitness freak, does active yog
Makes him run fast or fly like a zog

Harry Potter in Technicolor, with Bollywood Masala

Fleiger — Tue, 2 Jun 2009 10:25:31 EDT

With Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince coming up (and G. I. Joe not up any time soon), I am reading up on my HP lore. And as my history probably warns you, I started thinking how Harry Potter series is another example of how Bollywood Masala genre is much more pervasive than we give it credit for.

"How?" you ask? (OK, I will wait till somebody actually asks that). And the answer is - The series has:

Crazy villain, his lair, and dressed henchmen: Hey, Lord Voldermort’s got noseless face with slit eyes. His Death Eaters dress in long black robes, cover their faces with masks, and have got snake tattoos on their forearms. Can it get more masala villainish than this? (OK, it can, see below).
Plus, I know Malfoy Manor appeared late in series, but it has live peacocks and dungeons. What more do you want in a lair?

Comic sideplot: I dare you, show me any comedy team who can beat The Weasleys, Fred and George.

College romances: Hero’s bumbling friend falls in love with his nerdy friend. If hero’s friend has a sister and she lives till the end unmolested by the villain, the hero is bound to end up with her. Hero falls for the college beauty queen, only to realize he truly belongs with the girl next door. Have I forgotten any Masala stereotypes?
OK, it is more school romance than college one. But then, a. western kids and/or b. today’s kids do that in schools.
Oh yeah, a love triangle, but it is more due to magic gone wrong than intentional, so I won’t count it.

Parental sacrifices: You can actually watch HP dubbed in Hindi, with both Harry’s parents going “Nahin, mere bete ko mat maro”, without feeling that you are watching something foreign.

But still, something is missing from this story to make it a full-fledged Bolly-masala flick.

Separated twin brother: Any good masala film has to have a separated twin. Here’s how it would play out: When Lord Voldemort tried to kill Harry, his twin brother Larry (is there any other name rhyming with Harry?) was picked up by Death Eaters. They raised him as their own, put him in Durmstrang, and raised him on the "Purebloods supremacy" doctrine. They also named him Ambrosius or something like that, which probably didn’t help him any more than his original name.
Years later, he came across Harry while fighting with the Death Eaters. They recognize each other by the identical scars on opposite sides of their faces. Larry then sacrifices his life in place of Harry, while Harry goes on to triumph over Lord Voldemort.
Unless Larry has a “good” girlfriend, in which case, he is redeemed by fighting for the good side.

“Love” sacrifices: OK, Ginny is Ron’s sister, and The Hero does not sacrifice his love for his sidekick (not at the end, at least). So, we can have Ron and Harry fall in love with Cho Chang (or how about Fleur, if it must come to that), before realizing who their respective actual love is.

Item numbers (“Weasley is our king” does not count): Malfoy Manor has rotating tortured prisoners, but no dancing vamps.
Now let me scrubs the images of Bellatrix and Narcissa dancing. But till then, have I missed anything?

Fiction: Motherhood - Her Story

Harsha Goolya — Sat, 30 May 2009 09:53:55 EDT

She felt a tingle in her spine, it was a pain that brought a smile on her face,

She wondered at the stages that the lifeform within her underwent, from a single cell to its eventual growth as her successor,

She felt a delight that she could never explain, A prayer would go out everytime she thought of that weird form of muscle and tissue, The scan that she saw felt that it wasn't yet a reflection of anyone in her lost family, However, she knew that it would be enough if it carried some bit of her beliefs and values,

Why would she have to sacrifice two of her ribs, if it weren't for the beauty and absolute divinity of childbirth?

In a conversation between the people she worked for, Lalitha overheard that women were short of a pair of ribs in the spine because of this wonderful miracle.

She was a house maid who didn't have any support from her husband. He owned his own auto, but was lecherous and demanding in his ways. She feared the influence he would have on her child and avoided being in his presence.

The reality of her existence remained in the hope for her unborn child.

Her single minded belief was that the new born would become her purpose and mission in life. Her role today would become meaningless tomorrow as caring for her flesh and blood would take precedence over all her needs. She was willing to let go of all her possessions just to ensure the happiness of this unborn child.

She knew that the path ahead had many sacrifices and pain that she had to endure.Pain she was well accustomed to. The changes she felt within her as the baby grew, the unpredictable feelings of elation and sadness, the hopelesness of poverty,the uncontrollable vomiting, the need to talk and hold hands with people she cared for were just the first few signs of this pain.

She chose to ignore it.

She wanted to have and do all that expecting mothers did.
She ate all that she could find to ensure that the growing unborn would end up being healthy. She had even stolen some money from her husband to get a scan done to feel the vibrations of the baby. She wanted to feel one with her true self through this baby, and she promised herself each day that she will do all in her power to give the little one all that she craved for, but never got - a shelter, hot meals, a school to go to.

She worked harder and harder each day, hoping that she would save as much as she could to ensure that her dream of becoming a nurse would become a reality through this child.She loved the purity of that white uniform and the utter selflessness of the role of a nurse.

She would spend her free time in temples, listening to the wisdom of ancient chants as she had heard that unborn's who heard chants and readings from the Geeta would end up being wiser after they were born.

She tried to listen to the broken radio and many a times covered her broken down walls with color paper to make the unborn feel the vibrations of a vibrant colorful life. She would sit and gaze at stars in the night trying to remember fairy tales and stories that she vaguely remembered.

She watched the ramblings in her stomach and often spoke incomprehensibly in her sleep as she felt the days tumble towards the probable date of delivery.

She had one wish before she headed into labor - she wanted to head to the beach to make the baby familiar with the beauty of the sun and the sea- she wanted to talk to it about nature's elements and its benefits.

In the daze of expectation, she became impervious to the approaching car - the headlights of which possibly reminded her of intense suffering stars.

The papers next day had a small column in page five about a probable drunken driver who had mowed a pregnant homeless woman on the beach front road.

Fiction: Maternity Leave

Vinod Joseph — Fri, 29 May 2009 14:07:56 EDT

Rajeev wanted to sit down for a while and get some rest, but Kiyan didn’t give him a chance. To be honest, Carla had been running after little Kiyan since morning and he had no right to complain.

‘Kiyan, don’t go there. You’ll fall into the water.’ Rajeev picked up Kiyan and carried him back to the top of the steps of the beautiful Santa Maria della Salute where Carla was sitting. The moment he put him down next to Carla, Kiyan started to slowly and carefully climb down the steps. Rajeev watched with wry amusement. Kiyan took a while to get to the bottom, after which he ran towards to the pier.

‘Don’t go near the water!’ Rajeev pointlessly admonished Kiyan as he ran after him. It was so easy for that boy to fall into the water, or if he didn’t jump in, that is. And there was no getting away from the water in Venice. It was everywhere.

‘Shall we head back?’ he shouted to Carla from below as he dragged Kiyan away from the water’s edge once more.

Carla looked at her watch and said, ‘No. We have plenty of time.’ The she added with a laugh, ‘don’t be so restless.’

She was right. It was only nine thirty. The vaporetto would take them from Salute to Rialto in less than fifteen minutes. The walk to their hotel on the Calle de la Fava was less than five minutes. Unless Kiyan insisted on walking rather than be carried, in which event, it would take them ten or fifteen minutes. The return trip from their hotel to Rialto would be painful with their big suitcases since there was a small bridge to cross and carrying the big suitcase up those steps would take time. The vaporetto ride from the Rialto to Ferrovia was only another ten minutes and the Santa Lucia train station was right across the Ferrovia pier. Their train to Rome was at quarter past twelve. He couldn’t help being restless. He was always restless. Not that his restlessness was a bad thing. He wouldn’t have set up Chipmunks and made such a success of it if he was the type to sit on a fat arse and watch the world go by.

Rajeev relaxed his grip on Kiyan’s shoulders a bit. Instantly Kiyan tried to break free. Rajeev reluctantly carried him back to the bottom of the steps saying, ‘When Kiyan grows up, Kiyan will learn to swim and then Daddy will let Kiyan play close to the water.’

‘Why don’t you go inside and take a look?’ Rajeev encouraged Carla. Ultimately she would want to see the inside of the church, even though they had seen half a dozen churches in the three days they had been in Venice. Might as well get over the viewing so that they could go back to the hotel, Rajeev thought. Carla got up to go inside.

‘Kiyan, do you want to go inside the church with Mummy?’

‘No, he doesn’t. He hates the indoors, even that of a beautiful church,’ Carla brushed aside a few strands of hair from her freckled face as she spoke. It was very warm and Carla had her sweater off and tied around her waist, which made her look plumper than she actually was.

Rajeev did not press the argument. Carla was right, though it wouldn’t have hurt Kiyan to see the inside of a church.

At that moment, Rajeev’s mobile rang. Or rather it vibrated inside his pocket. As he fished it out, he yelled, ‘Carla, hold on. I need to take this call. It’s the office. Kiyan, here, go to Mummy, Daddy needs to talk to someone’

Carla’s face puffed up in annoyance, but Rajeev ignored it. If he worked for the bloody NHS, he too would keep his mobile switched off while he was on holiday.

As he suspected, it was the office.

‘Hello!’ He bellowed into his phone as Carla came down the steps and took hold of Kiyan.

It turned out to be Linda. ‘Raj, I’m sorry to trouble you when you are on holiday. Do you have a couple of minutes?’’

Yes, of course. He definitely had a couple of minutes. He owned the business, didn’t he?’

‘Today morning Jessie interviewed all three candidates Charlie had short-listed. She says she is fine with them all.’

‘Good. Let Charlie take the call. He’s going to be the direct supervisor, isn’t he? Have you asked him whom he wants to hire?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Linda paused for a second.

‘That’s brilliant! Good.’ Rajeev never hesitated in lavishing praise, which didn’t cost him a penny.

‘And what did Charlie have to say?’ Rajeev prompted Linda who was actually the office administrator. She doubled as the HR manager when situations like this one arose. Which wasn’t very often. With a staff of less than twenty, it didn’t really make sense to have a HR manager in addition to the administrator.

Charlie said he likes Toni the most. That’s Toni with an ‘i' and not a ‘y.’

‘Hmmm. If he has made up his mind, then I have nothing further to add.’

‘Raj, I think you should interview those three candidates before we make an offer. You are the best judge of people I’ve ever known.’

Linda, the born flatterer! However, he was definitely a better judge of people than either Jessie or Charlie. Jessie was strictly a hard-nosed accountant with an unbelievable inability to look beyond numbers, whilst Charlie was a statistician who was determined to miss the woods for the trees.

‘No, no. There’s no need for me to interview anyone. I don’t want to poke my finger in every pie. Charlie is perfectly capable of deciding on his own. In any event, I’m not back for another 4 days.

‘Hmmm. Aaaaah. Well….’

‘Have I missed something?’

‘Well….’

‘Go on, I’m all ears.’ `Since Linda could not see his face, Rajeev did not have to smile.

Linda seemed to sense that Rajeev was getting impatient and her tone became crisper. ‘This is actually none of my business, but ….’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’d still like to know what you have to say.’ If it was none of her business, Linda ought to shut up. At times like this, Rajeev did think he had taken employee empowerment too far. In addition to giving all employees stock options, Rajeev had decentralised decision making to a remarkable extent. Everyone was encouraged to speak his or her mind. All of which helped in keeping employee turnover low though the pay at Chipmunks wasn’t anything great.

‘I met Toni briefly when she came for her first interview. She’s very pleasant and she comes across as a very energetic person with a positive outlook. In fact I liked her a lot.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Rajeev was getting irritated with Linda. He looked around and realised that Carla and Kiyan were not to be seen. Carla must have gone inside the church with Kiyan in tow. Which wasn’t a bad thing, Rajeev thought as he smiled to himself.

‘Toni said she hasn’t ever been on sick leave exceeding a day at a time. And she has been working for almost six years from the time she graduated.’

‘That’s good for us, isn’t it? Too many people take sickies these days.’

‘Toni hasn’t even taken any long leave.’

‘What long leave?’

‘Like maternity leave.’

‘That’s good as well, isn’t it? Oh….. I didn’t realise…’

‘She has been married for 2 years now. She’s almost thirty. She’s bound to start thinking of … you know.’

‘Ha! I see! So, she’s married?’

‘Yes she is. Her husband is a journalist. He works for …’

‘Did you discuss this with Jessie or Charlie?’

‘With Jessie yes. The moment she said she liked all three, I asked her and ..’

‘What did she say?’ Rajeev needlessly prompted Linda.

‘She agrees with me. It’s just a matter of time before Toni goes on ML.’

‘Why is she leaving her current job? From what I know, you aren’t eligible for Maternity Leave until you complete a year at your job.’

‘She was made redundant two months ago. She used to work for Jeremys. They’ve been having huge layoffs at Jeremys you know…’

‘Yes I know Linda.’ Jeremys was the biggest player in market research and Rajeev knew as much about Jeremys as he knew about his own business. ‘I didn’t know Toni was from Jeremys.’

‘Yes she is and ……………..’

‘Why don’t you ask Jessie to have a word with Charlie?’

‘Jessie wants to, but she wanted me to check with you first.’ So it was Jessie’s idea after all. Trust Linda to make it sound as if it was hers. Jessie would know if a woman was planning to get pregnant, wouldn’t she? She had two teenagers, one doing his A levels and the other tackling her GCSE.

‘And please ask Jessie to call me this evening after she’s had a word with Charlie.’ Charlie would have to be handled with caution Rajeev thought as he walked up the steps to the church to join Carla and Kiyan. Though it was almost two years since he persuaded Charlie to leave his job with one of the largest market research firms and join Chipmunks, Charlie had yet to come to terms with the fact that he was now with a very small outfit. One that could not afford to have an employee on Maternity Leave for a year.

Carla and Rajeev had one of their routine arguments on the train to Rome, which was almost empty.

‘You needn’t have booked a ticket for Kiyan,’ Rajeev mildly suggested.

‘What if the train was full and we had to have him on our laps for the entire five hours?’

‘On a weekday? Come on Carla! You know better than that!’

‘It’s only fifty Euros.’

‘It’s not a question of money.’

‘Next time we travel, you should do the bookings.’

‘When I was here last year, it was exactly the same. Charlie was with me and we had a whole coach to ourselves.’

‘I’m sure you had fun,’ Carla remarked sarcastically.

‘With Charlie? Yeah, from the time we got on the train at Milan till we got to Rome, he talked non-stop about work. Such riveting stuff it was.’

‘You could have come here with Charlie once again. You both could have kept your mobiles on Loud and discussed work non-stop.’

‘Honey, I didn’t mean to…………….’ They kissed and made up. Things would have become even better if Kiyan who was skipping up and down the aisles till then hadn’t stopped and come over to sit between them.

‘Let’s take a taxi to the hotel,’ Rajeev said when they reached Rome.

‘No, let’s take the Metro to Cornelia. We can take a taxi from there.’

‘Why didn’t you book a hotel close to a metro station?’ Rajeev asked mildly before adding, ‘it doesn’t matter. You know Rome better than I do.’

‘No, I think you know it better. You come here so often on business. My last visit was four years ago!’

‘But you spent three months here during your gap year!’ Rajeev said as he picked up a struggling Kiyan. ‘Kiyan, I’ll have to carry you buddy. If you are to walk, we’ll never get to the Metro platform.’

Carla inhaled heavily and said, ‘I hope it hasn’t changed. Each time I come back here, I am scared that it has changed and each time it has been the same.’

‘You had fun here, didn’t you?’

‘Yes I did,’ Carla said with a sparkle in her eyes that hinted at a world into which Rajeev would never have access.

‘Kiyan, do you like Roma?’ Rajeev asked Kiyan who resolutely ignored the question and continued to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.

As they stood on an escalator that took them underground to the Metro, Rajeev asked Carla, ‘is it Line A or B?’

‘Line A, towards Battistini. It’s the stop just before Battistini.’

Rajeev’s mobile shuddered once and was still. ‘Damn,’ Rajeev said as he took his mobile out of his pocket and looked at it. ‘Out of range.’

‘Do you want to go back and return the call?’ Carla asked with extra sweetness.

‘No, of course not. Whoever it is can wait.’

‘Was it the office?’ Carla wanted to know.

‘Yes, it was,’ Rajeev conceded with a wry smile. ‘Must be Jessie. There is something slightly important going on. Otherwise I wouldn’t be so concerned.’ Might as well explain to Carla, Rajeev thought. Otherwise, there was a very good chance of Carla sulking and ruining their holiday.

‘What’s going on? An unhappy client?’

‘I’ll explain once we are inside the Metro,’ Rajeev said as they walked towards the platform wading through a bunch of office-goers returning home. The Metro was crowded and they had to push themselves in. A young girl got up and offered her seat to Rajeev seeing that he had Kiyan in his arms. Rajeev smiled his thanks and nodded towards Carla who took Kiyan from him and sat down on the proffered seat. Rajeev pushed himself to where Carla had been standing and placed his arm with an air of proprietorship on the large suitcase that Carla had been dragging behind her. It was only at Baldo degli Ubaldi that Rajeev got a place to sit, a good three seats away from Carla and Kiyan. Within a few minutes, they were at Cornelia and they got off the Metro.

They found a taxi and the taxi driver agreed that he would only charge them by the meter for the trip to their hotel at the Aurelia Antica. However, within a minute of the taxi moving off, he shook his head and said ‘Signore, this place. Very far. Fifteen Euros.’

Rajeev looked at Carla who shrugged her shoulders. `Si, Si’ Rajeev told the driver who gave Rajeev an approving nod and stepped on the accelerator.

Carla turned to him and asked, ‘tell me, what’s going on in the office?’

‘It’s a bit complicated. I would like to know what you think as well. Why don’t I tell you what it is over dinner?’

‘So that you can call back your office now?’ Carla did not seem to be angry, only resigned.

‘Well, once Jessie leaves office it is tough to talk to her. She has two kids you know.’

Carla was silent and Rajeev took it as consent. He quickly dialled Jessie on her mobile.

‘Jessie? Some one called me from office. I thought it might be you.’

‘Yes, it was me,’ Jessie said. ‘I had a word with Charlie.’

‘And?’

‘He was under the impression that if we hire Toni and Toni goes on ML, we will hire a temp to provide maternity cover!’

‘I hope you disabused him of that fantastic notion. Did you remind him that if we were to spend 20K on maternity cover, his bonus would take a hit?’

‘I did actually. It took me a while, but he finally saw sense.’

‘Thank God. I am sure that of the three he short-listed, at least one is unlikely to go on Maternity Leave in the near future.’

‘The other two are men.’

‘Did he tell you which of the two he likes?’

‘Yes, he did. It’s …’

‘Please ask him to email the name to Linda copying us both. His email should explain that his chosen candidate is better than Toni and the other chap for X, Y, Z reasons. And please ask Linda to prepare the offer letter.’

Jessie was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, ‘Charlie actually wanted to know why we didn’t weed Toni out at the initial stages! Can you believe that?’

‘Charlie is really wet behind the ears. If the Equal Opportunities Commission gets to know that we don’t interview married women likely to take ML, we’ll be in shit. I guess Charlie has never heard of the Equal Opportunities Commission.’

‘He can’t see beyond his data and various ways of analysing it!’

‘It’s not that I have anything against hiring women or giving them maternity benefits, it’s just that Chipmunks is just a start-up and we can’t afford to have employees go on ML.’

‘I know Raj! I know! For God’s sake, I am a woman.’

‘Once we are bigger, and I know that we are destined to become bigger and bigger, once we cross critical mass, we will stop doing things like this. We’ll be as generous with benefits as any of the big players.’

‘Raj, you don’t have to feel so guilty. Even the big players do their best to avoid hiring women who are likely to go on ML. I remember after I announced that I was planning to take Maternity Leave for the second time, and at that time I used to work for _______________, my boss made my life so miserable. He would have fired me if he could have done it. And after I came back from ML, he kept giving me such crappy work, I was forced to quit and go to ______________.’

‘Chipmunks will be different, once it is bigger,‘ Raj declared fervently. ‘Listen Jessie, thanks for this. You take care. Okay?’

‘Bye Raj. You have fun. Give Kiyan a hug from me. And please say Hello to Carla’

Rajeev quickly dumped the mobile into his pocket and looked at Carla’s face to see if she was annoyed with him. Carla was staring out of the window with a blank face.

‘We ought to do a Super Duper dinner today. When in Roma, eat like a Roman.’

‘They don’t have vomitoriams these days.’

‘Carla!’

‘I was just joking. The restaurants here are so much better than in London.’

‘Where should we go? You are the Rome expert.’

‘Do you remember the restaurant we went to at Ottaviano? Shall we go there?’

There was no time to say more since the taxi slowed down and they realised that they had arrived at their hotel.

As the taxi driver helped Rajeev take the suitcase out of the boot, he said with a smile, ‘three Euros for luggage.’

Rajeev looked at Carla who was busy preventing Kiyan from running away. Not a single hotel employee could be seen outside the hotel who might have helped Rajeev. With a smile and a shrug, Rajeev said, ‘okay. Si.’

They had a good room with a view of the hotel’s swimming pool. As they changed out of their travel stained clothes, Rajeev told Carla, ‘we were on the verge of making a job offer to someone. That’s for Charlie’s team. Then we decided not to.’

‘Why?’

Because she’s around thirty, has been married for two years and is likely to start thinking of a family.’

‘You don’t want to hire someone who might go on maternity leave within a year of being hired?’

‘Yes,’ Rajeev said simply and waited for Carla to explode. She didn’t. Instead she smiled and said, ‘I’m so glad I work for the NHS. If I were in the private sector, we might not have had Kiyan.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Even if you had to quit your job, we would have managed on my income!’

‘I don’t have the energy to go to Ottaviano for dinner? Can’t we find something close by?’ Rajeev was relieved at the change of topic. Carla did look tired.

They ended up going to a restaurant that was just outside the hotel. As they ordered starters and their main course, Rajeev said, ‘I’m famished. I will go for a secondi after this.’

‘Raj, don’t get carried away. You need to lose weight.’ Which was a bit rich coming from Carla, Rajeev thought. She was still good looking, though. Rajeev looked at Carla for a second time for reassurance. Yes, she wasn’t bad looking.

The waiter brought them the Frascati wine Rajeev had chosen along with a plate of Panini. He opened the bottle and poured a little wine into Rajeev’s glass. Rajeev drank it slowly with a serious look on his face and nodded at the waiter who quickly filled his glass and then Carla’s.

‘What happens if you say you don’t like the wine you ordered?’ Carla asked and laughed.

‘We need to keep up appearances honey. What’s life without a bit of charade? Do you like it?’

Carla sipped her wine and said ‘it’s good, though I would have preferred a Chianti any day.’

‘Come on now! We can’t order a Tuscan wine in Rome! When we go to Florence, you can have a Chianti! Frascati is supposed to be the best among Latium wines.’

‘Fine! Let’s keep up the charade. This wine is amazing. Splendid! Are you happy now?’ Carla laughed at her own joke.

Rajeev looked around and said, ‘look at these Italians. They spend two or three hours over dinner almost every day. An entire bottle of wine, starters, two main courses and a dessert. How do they manage to look so fit?’

‘I don’t think they eat much breakfast or lunch. They exercise a lot and they eat their dinner slowly. A siesta in the afternoon, a slow dinner over two or three hours.’

‘You are not angry with me, are you darling?’ Raj asked. ‘About what I told you?’

‘No honey. Of course not. I understand perfectly well. You can’t afford to have people on maternity! Not when Chipmunks is just taking off!’

They drank the wine in silence. Out of the blue, Carla asked, ‘do you think we’ll have another child?’

Rajeev looked at Kiyan who was strapped into a child seat and was busy playing with the plastic baby cutlery placed in front of him.

‘We should, shouldn’t we? I’m sure the NHS will survive even if you go on maternity leave once more.’

‘Kiyan, would you like to have a brother or sister to play with?’ Carla asked Kiyan who carefully considered the question and went back to playing with his red plastic spoon and fork.

Before Carla could repeat her question, the waiter re-appeared with their starters.

Poetry: A Conspiracy of Silence

Harsha Goolya — Wed, 6 May 2009 18:51:48 EDT

Silence!

Silence the word is all powerful
It's the peace that flows within our soul as we allow Mother Nature to use her magic wand
It's a bliss that a heightened sense of a meditative spell could take us to
It's that acute state where the formless is felt in the form

However, this very silence can become stifling, become restrictive and regressive
In a vocal context silence is equated to acceptance and voicelessness

A conspiracy of silence pervades as the voice remains stifled, unheard of and mute

Many a thought remains and doesn't transform into the simplicity of words and the silence becomes melancholic

Despair, desolation, helplessness everything connotes to silence

Silence that becomes a collective psyche

A nation's repressed consciousness

A conspiracy

I call this message the conspiracy of silence as I hear whispers, I hear egos, I hear attitudes and behaviours which feel but cant express

Acute transformations all around but no voice to make acuteness collective

Subtle messages, sometimes through the media
Sometimes through the so called intellectuals
Collectively cohesively manipulate
End result remains- a nation of multiple dreams but not enough reality

No voice to express love and passion for a job one enjoys
No voice to oppose the exercise of mandate when existing candidates equally loot happiness and drive agendas glorifying the self
No voice to say no to abuses, and reservations and unnecessary shackles of a caste system that grows more and more powerful

A nation of contrasts
Part of the exalted development driven BRIC (Brazil, Russia,India,China)
And a growing cauldron for the underdeveloped BIMARU! (Bihar, Madhya Pradesh,Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh)

Increased number of students getting educated abroad
Lesser numbers willing to use that education to impact and influence life here
The ones who return are busy mending their own life stories marred with disillusionment

Women increasingly educated
Cannot deny a boring proposal from an Indian living abroad
She becomes a part of a person who cannot share her passions and dreams
Ending up being a glorified educated, sophisticated housewife

Men who are qualified and educated
Return to pick up a customized wife of the Jaat of their forefathers
Not willing to hurt their parents
Guilt ridden and confused

A car worth a lakh rupees heralds a new era of innovation in manufacturing
Jobs in manufacturing no longer excite the young breed of engineers from premiere institutions
Every graduate worth his salt in Engineering wants to become a part of the growing knowledge industry - preferably the techie league
Feel left out and dissatisfied as more and more jobs become maintenance related

Catch 22 – here, there and everywhere
The conspiracy is endless

Satire: Wine Flu

temporal — Tue, 5 May 2009 10:21:35 EDT

This conversation was picked up by the ever present drones in the sky and monitored in Langley Va. Baithak, received the transcripts anonymously in the mail from Agent Fletcher. This recorded conversation was between two leaders of the Afghan Islami Group (AIG) in Central Dufferistan in the Parrot's Peak area of Afghanistan.

Mulla Moolah: Salaam brader.

Mullah Tota: Walaikum.

MM: May Allah bless you with health. How are the boys in your area?

MT: They are ready to go down brader.

MM: Why are you sneezing? And why is your nose is reddish?

MT: My nose? Nothing. It is just a cold.

MM: Cold? May god protect you from the wine flu.

MT: Wine? That would be in Jannah for me.

MM: Don't you listen to BBC Pushto?

MT: I ran out of batteries, what did it say?

MM: The pigs are afflicted with wine flu.

MT: Pigs? Firangis? Wine? Flu? You mean the Firangis have flu? So what?

MM: (grunt) It is a type of flu you get from wine. Heard it on BBC Pushto. The reception was scratchy.

MT: Ah wine. May Allah protect us from worldly sins.

MM: Brader, do you know how they put flu in wine?

MT: Those western pigs, they have no morality.Nothing would surprise me.

MM: (with another grunt) Allah knows everything.

MT: Brader, are you suggesting we have something to do with this wine flu?

MM: (inaudible) ... Sodom and Gomorrah.

MT: We should rid the world of ....(sneezes)

MM: When you go to the base have yourself checked by brader Hakim.

MT: Tell me more about this wine flu. Is it lethal?

MM: Not for the pigs.

MT: Wine flu. I do not know much about wine. Ask me about afim.

MM: Wine and drugs will be the downfall of United States of Sodom and Gomorrah.

MT: You are brilliant brader, mixing haraam with haraam for the infidel pigs.

MM: Our involvement is minimal and returns a thousand fold.

MT: May Allah be pleased with our efforts.

MM: Wonders do not cease in His Kingdom.

MT: Brader what are you suggesting?

MM: Wine is made from grapes

MT: Yes?

MM: Grapes are halaal wine is not.

MT: Allah knows best.

MM: We feed grapes to the pigs.

MT: So that is how it spreads?

MM: The grapes would ferment in their bellies.

MT: A double whammy? Both are haraam!

MM: You see the brilliance?

MT: Double whammy it is...drink and indulge in debauchery.

MM: Yes and then take off their clothes in freezing weather.

MT: Naoozobillah!

MM: And then makes all those porno movies.

MT: Porno movies? What are they?

MM: You don't want to know. They make it out with animals.

MT: Goats?

MM: No, they do not know that pleasure. Dogs, pigs!

MT: May the curse of Allah fall on them. And I hope they leave the goats alone.

MM: May they drown in their drinks.

MT: Amen brader.

(co-written with YA)