Last Week of September

And so as the clock drew close to September 30 and almost struck midnight, I felt like a male-Cinderella.... They were all expiring, the dance had to end....

The glass Nike-shoe turned into a distant dot and the silent song of the old souls: "the March numbers are expiring! the 6 month rule! Can't file DRHP! Cat-soup!"

"ALLPARTY CON CALL-please confirm asap!" A banker threw the hook and we bit like suicidal fish.

Speaking on the con call, I was no more Cindarella. I was an Ashok Kumar kind of serious surgeon. The kind who in 80s movies used to take off his gloves and say outside the green curtains of an operation theatre: "hum aapke [] ko nahin bacha sake". And blink quickly to indicate invisible male-tears.

I spoke, shifting from Ashok Kumar the surgeon to Iftekhar the policeman (esp when talking to auditors) to Hangal the village-daughter's father asking for izzat (esp when talking to promoter-uncle) to Manorama the evil mother-in-law (esp when talking to the Company Secretary thanks to pending info and ALL THE SMILEYS HE SENDS ME AND HE IS 46 YEARS)....

[with Red Bull that cool drink for guys]
At the end when it became clear SOMEONE fromt the work group has to break the news since the CFO was still in a "naheee!!" denial mode.

I said:
"Cl 49 is yet to be stricly complied with... [trail many requisition lists as a polite defence]... and in light of this material deviation...
we tried to...
difficult...
not advisable...
not possible...


Mentally preparing them with each para, pre-conversed and rehearsed, and said in the apologetic spirit of Death [which is inevitable but never welcome, like September 30 Truths in a Bad Market]

Oh, and guess what. Just before this Asap-con call, a baby analyst-banker smsed "what is dis call about?? it's 10 pm man!"

I wrote "basically the drhp can't be filed tomo; so we are telling ur clients this news. To save you the messy conversation."

"xcellent dude. will get the co-head on dis call coz sounds critical. and also can u send m3 back-ups of dd-dox smtime esp rej3t3d FIPB app and all dat?"

"sure."

then he wrote "xoxo". But i think that was a mistake he must have meant to send it to smone else what the hell.

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Now read this poetry and feel deep... Frankly, it's like a 2007 real estate company cover letter- long and kind of boring. So get a shot of coffee before. The poem is intended to redeem my liberal use of Bollywood references in the post.
In any case I am carrying a basketball to office on Saturday just to make sure I don't slip too much in the coolness-ranking.

Poetry is a substiute
For idle remembrances
Strung like plastic toys
On cheap wires
A child cries
For a water-gun
And years later
The word
“Country fair”
Reminds him of
Unmet wants
Taunts, a high-pitched
Scream
And he blames
Himself for
The weekend break-up
For the homosexuality
For stealing office stationery
For the costly session
To cure depression
The word “country fair”
He remembers more
Yellow and red
Plastic
And between the branches
A leaf dances
He snaps his finger, one by one
Part for Q.E.D. ("this is it... this was it...")
Part for that old women's disease, arthritis.


(c)Me