Don’t switch it off first Nagmani.

The GSB elections at the ISB are almost always keenly contested and thus declaring the results is a very sensitive activity for the staff of the Co curricular activities (CCA) team. Shiv has been doing this for years and I think I assisted him one year when this entire near fiasco happened.

This was a year when Pavit had declared that he was going to buy world peace after winning the elections and Rajesh Mani had declared that he is not half as bad as he looks. To be honest I always though he did not look all that bad at all … wonder what made him say that. I think Bharat Ayer the future NDTV Profit guy was the third candidate but I don’t remember if there was a fourth.

We had finished counting and were ready to declare results. Shiv’s experience told us that the moment the results would be sent by email, all the candidates and their string of supporters may descend on the CCA office.

The discussion that followed set us on a plan. We called Nagmani the office help woman and Shiv explained to her in great detail how she should use the mouse to click the ‘Send’ and once the screen changes immediately switch off the computer. The plan was to get into a car reach the ISB gate and call Nagmani and ask her to do this. We then planned to switch off the mobile phones and return back on Monday and hoped by then the storm would have subsided.

We reached the ISB gate and Shiv called Nagmani and said something to her in Telgu. A long silence from Shiv followed and after around a min he said ‘Shit’ and started to shout on phone. I could not understand a thing but what unfolded later makes me laugh even today.

Nagmani had first switched off the computer and thus has nothing on the screen to click.

Poor Shiv had to go back and set it up all over again and I don’t think he tried anything smart this time round.

The day Afzal Khan’s men beat up Shivaji.

Before my blog stirs up any controversy about distorting history, here is my disclaimer which says this is just a semi fiction depiction of one of the million things that happened to me at school and not at all an attempt at maligning the image of Shivaji Maharaj.

 

It was time for the annual day event at my school and like most years teachers were out to showcase the talents of their pupils. My favourite teacher announced that this year she will help interested students make a skit on the ‘Shivaji Vs Afzal Khan standoff.’ I was intrigued by the idea and like most of the kids in class wanted to participate in the skit so almost instantly raised my hand to volunteer.

In those days we were yet to be taught about democracy so there were no auditions but the teacher immediately after announcing the skit selected Amit Marathe(the shortest boy in my class) as the guy who would play Shivaji. Amit was short, frail, spoke fluent Marathi and sat right under the teacher’s nose with Ravi on the 3rd row first bench. I thought he was a pathetic choice but what was to follow was even worse. The teacher pointed towards me (the tallest boy in class) and said you will be Afzal Khan. I think my teacher had done the selection for this skit many times before and knew the roles demand height disparity of extreme proportions.

Now in the actual scrip Shivaji was the obvious hero but Afzal Khan was the most pathetic villain. As portrayed in my History text book, Afzal Khan was a very oppressive general of a Mughal Muslim Emperor and was killed by the very smart Shivaji using artificial iron tiger claws.

As a kid of that age I did not like to play a villain. Plus this was Afzal Khan. Now either my history textbook had to do something with it or the way history was taught to us in school but the character of Afzal Khan was totally BLACK. Afzal Khan was absolutely and typically the Hindi picture villain we love to hate. Nothing was good about him at all.

My teacher then made the rest of the selections for the other characters in a similar fashion and announced that we will meet near the school stage after school for practice.

At practice my teacher came a little late and as usual shouted at us for not standing together as a group. She then narrated to us what I today understand to be a script.

It was terrible for me. I hardly had any meaningful dialogs. I was almost all the while supposed to laugh like Gabbar Singh and in the climax try to strangle Shivaji and as an anti climax die.

Not knowing how to protest I decided to give it a try...

When practice started the next day, people just realised that I was an actor that could be described as a director’s nightmare. By day three of practice they decided to replace me as Afzal Khan because Shivaji had complained against me.

Amit who was playing Shivaji had a genuine problem. In the climax I was very difficult to kill. Plus in one of the many rehearsals I had actually tried my level best to strangle him. This act was prompted by my frustration and had nothing to do with me trying to get into the character or any such attempt.

The Teacher also realised that it would make the episode that we were trying to depict a little more believable in the prevailing context if the ‘Huge’ Afzal Khan was replaced by a more killable (smaller) Mughal General. So history was distorted and a not so big Afzal Khan was chosen.

By now I was feeling a little insulted. First I was asked to portray a character I hated and now I was replaced. I think my teacher read my feelings and ensured I was still in the play...

I was now playing one of Afzal Khan’s guards. I had no dialogs at all but was supposed to get killed without putting up a fight after the anti climax.

The three other fellow sentries of Afzal Khan were almost like me – Big, huge and frustrated. The plot of us dying without putting up a fight was what was killing us even before our eventual end. In the various dress rehearsals that started 2 days before the actual show we were the laughing stock and butt of almost all the jokes. We could not put up with all who were laughing at us. Our Shivaji also left no stone unturned insulting us. He would very much unlike the real Shivaji act to stab each one of us multiple times before curtains. In many such acts he actually hurt us bad in the ribs and the stomach with his rented wooden sword.

This was provocation enough for us to do the unthinkable in the actual show.

After Shivaji had killed Afzal Khan we the proud protectors of our lord decided revenge. We refused to die. Our Shivaji and his 5 soldiers were suddenly surprised and so was the audience. They tried desperately with their weapons to put us to rest but size does matter and this is what they realised. The four of us right there on stage shooed away all of Shivaji’s men and gave Amit Marathe a beating of a lifetime. Even the dead Afzal Khan realised the gravity of the situation and begged us to spare Amit.

I think the audience enjoyed what they saw and laughed their guts out. What happened to us the Crazy 4 is something human rights activists will not let me put in my blog.

The CISF at Hyd airport thought I was a terrorist...

Sunday 16th May 2010.

I was up and away early to the airport. I was going to Chennai for a morning evening trip. I had no luggage to check in. After meeting the smiling lady on the other side of the Jet Konnect counter and getting my boarding pass I thought I would go and have some breakfast at the airport’s departure food court. So I trotted towards security.

 

On most other days Hyd airport is as deserted as a cemetery. Today there was an unusual amount of rush at the security.

 

After patently waiting for almost 5 minutes to place my bag on the conveyer and watching people push their bags into it I decided to push mine too. The CISF security saw me do that and said in a stern voice... “keep safe distance from this... it is a machine.” I could not help myself saying... “if this is a machine... y is it taking so long.”

 

The CISF guy gave me a dirty look and I gave him a sweet smile... Didn’t work I thought but I was in no mood to make him feel any better.

 

Soon I was stepping on the yellow line and getting myself publicly groped in the name of frisking. Travelling so often I have learned to ensure not to let the metal detector beep even once... I do this ensuring all metal is on the table and not in my pockets... So my frisking was over sooner than expected.

 

With the stamped boarding pass in my pocket I moved to collect my luggage.

To my surprise the security guy asked me to open my bag...

 

I never expected anything to be there but since the security has the right to ask you to open the bag I did not argue and unzipped my back pack.

 

The objects the security found objectionable were two empty disposable water bottles in my bag. These were in my bag because I had visited a park with my wife and 7 month old daughter the previous day and like a good citizen who did not want to litter in the park I had carried the bottles home in my back pack. I forgot to dispose them at home as well and in the morning when I left home at 4.45 am it did not strike me that these harmless objects were still in my bag.

 

The CISF guy then asked me “ Why are you carrying these empty bottles?”

 

I knew that the CISF does not allow you to carry water bottles with water and wanted to make the situation light by cracking a joke here so I told the enquiring officer... “because you will not let me carry full bottles...”

A few chinki air hostesses heard this and giggled...

 

Phew... that was the end of it...

 

Insulted and furious the CISF officer asked me to step aside... I knew I was in trouble from the look of the people now surrounding me...

 

I was first asked for identification. I showed him my office Id. I thought this would be good as it was good to get me inside the airport.

“No,” he said... “Have you not got something endorsed by the Government.” I wanted to protest... why do you now want a government endorsed id when at the gate you were impressed by my office id... but I dared not argue...

 

I put my hand in my back pocket to fetch my wallet and almost all who were surrounding me ran for cover... I innocently pulled out my wallet and started to look for my driver’s licence.

 

I honestly had not noticed these guys run for cover. A kid who was watching this laughed out loud and broke the silence. It was only then that I realised what had happened and smiled myself.

 

This was it... hell broke out... The mean looking CISF guys started to shout at me...

One of them took my divers licence examined it and discarding(ly) dumped it on the table...

Another shouted at me and demanded my passport...

Before I realised two guys had held my hand and were almost dragging me to a room nearby under the pretext of making me meet someone more important...

In the room I saw an unusually small guy sitting on a chair with his feet dangling in the air and looking at a computer screen with concentration that could beat a teenagers ability to look at pornography. The two guys who had almost dragged me to the room threw my belongings on the floor in front of him and shouting(ly) explained that they found two empty bottles in my bag and told him that I could not satisfy them with my identification.

He still concentrating on the screen pushed a register like book towards me and asked me to fill the details in it... as I took position to bend down to write in the register on the table the small guy looked at me and realised I was big enough to murder him in one stroke if required. So he told the other two guys and asked them to stay in the room till I finish.

After I finished he asked me for my passport and I explained to him that I usually do not travel with my passport when I fly domestic. He then asked me where did I work and the mention of ISB made him a little soft.

Not wanting to scare him to by putting my had in my other back pocket to draw my visiting card case I asked him if he would want to see my business card. He agreed and I gave him a card.

From then on it was easy...

He next asked me where and why I was travelling... I explained everything and he was amused too...

But by now I could hear my name on the Public Address system. Although this was the most obnoxious pronunciation of my name I knew it was me they were calling out for as it was already 6.10 and my flight was scheduled to fly at 6.20.

I told this to the small guy in the chair and he asked me to gather my things... one of the other two started to help me but the one of them kept arguing that they had still not satisfactorily established my identity.

I was told that a thorough verification of my identity would be done in the next few hours and as I was in a hurry I agreed.

Soon I found myself in a siren blowing CISF jeep that took me to my Jet Konnect flight.

Thank God I work for ISB.

The God of Cricket makes 200 in an ODI.

We all know that Sachin Tendulkar is a great batsman. Being an Indian I am a big follower of his game. I like the rest of India have always looked forward to seeing him play good cricket. Most of the time when he plays I have unreasonable expectations from him.

It was like any other day… but today India was playing South Africa. I was in office when Naveen came over to my cabin and asked me if I wanted to see the match live on the internet. A few clicks and 2 CISCO commercials later I was watching the match.

Out of the blue I suddenly felt today Sachin will score 200 runs. To be honest this was not the first time I was wishing for something as unreasonable as a 200 from Sachin. But this was just a wish… I had a few weeks back when Sachin crossed 160 against Australia also made such a wish but this time was different.

I decided to share my wish on twitter, FaceBook and other networking sites. “My wish for today: India should score over 400 and Sachin should score the first ODI 200. 3:22 PM Feb 24th via web”

Needless to say my wish and prediction came true and the rest as they say is history.

The Tolani College Interview.

Few months out of my MBA I was looking out for some meaningful jobs… I had already bagged some stupid sales assignments but was getting totally frustrated with the unreasonable targets and paltry remuneration. I never thought I would be doing this kind of a job after an MBA. My parents were very supportive and ensured I did not fall into a depression. Not that I was ever susceptible but being the only child my parents ensured that they did their part most dutifully.

One morning before going to work I was scanning through the papers and saw this small classified advertisement from Tolani College of Commerce. The ad was for a lecturer’s post at the college’s BMS section. I had heard about the ambitious BMS course of the University of Bombay and was always inclined to teach. Plus I thought anything would be better than sales.

In response to my application I got a call from a sweet sounding person from Tolani college called Manju. She informed me that I had an interview. “Wow” I thought, “that was quick.”

Quite honestly I thought there would not be many MBAs interested in a teaching job. Moreover Tolani was never such a reputed college. In fact I had never heard of this college myself except that there was a bus that directly went to this college from the Juhu bus station.

My interview was at 12 noon and I used my Kinetic Honda to get to Tolani.

I soon realised I was totally wrong about the number of people applying for this job. Contrary to my expectation more than 50 MBAs of all shapes and sizes had turned up. There were MBAs from some of Bombay’s most prestigious institutes. Some of them even had up to 10 years of experience in the industry. Then there were others who claimed to be running businesses. So I never understood their motivation to apply to a job like this.

Many pretty women who had done their MBA some years back and were now married and were looking out for some ‘lite assignment’ had also turned up. These trophy wives even had the temerity to shamelessly talk about how this kind of a ‘little or no responsibility role’ would enhance their quality of life and provide them independence to buy vanity products out of their own pocket money.

Although the wait was killing but I somehow was having a good feeling about it. I made light of the grim silence that prevailed in the waiting room by making some casual remarks about the desperation. Some liked it and laughed, some didn’t understand it and some smirked and gave me those looks that were asking me not to act smart. These things helped me gauge competition. Making instant conversations with almost everyone who was not looking into the files I realised that there was no one in the room like me.

Yes on the negative side nobody in the waiting room had an MBA from a place like BVIMK, but on the positive side no one there had any idea about a fulltime lecturer’s roles and responsibilities. My communication skills and confidence too were better than most candidates. So much for being born to two Professors.

After waiting for almost 5 hours, it was my turn. I was the last guy to be interviewed that day. Ironically when I entered the room the panel did not look exhausted at all. On the contrary each of the 3 old men in the room seemed to be having fun. I thought may be the experience of interviewing so many women had got the oldies exited.
The first question almost stumped me. Aspi Doctor asked me, “What is your favourite TV Programme?”

“Bournvita Quiz Contest …” I found myself answering. I had never expected a question like this upfront. The answer was more of a reflex.

Another guy called Shahani asked me why I wanted to teach after an MBA. So I told him about my fascination for lecturing and gave him a little bit of my background by telling him that I was the son of two Professors. Wow that literally got me the job. Two of the three panellists knew my parents and I thought getting this job would be just a cake walk now. But then suddenly Aspi said “Well that does not mean you can teach. You see teaching is neither hereditary nor osmotic.”

Phew… never knew what to make of that statement, especially the osmotic bit.

There were other questions that followed. “Business Process Outsourcing… Do you know anything about this?” A Sindhi poet called Mirchandani asked. I think I gave an impressive answer. Honestly I had no clue what it meant. Another question “What will you do if a student asked you a doubt and you are not able to answer it?” In my mind I thought… “well, bluff… What else?” but controlled my emotions and keeping the most serious face said “To the best of my ability I will prepare before the class but if such a situation arises, I will admit I do not know and try and find the answer before the next class.”

As soon as I mentioned ‘admit,’ the Sindhi poet jumped up and said… “You will admit???” And I stood my ground and said “yes I will.” Though Mirchandani did not like my frankness Aspi and Shahani who surely had more experience teaching than writing things that people do not ready bought into my side of the stand.
More meaningless arguments followed. Somewhere in the middle of the interview I realised they had already selected.

In the end Aspi informed me that they will connect with me soon and if shortlisted I would have to go to the Head office for another interview round. I was almost certain I would be shortlisted and that is what happened. I was summoned to ‘Baktawar,’ the head office of Tolani Shipping. Two more people were shortlisted with me. One was an eye candy type trophy wife and another was a 65 years plus gentleman.
The interview there too was similar except that the panel now had another member – Rohet Tolani.

After the interview I was confident again but this time the guys chose the eye candy over me. A short letter arrived few days later in the evening by hand delivery. I was almost heart broken when some prick called Ram who first said he was the Vice – President and later corrected it and said he was the Vice - Principal of Tolani College called up and said “congratulations.”

I didn’t quite understand, but Ram explained that there had been a mistake and I was selected. Now before I could celebrate, Aspi the Principal of the college called up and said that there had been another mistake and my heart skipped a beat.

Aspi informed me that though I was selected but I would have to do a demo lecture to prove my worth. I thought that would be easy.

So on Friday the 13th of August 1999 I joined Tolani College as a Lecturer for the BMS.

More funny stories on Ram coming up in future blogs...

The Jiyala n Hyd Biryani connection…

One of the main time pass activities in Kolhapur where I was sentenced for two years was watching movies. My diary of those days tells me that by the end of the stay I had watched more than a hundred and twenty five movies. We would go as a group to watch any kind of flicks that ranged from naughty ones like Sirocco to classics like Titanic. We also watched a lot of Hindi films too like Dil Se to more nondescript ones like Mere Sapno ki Rani. Super flops like Prithvi and Jhoot Bole Kuwa Kate can also be included in our list.

This will give you an idea how desperately devoid of entertainment our college life was.

One Friday in my final semester, our HR class as usual got over early. Three out of the six who were in class thus decided to go for a movie. We took an auto and landed up this place just beyond the railway station. There were a lot of theatres and cinema halls in Kolhapur and so getting a ticket was not an issue. However there were hardly any options. Jiyala was a movie that had a lot of TV publicity. From the very name we did not seem to like it but still decided to go in.

The movie lived up to our expectations. It was hopeless and the three of us were feeling miserable for having spent our money. On our return to our hostel, we decided to not let anyone know how bad our experience was. In fact we gave raving reviews and thus by evening another set of hostel inmates decided to go for the movie. When they came back they were so dejected that they wanted to blow us originals apart but realised that they had been fooled. To ensure that they were not the only ones fooled they too decided to give a 5 star rating to the movie. As a consequence, by Sunday everyone had seen the movie in the hostel and declared it a hit.

Even today when we meet sometimes we make fun of this Jiyala adventure of ours.

Hyderabadi Biryani too I feel has a similar thing about it.

I think long years ago some disgruntled traveller to Hyderabad must have had to gulp down the 100% substandard and barely edible Biryani at the Paradise hotel and the revenge continues to haunt us.