Mother's Concern

I showed what's written below to my mother, who happens to be The Groom's Mother... she laughed, much to my satisfaction, and only had this to say:

"Can you please change the bit about The Bondas... if they read it..."

Meet The TamBrahm Auditors

My family of four isn’t renowned for its social outings. So when we went with The Groom to The Bride’s place to well, check out The Bride and her family (family is important, says Father), it was an awkward moment for everyone concerned. I arrived late and my parents introduced me to The Bride, who I’d met twice before.

They opened the conversation with perhaps the only Amaresh line they’re confident of… “here! Meet the only non-CA in the family!!” And I smiled and sat down, and they spoke, about Audit, Accounts and Tax. The Groom, His Mother, and the Bride, all worthy CAs, looked at each other, smiling always, even as the conversation went like "How many people are working in your firm? 12? Oh good! Mine has 14."

I’d like to think that my Parents really like audit. On the rare occasions that they slip outside audit, they have trouble initiating conversation. To break the uneasy silence, The Bride’s Mother brings Bondas to eat. Everyone slipped into their Somalian shoes and the only sound heard for the next minute was of Bondas in our mouths. You know, the Bondas weren’t That Good.

I proposed that we celebrate the occasion with some alcohol. Everyone laughed, eager to not come across as uptight and uncool. Then they spoke about the state-run Wine Shop next-door and the social problems and local nuisance created by the Wine Shops.

Invariably, they ran into silence again, and I intervened, again. I thanked them for hijacking my suggestion of alcohol, and asked them to reconsider it. This time they spoke about Wine Shop Accounts, the legal claims to the land on which some of them sit, the problems involved in their audit… The Bride and The Groom played their shy part to perfection, and The Mothers were quiet.

Then, the Mothers felt like reliving the depressing TV shows, and suggested that someone sings. Somehow The Bride’s Mother asked me if I could sing. I tried a third time, explaining to her how after 2 drinks I can sing, dance… like a true Auditor’s Wife, she offered to give me the alcohol after I sing. Then I explained the difference between audit fees and alcohol that helps me sing.

Once The Bride and The Groom’s Mother were spotted fighting, both eager to clear the dishes. Anyway, they fought over it in exceedingly polite ways, and I was thinking, first day it’ll be like this… after a couple of months, “hey bitch, clear this shit. now!” and if we were to believe some of the Tamil films enjoyed by middle-aged Mothers, she might even spit into it as it’s being picked up.

Finally, they discussed wedding dates, mostly revolving around the financial year-end and tax year-end.

I reassured The Bride’s Father that I’m not alcoholic, and he said he knew, and I asked him how?

And then everyone left in different cars.

devil's sermon

relax buddy.

have a cool drink.

***

whatever we do, where ever we are is the best option available.

we live by choosing. if there is a better choice we would have gone for that.

nobody forces you to do or not to do anything.

whatever we do or dont has a selfish motive behind it.

what bothers us is that inability to call a spade a fucking spade.

we are capable of swallowing that but fret as the end doesnt justify the stomaching.

we always weigh rewards and punishment. so the current scene is the most rewarding and least punished.

suit yourself.

enjoy the rape and celebrate life.

howzzaat?

***

merci ava?

dear people, im back home.

i asked help from a lot of people and successfully boarded the plane. i got drunk on the plane on remy martin and they refused to serve me more citing an arbit 3 drinks per 2 hours policy. anyway, im struggling to type in this keyboard. france screwed my typing. my country does have a strong smell. my room smells too. but the cab guy who drove me home had some strange desire to have nauseating flowers in the cab at 130 in the morning. so i liked the smell of india a little more thanks to the cab guy.

i've been in a talkative mood. the cab guy and i spoke more than with all the strangers put together in france. my head i can hear french music and im thinking tomorrow morning il wake up to orange juice, bread, tomato chutney and cheese. i loved the trip. i feel like i know so much more! this morning when i left the apartment in paris, it felt so weird.

i didn't visit any museums during the trip. the crowd to climb the eiffel tower was too much and too motivated, so we took a nap on the grass and admired it from far. i didn't do anything spectacular. amy the bars expert took me to a lot of bars to meet a lot of people. also, i never spent a night in a hotel. the strangers don't talk and the people i was introduced to were extra nice.

after 23 years and 9 months of indian food, amy thought it was a nice idea to take me to an indian fastfood place. at brussels airport there were tonnes of indian families speaking in english. anyway, the indian fastfood guy spoke one word for 3 questions from me (the word was bengal) and he despised my intrusion into his routine of preparing a katti roll every 2 minutes.

later.

Tripping With Gopal

Credits: Writer - Gopal | Art - Nathan

Dance like no one's watching, Play like you're in a b-school...

Since we’re considered to be some of the smartest in the country, we are expected to suck at sports. Reality is not far off. What we may lack in talent is balanced by the fact that we play harder than we work, as we were repeatedly told when we started out at this place. How hard we work won’t be discussed here.

Everyone learns some new sport in this place. There is simply nothing else to do, so might as well learn.

Sportscom is at the bottom of the value chain. Their events get postponed for absolutely anything. Placom is the biggest bully of them all, but generally an ant-bite to a star player is sufficient for rescheduling. Some of their tournaments last longer than the Formula One season, but whatever they lack in organization, they make up in entertainment. No other event has people hooting and fighting, in our own B-schoolised form of hooliganism.

You know you’re in a B-school when you see more protective gear and branded apparel than talent. But you occasionally come across people like Girish there-is-no-sport-i-can’t-play Nair. Then you see him ferociously guarding the bottom of the acad rankings, and you begin to think maybe it makes sense. On the other extreme, is cricket expert Anish Goel, who commands respect almost exclusively due to his knowledge of local playing conditions. He knows the slope on every pillar, the smell of the grass near mid-wicket, the diameter of the 2 small gutters on his home - the pitch… get the drift?

Over the 2 years, people have discussed sports more than they have played it. More time and thought is spent on forming teams, unless you’re in Section C, where socialism prevails and everyone gets a chance. On the other extreme is the Section B cricket team, for which you have to crack 4 rounds of tests and possess at least 5% of Anish Goel’s knowledge of local conditions to get picked.

Then there are the Medicondas and Gadiyars who only talk. They belong to the pen is mightier than the sword crowd, so when they’re not on the newsgroups, they’re giving their own half-time analysis during games on TV.

Thanks to Pushkar for the thought and Girish for the inspiration – B-school drives home the essence of ‘mind willing, body not willing’. But they say make hay while… so we played as much as we could while our legs still listened.

Hari Narayan

Hari knows everything there is to be known about three things: booze, smoke and women. He was so cool that his parents taught him everything there is to be taught. He’ll tell you how women who wear blue nail polish on their big toes are sexy. Clichéd as it may sound, but as a tribute to our countless Southpark gatherings, Hari is so cool that he decides what’s cool. He’s the guy all parents warn their kids about. He’s influenced countless people into socially accepted bad habits just so that his psychiatrist dad can have a job. Recently he signed me up on jeevansaathi.com. We played a game, where Hari would read two lines of the profiles of three women and I have to pick the best. That presently tops the list of our many mindless pursuits by which I shall remember Hari.

Apology Letter

As I near the end of over 2 decades of education, i pay tribute to the one thing that they taught me well - the art of apology letters. So, here are my most evolved words:

Dear Sir,

I sincerely apologise for my reckless transgression of the PGP Rule # 22 (4) in receiving a proxy for the 3^rd session of PM on January 20, 2008. Words can’t capture the remorse I feel for my juvenile act of disobedience. Not a moment has passed since the crime when I didn’t feel regret for what I did. The guilt and shame that has consumed me over the past 48 hours is the greatest punishment that can be meted out. I promise never to repeat such an act of indiscretion in future and request you to kindly treat this as an exception to my otherwise blemishless record.

Yours sincerely,

V Amaresh Subramaniam

Wedding Photos

I think (South) Indian women look their worst in their wedding snaps so that their ex boyfriends don't feel so bad.

Mainak's Poem

The story of Mainak begins with his Bengali name. “It’s M-oii-nak” (with a shrug). Prof. Sadh showed us something we’ve never seen before or since – his funny side, “M-oii-nak as in A for Orange?” The rest of the story of Mainak will be told another day. Here’s Mainak’s poem:

I was living my life on a leash

So one day I decided to chew through the collar

And make the world my own

But the world’s a tough bitch

And lessons, it does teach

But I would rather be a dog without a bone

Than one on a leash