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 gesture of kind regards, 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, 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.

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.

The Point is Missing

In the course of acclimatization to the new work-world, which seemed to have till now few opportunities of applying what we had slogged over in b-school, I sometimes felt that my new work life was full of plain good old troubleshooting.

At this stage, I was assigned clients for Account Planning/ Client Servicing, which is the function I was handling within my firm. A lot of it involved receiving and making telephone calls to clients, and ancillary organizations like ad agencies, outdoor media specialists, media agencies, direct marketing companies, PR firms and Event management companies.

Most calls were mundane; fairly routine in nature. However some ended up being a little unusual. Far from the hallowed semi-intellectual, insightful discussions I’d imagined myself participating in.

Particularly so when they were in full hearing of my by now inevitable audience. The same pair who witnessed my embarrassing personal call a few days ago, had walked into LL’s cabin where I had to take the call as per our ever helpful Executive Assistant’s suggestion. This maneuver was necessary as our workstation was so noisy that it easily sounded like peak lunch hour at an Udipi restaurant.

On this day, Mr. Sen, the General Manager-Marketing, of one of the largest industrial houses of India dealing in commodities had called up. India, still largely 70:30 urban-rural, this was one of my largest-sized clients in terms of revenue.

Mr. Sen was a somewhat elderly gentleman, and spoke with a lisp, in a pronounced Assamese accent, which took some getting used to. Every conversation with him usually left me with a surreal feeling, and this time was no different as I was still rusty at interpreting his accent. I liked him though, as he was always polite and spoke with respect, which was a distinct pleasure in the new circles I found myself moving in, primarily consisting of disgruntled and tough as nails sales managers.

“Ah shit… “, he drawled, “thank you for sending the meeting report on time.”

No, he wasn’t being profane. That’s how he pronounced my name, Ashita.

He continued, “However, as I went through it, I realized that the whole point is missing.”

Now, the last meeting was pretty much as per the agenda framed earlier and to my mind had gone well, with each point being discussed, debated upon and a consensus reached quite satisfactorily.

Consequently, getting this feedback from the client really shocked me. He was questioning the way I had planned it all.

“The whole point’s missing?” I blankly repeated. This was a person who usually never had a negative word, or always phrased things diplomatically. Plus, this was an account where I was involved right from the pitch stage and had the joy of having them sign up with us. I had left no stone unturned and had created new standards of servicing for them. Each interaction was a new discovery into the world of commerce, the diversity of each geographical zone and I was thrilled with mini-new epiphanies every now and then.

A new account for us, this was the crucial stage where the company could easily decide to cut their losses and move on (from us) if they were dissatisfied with anything. Also, their move would influence a lot of future, Potential clients. (Refer to the Glossary section for definitions).

Having an audience at the wrong moment, that too, the same one, was yet another instance of the aforementioned Murphy in my life. Why no one was around to witness it when I received a professional compliment, I could never understand. Yet, the first whiff of negativity from the client and hark – there you had a ready pair of interested ears perking up.

“Yes”, replied Mr. Sen with what seemed like ghoulish insistence on the subject.

Deciding to defend my reputation and put up a fight, I firmly responded with, “Mr. Sen, we went as per the pre-decided agenda, covering a few additional matters as well and we made great progress on several key issues”. As you can see, I’d by now got the hang of saying a lot without actually saying anything, if you know what I mean.

Mr. Sen responded very nicely to this and affirmed that yes, everything was covered, however the point, as he could see, was missing.

Despite the negative feedback, I felt a tingle of pleasant surprise. Till now, he had seemed a man of simple thinking, very easy-going, almost bucolic. While talking with him, one always felt that he wasn’t quite all there. Discovering this philosophical depth to his mind was intriguing.

Pondering on his comment, I had to agree. There were times when I’d wondered at the futility of what we did for the brands we handled as it seldom translated into the utopian objectives we had for it. Of course, I say this in confidence. You’d never catch me admitting this to a client.

What I mean is, I could make a research analysis interpretation on the product attributes with consumers sound positive or negative by interpreting it’s findings accordingly. Devious LL was an expert at this. My conscience was still alive and kicking so I’d managed to avoid manipulating results thus far.

Spiderman really had it all figured out. With great power came great responsibility. You’d have a hard time convincing LL of though. He would agree and yet manage to convince you that manipulating research results was being responsible. More on this some other time, though.

Anyway, getting back to the call, I decided to go with the flow, consequences be damned.

“You know, Mr. Sen, its true. This needed to be said. Am so glad someone did. I do think about it very often. Am relatively new at this and still trying to make sense of the corporate world, but working for someone who makes a hundred thousand a day while I make under a thousand and for clients who very often are purely into profiteering makes me wonder what the point of it all is. We get stuck with our own selfish money-making agendas and it’s not fulfilling…”.

“Yes, yes… so you’ll send me the point?” interrupted Mr. Sen who was clearly not paying attention.

“What???”. I wondered why Grammar was such a neglected subject.

Thinking feverishly about what he could mean, I gestured to my team-member who’d entered a minute ago, to bring me a copy of the alleged report of the meeting, from notes I had taken. Since I was now Manager, I had people reporting to me. In effect, the only difference was it meant that they keyed in the report, not me. And I could delegate the more boring tasks to them.

My hopes of breaking into new insightful territories with Mr. Sen was all too good to be true. He clearly wasn’t commenting on the futility of most of what we did. I thought about Mr. Sen and our past conversations. And suddenly got it.

I heard the door open and spotted my boss about to walk in. He was partly wedged into the room as his opening the door meant that my team-mate was half squashed behind the door and the cabin wall. No other sight made my mind race as much. If LL smelled a complaint, it meant a blot on my as yet unblemished record. Not to mention my reputation to be salvaged in front of my interested audience.

I suddenly felt a burst of goodwill towards Mr. Sen. Must be the endorphins from the adrenalin rush, a reaction to the stress I always felt on seeing LL. In a way, I was happy. With Mr. Sen, what you saw was what you got. I’d rather have a client who was easily satisfied. Knowing LL was keenly listening, I continued.

“Mr. Sen, before I respond, let me state how much of a pleasure it is to work with you and your team. Let me assure you that there’s no ‘point missing’. Yes, the automatic paragraph numbering in the MS-Word typed report has jumped from 14. to 16. Am planning to write to Bill Gates on this matter. Why the numbering goes haywire in a saved document, whenever a print command is given to the printer shall always remain a mystery to me. Meanwhile, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and Seema will re-send the report with the correct numbering in serial order.”

As I paused to draw in breath, Mr. Sen slowly said, “So, the point is not missing?”

“No, Mr. Sen.”

I sent an obligatory frown to Seema to indicate the least she could do was check the bullet point numbering on what was sent out. In case you are smarter than the average reader and use some an operating system different from Microsoft, then read this explanation. He had meant “a” point was missing.

A numbering point like this:-

1.Phase I of Product launch to be on Dassera*

2.Media rollout on 1st Dec

4.Phase II commences 15th Jan

Notice how 2 skips to 4. I swear it happens. For anyone who’s suffered this, and wants to gripe, do get in touch. Will be happy to offer words of wisdom and the solution.

(*Auspicious day of launch as per the Hindu calendar. All clients were deeply terrified of earning the ire of Gods by launching at an inauspicious time. All us Group heads had a mandatory calendar of religious dates taped to our desktops).

“Are you sure?”, repeated Mr. Sen.

Clearly he needed time to get used to the new state of affairs.

“Yes, Mr. Sen. Everything discussed and every decision taken has been included fully in the report. How did you find the report otherwise?” I quickly added.

“Oh, excellent, excellent as always” replied Mr. Sen, very gratifyingly, and clearly enough for LL to hear. “They are always helpful. So all points are there, eh?”

I reflected on how one never learned things like this, how to interpret and use keen psychology, deep perceptual insights, to understand what the client actually meant.

After due reassurance I bid adieu and turned to LL.

I felt naughty and bold. It was time to say it. Especially, with the right number of witnesses present. I looked straight at my nemesis.

“Don’t you think I deserve a raise, LL?”.

I saw my faithful audience nod.

Not! far from the madding crowd

This is a narrative with a difference.

That it reflects what went on in the past, being jotted down only now, experience by experience. Another difference is that names have been changed, as the objective is not to be offensive to any one or provide publicity, positive or harmful, to any of the personalities mentioned.

This is about my first job. In the most ‘happening’ city of India – Mumbai. This is also a compilation of conversations and experiences from my somewhat eventful life (at least to me) interspersed with meeting an astonishingly varied and interesting set of people, some nice, some odd. I haven’t simply invented this. There are frequent jumps between space and time and myriad digressions, so pay attention. If it still doesn’t make sense, I’ll endeavour to clarify.

So what is this about? Read on to know more. Some of it would be in the form of conversations, or just plain rambling. Do visit often and comment if you like. Would be nice hearing from you.

I’m a single gal, living in India, in a city called Mumbai, also known earlier as Bombay, a teeming metropolis; like no other.