Everytime I am caught humming a Hero No. I song I feel thr need to compensate by Talking Fellini. Especially Cabiria and comparing him to Alfred Hitchcock in use of black and white. Not immediately or after too long. After an interval that is just right factoring in how idd it was, the importance of the correction (eg less if it is an intern) and mitigatinf favtors (eg if the hearer has already heard one of my hallowed talks on Japanese food or the analyzing light central German beers or how expensive it is to maintain three homes and if I should just flip two for one in north London ideally the area in the Hugh Grant Julia Roberts movie.

Hee-hee jokes

The problem is everything is offensive these days. Especially to the younger generation. Then they sit around with swollen faces, typing slowly and checking their phones with concerned faces.

Today there was a dial-in conference. Due to a complex web of events we could not mute others. A voice kept speaking like someone complaining of a bad haircut ("Whaat do you mean- you are stautory aaditor only no?") One has to out-talk this ghost voice and sort of pretend it didn't exist. Towards the end we were contributing inputs to her and forgot about our topic altogether. No idea who she was and perhaps she was-pretty. Are we allowed to talk or thpe like that these days- is pretty banned too? Anyway it is cool to say everyone is pretty forgetting it is inherently a relative term. Feeling a bit like a Rip Van when it comes to writing about women so no cheap jokes regarding my concern that some associates have been assaulted when they walk in on Friday with the trendy jeans. Bye, undomesticated beauties. Go filter your DPs while forgetting when the Aquaguard salesman (once the only person in office-dress who would ring door-bells for a living) cleaned up your kitchen-water the last time.

Difficult

on a difficult day one has so little to do and so much to say today was not a difficult day simplicity is often found in the smoke of a teacup in thorough spell checks in orange icecreams and shah rukh songs and sometimes rudely in a three line memo by an intern just bad research* quick research* -a half page memo by an intern who everyone was somehow relying on to find answers now to legal issues* noone knows hence research* *you can insert "yeah yeah" after these lines for a backstreet boys song should this be set to music

A complex ramble about simplicity

Life is best lived in simple, repetetive and unoriginal form, a bit like the Issue Procedure section of public offer documents. If each section of the prospectus were a person, Issue Procedure would be the voice of reason, stable, calm, respectful and respected- seldom flamboyant like Business section or needlessly self-deprecatory like wives of friends when they meet or ofcourse like the Risks section or a bit pointless like the wrap. It is the Confucius when Business section gets to be Govinda and Risks, Meena Kumari and MD&A just a prank by a CA ranker who has realized he need not tally a balance sheet ever again as he will be busy selling Frooti after the MBA. It is odd to imagine pranks and CAs in the same sentence but who knows. When George Michael came out, when it was suddenly revelaed that it was all a lie about the perfect Russian childhood sledding as told in Mishamagazine (they were waiting in lines for bread), if the Berlin Wall can crumble and now it is like there was no Cold War ever-anythig can happen. But can Raveen and Karisma ever be friends? Or Slapping Girl-Associate a good girlfriend than wife? Can targets given to partners ever be met unless the managing partner or their chief cubs delegate the fattest mandates to us other partners? Hence it is best to be simple. Simple food, simple joys (chai or for the more ambitious, a jalebi-samsoa breakfast like my hometown), simple people. The only bit layered can be a hairstyle but again one, not in an obvious way and two in a contemporary way so for example no razor-cut as that is so 1993.

Talking Films in Embarrassing Levels of Detail

Labelling is life. Ritu Kumar, botanists, psychologists and ICDR promoter definitions knows it well. I mentally label young associates with my favourie movie watched in the cinema (with potato wafers selling on wooden trays strapped on shoulders). At that time there was plenty in common betweena train experience and film-watching including black tickets, surprisingly good filter coffee on platforms/cafeterias and an overall sense of wonder. In smaller towns, girls watching in families would never be the one sitting next to strange men due to proximity of the common wooden seat arm-rest. For who knows, sudden romance and eloping was rife on-screen. DDLJ was then ground-breaking mostly because the hero did not elope. Else DDLJ would have been a better Dil or a worse Qayamat se. Dil deserves a post of its own which shall follow once Dil associate acts up again, and as he does always closest to filing- sulking and slowing pace. Apparently at our harsh and impatient barks which are kindly known as ongoing feedback. But really as a threat as we cannot have people leave or fall revenge-ill during filing (or signing/closing for the M&A fraternity or let me just say sorority before I am booked for this by an anonymous reader who may as well be an older male partner who still loves Rekha. And so Aashiqui associate (Aashiqui the film released in 92 I think- so anyone born around then is now on the brink of SA-hood) has been taking leaves as if her life depended on maximizing out-time. While I do not wish to feel like the Kati Pati father-in-law who says "bahu, kahan jaa rahi ho?" when the widow girl is about to slip out with a new love (that too rajesh khanna)- i do have natural curiosity. everyone knows the best way to manifest curiosity while hedging a snub is four words and a question mark: "hope all is well?" And the reply I got from Aashiqui associate suddenly without the "is typing"- meaning it was deliberated and then cut-pasted) was: "not really. i will join back from tuesday." one does not know where to go with this. one cannot ask more. for it is between a byonkesh bakshi story start- or the start of a harrassment suit. so i did the last resort of the curious but contained mind: "ok take care and let me know if i can help." I moved across the floor to gossip about this to a principal associate (guised as concern ofcourse- I could pretend to suspect while not stating that she has a small ongoing mental issue- and see if he evolves the topic or drops in in this new age bonhomie culture). Just then I saw her display profile- lots of make-up, duck-face- and in front of a BKC building I instantly recognized as housing another big firm we had worked with on the opposite side. I felt like typing "good luck, kid- they will kill your soul not that you have one" and sure enough in a day she has resigned and is "moving on to pursue some personal interests". When we all know (through the grapevine) she is off to BKC law firm and noone is cheap enough to link the term "personal interests" to a firm such as that. maybe she suspected we will hold her back and witch-sing the aashiqui song in a raucous pitch: "ab mujhe chor ke..door jaana nahin-in-in, nazar ke." the odds of this are low but i tell myself this anyway. There is a sadness when people leave for an old-timer like me. It just marks the passing of time. It marks change. It marks endings of small inter-generational friendships made with decent people with decent ideas. It also marks another face that will be planted soon in my team and I will have no idea if the new kid is normal or prone to fainting or mimicry showing up at 11am with a sour scent of grass with their dad being friends with the managing partner. I went home and it seems there is a sequel made of the Aashiqui film as someone on the car radio was singing closer to Ed Sheeran than Kumar Sanu, "Dheere-dheere meri zindagi mein aana.."

Wings and After-Work Drinks

It is disturbing to realize I know they are called "wings". No and anyway it is now uncool to heehee regarding those. I mean the Mumtaz-like dashes girls make at the edge of their eyes. As an index of this, there are videos on how to make kajal wings. The modified eye make-up trend is wings, they do not end pointy but instead are shaped more blunt. In my view (which is billed decently, remember, atleast as far as SEBI circulars go), these eye-wings only suit godess idols of Durga that too made by experienfed Kumartuli hands. Mortals are best off avoiding painting sticks outside their eyes trying to in effect make their eyes look alert like a deer at a pond. I wish I could tell girl-associates it is best to make their eyes instead look tired and over-worked. Rather than look like an animal on high-alert. Have wings of hope, wings of purpose, wings for flight. Not thick-thick paint carefully applied daily at the corners of your eyes. Please. But then I am very scared ("particular" is a more dignified word) of saying all-this or anything at all that embroils me in various movements. As a result, women are deprived of my social company in office. And after office- little drinks meets which is the grandmother of all kitty parties. Slapping Girl-Associate is now..that is a story for another day. Let us just say she now knows how to make Maggi but is not comfortably far from my social jurisditon to say more. So yes to hedge myself I save my humour for a few favourite males. Slapping Girl-Associate calls this Afterwork Meals with Males but then again she has a knack for cheapening anything(even feee quotes) if it suits her. These associates who I invite for after-work drinks they don't know they are my favourites because in the after-work drinks clique invite I throw in a couple of people I famously dislike- just to mix things a little to enable confusion- and also not have favourite associates get too entitled, and frankly, awkward. Am glad after-work drinks is acceptable in Delhi as this isn't London and I recall a time when drinkining after sunset with male friends made one feel like breaking into a Sharabee song "jahan char yaar mil jayw wahan raat ho gulazar.." Very quickly before there are are smirks- there is a Meena, ducklings, for those too old to remember Amitabh in his heydays. Meena! That is a permanent echo in a cup or -let us make that a goblet for a sentimental Khalil Gibranesque moment of unintended solitude. These are long writings. In ten years, Twitter and others have reduced attention spans for non-work readings and so congratulate yourself if you have read this. Tolstoy still has some hope from us, my friends.