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, 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. He pointed 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”.

**Author’s note: 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.

Marrkit’s Memorable Memos

If one studied the memos which did the rounds, one could quite easily imagine the events that led to it.

Each crisis faced was thus chronicled by an appropriately worded memo. New administrative rules were created at the drop of a hat. No matter how absurd.

The current memo in circulation often indicated an accurate reading of the administrative woes of the company. Good practices of HR & Personnel Management were, however, realms that no one in this department had ever entered.

At other times, the memos reflected the diabolical cunning with which the small organisation (read LL & co.) found new ways to frustrate us and take the joy out of living.

Office Memo no. 91

Dear Marrkitians,

We are happy to see that our new policy of introducing alternate Saturdays as a half-day off for the first time in the history of this company was welcomed by all.

However, we have noticed that some employees have taken undue advantage of our leave rules. (Author’s note: One of the newcomers had had the temerity to club his compensatory leave with a Sunday)

Here are new amendments to the Marrkit leave rule policy:-

1. If you have not taken an alternate Saturday off in the month, you are entitled to take a compensatory half-day leave on any other day of the week.
2. This compensatory leave can only be taken in the week following the Saturday you worked on. It expires thereafter.
3. It cannot be taken on any day preceding or succeeding a holiday, including Sundays. (Saturdays & Mondays, therefore, cannot be taken as a half day off)
4. Care should be taken, after permission from your respective group head, that your day of leave does not hinder regular flow of work. (Author’s note: The clincher. This clause effectively meant that no one could take any compensatory leave… ever.)
5. More than two persons cannot take the compensatory leave on the same day. More than one person in the same group cannot take the compensatory leave on the same day.
6. Please submit your application letter for compensatory leave in triplicate, that is, one copy to LL, one to the EA and one to the respective group head.

Kindly adhere to these rules. This memo is available in the leave rule file for reference.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 123

Dear Marrkitians,

Greetings for this festive season!

The Diwali bonus cheques will be given out on the day of Diwali at 8 a.m.

Kindly be present for the pooja and to receive the swami’s blessings. The swami will be from Iskcon temple.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 145

Dear Marrkitians,

Days on which Marrkit will observe a public holiday for this year:

1. 1st January
2. Republic Day – 26th January
3. Independence Day – 15th August
4. Diwali day

No other public or bank holiday will be recognized.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 162

Dear Marrkitians,

The biscuits and snacks provided in the office pantry are for all to enjoy as a facility, however they are primarily provided to be served to clients.

Our office boys have reported that in the last month, the standard biscuit, tea and coffee stock has depleted far more quickly.

This is a gentle reminder that as per our new Marrkit Cost Cutting policy, we would like to hope that we can refrain from having to increase supplies for the next month. We appreciate your support.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 179

Dear Marrkitians,

I will be going for my annual vacation to Switzerland from 15th April to 29th May.

Kindly note that no group heads are allowed to take leave during this time. I am confident that you will ensure that the office remains fully operational in every way.

During my absence, I will call at 9.00 a.m. (IST) to speak to the group heads, everyday.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 185

Dear Marrkitians,

It has been brought to our notice that two employees left for lunch outside of the office premises for 25 minutes.

We expect you to be present in the office during your lunch in case of call, emergency or requirement for your clients.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 204

Dear Marrkitians,

Your cars are parked at the parking space within building premises at your own risk.

We regret to state that in the event of any Marrkit office boy helping himself to your car keys and damaging your car, this organisation will not take responsibility for the same.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 222

Dear Marrkitians,

It has been brought to our notice that some of you are not printing out all emails received at the company email id. Kindly see to it that all emails received and sent are maintained as a printout.

Signed

LL

Office Memo no. 244

To A. Joshi,

Still awaiting a printout of the complete company website for review.

LL

The Beginning

Let’s start with when I took up my first job. I was 23 then. A small marketing consultancy called Marrkit. People working for Marrkit were known as “Marrkitians”.

Am not kidding.

Each time I heard myself being referred to as one, I felt as if I’d turned into a distant species of some creepy-crawly alien life form.

The firm is headed by a super-thin and tall “Boss” whom you almost can’t see if he turns sideways. He’s called LL by most. Not short for LL Cool J, but Luvleen Lalitlalkishen. Don’t blame ‘em. There were a few diligent ones in our office who still persisted, or rather, laboured with “Mister Lalitlalkishen”. His wife called him Luvleen. I decided to join the throng of those who called him LL.

He loved jargon. For those who don’t know, jargon is official management speak. Let me elaborate.

You know how when you call up and the Secretary, oops, Executive Assistant* says, “He’s not available right now”? That really means, “He’s on his favourite toilet seat, pondering over the next marketing strategy. And taking way too long. Call later”. He also loved creating his own jargon.

My name is Aashita Joshi, of Hindu (Indian) origin, and means, ‘one who is full of hope’. I guess now I just have one small correction – ‘One who was full of hope’. I haven’t fully recovered yet.

Scott Adams had nothing on me, man!

*: At Marrkit, it was a mortal sin to call a secretary a secretary. You had to call her Executive Assistant. Yes, it was always a ‘Her‘ at Marrkit. You could tell which one she was as she was the only one who left at 5:15 pm sharp. Our office timings were from 9 am to 6 pm.