2009: The Year In Review

Every newspaper does it. Heck, they advertise it, they earn big bucks from it. So I decided to try it myself.

Ladies, gentlemen and the undecided minority – FITM presents, 2009: The Year In Review.

As if the title didn’t tell you what this post is about.

I could ramble on, but then you’d probably go away and do more important things – like shaving your underarms or something – so here goes.

Spent most of January preparing for February. Said goodbye to my wife-to-be as she returned to the maaike for the last time as a kunwaari (hey, that rhymes with her name!). Caught up with friends, lived up the last days of my bachelor life. Had about seventeen million six hundred forty-one thousand eight hundred and fifty-six conversations with people about the wedding.

Got engaged in February. Got a nice watch as a gift. Got officially confirmed as an adult Hindu male. Begged for money. Got lots of folks drunk at one place. Danced like a maniac. Watched my pals put on a fantastic show. Got scandalised at my Navgrahi pooja. Put mehendi on my hand – just a drop, for shagun purposes only. Had a wedding-related panic attack – on the baraat horse. Got over it. Got hitched – also in February. Went on honeymoon. Realised I’d be waking up first for the rest of my life.

Played Holi after God-alone-knows how many years. Was rather good at it – was accused of being a terrorist by a drenched and spluttering mom-in-law.

Worked very hard. Got frustrated with my boss. Drowned my frustrations in Caol Ila. Got legal proof from the government that we’re married.

Work frustration went through the roof. Threatened to quit job. New opportunity was promptly pushed through by the Silent Assassin. Got a new phone to celebrate 3 months. Made Woodside Inn our home pub. Apologies to Mondy’s.

Enjoyed married life. Binge-watched Scrubs with the wife. Discovered How I Met Your Mother. Binge-watched that too.

Bought a 32” Vu LCD TV. And a DivX-compatible Philips DVD player. Entertainment unit set up, no need to move out of bedroom. Except for food and loo breaks.

Bought the wife a phone. An HTC Touch Diamond. First she loved it. Now she hates it.

Churned out the next big campaign. My last mainline campaign. Switched over to digital. Figured out that my name in binary is 40 characters long. For the curious, it’s 0111001101100001011011010110100101110100.

Discovered the Kindle. Jumped up and down when they launched the international version. Still jumping up and down, hoping someone will buy it for me.

Discovered Avatar: The Last Airbender. Got typhoid. Stayed home for 3 weeks. Binge-watched Avatar. Played PS2. Taught Slappy and the Nag poker. Whined when they beat me at it.

Mourned when MJ died. Played his music all day long. Wiki’d him, Tweeted about him. RIP, Billy Jean.

Started rocking digital. Made some friends. Made some enemies. Hobnobbed with senior management. Started feeling famous. If yet underpaid. And overworked.

Wrote a bit more of the book. Got more critics. Still awaiting their criticism. And the time to finish writing it.

Started re-running The West Wing for project research. Ended up re-running The West Wing for sheer entertainment.

Moved out of my parents’ home. Bought furniture. And vegetables. Even tomatoes.

That brings to a close the Review. We hope you enjoyed reading it. If you did, I have a reward for you here (girls, click here). If you didn’t enjoy it, then you may go here.

See you in 2010. Have a rocking New Year, folks.

Babies On The Brain

Babies On The Brain
6th November 2005

Happy Diwali, Happy New Year, Id Mubarak to all. Belated happy birthday to the Nag, happy birthday in advance to Minty.

For the last month or so, all my friends have been asking me where I've been.

From Legs, who threatens to disown me and says she's given up on me as a friend; to my best friend, who meets me online to ask why I haven't been uploading my blog of late. From Minty, who wonders when our long overdue date will happen; to the Drunken Painting Poet who wants to know when we'll catch up at Mondy's.

Having finally grown tired of answering questions in quadruplicate, I now present to you my account of What I Have Been Doing For The Last Few Weeks.

I entered hell as a slave about two months ago, when I started working on a baby calendar for a client. What exactly did this imply? Well, for starters, I had to get into a mother's head.

Now, it may sound easy. Mothers love babies. That's all there is to it. Right? Wrong.

So there I was, desperately seeking to discover the mother within myself. Most men try to get in touch with their feminine sides. I have long surpassed that; indeed, I am in touch with my maternal side. I didn't even know I had one.

So I sat down to write copy describing every major milestone in a baby's life. Starting with the joy of birth, going on to imitation and ending with walking. Making every effort to capture the joy of motherhood.

So I'm finally done with copy. Twelve essays, one for each month. Then comes the hard part. Staring at baby pictures to match picture to copy. With a stubborn art director - Kiddo - and a creative director - Scary - who wants me to tackle it all. She threatens to come in at the last moment and change everything. Okay, then!

Then we present to client. Who trips. Asks for options - straw men, just to show her boss that we've worked hard. And things take off from there.

So there I am, doing Kiddo's work for her. Browsing through 2000 pictures in the client's image bank. Then sitting with a painful Kiddo to do a final selection.

Then we present again, final round. And it's approved. You'd think that was the end of it? Uh-huh. Scary makes good on her promise. She changes everything.

So we're sitting and hunting down images from stock libraries. The client has cut down the calendar to a six-month thingy. So six pieces of copy are thrown away.

Scary shows copy around. That was the best part. Everyone loves it. Married baby-fearing women suddenly tell their baby-fearing husbands that they want to have babies. Women tell me that I write like a husband who wants his wife to experience the joy of motherhood. Suspicious offers to buy me a round of drinks, because it's the best copy I've ever done. My client begins to refer to me as 'Mother'. As in, "Tell Mother I like the work."

I'm on cloud nine. Then Scary tells me to rewrite.

Aargh!!!!

Her logic - it's too long. I protest. I whine. I fume. No avail.

I do an edit. She hates it. I do a rewrite from scratch. She thinks it's too serious. Then I do another edit of the original. This passes muster.

Is that all? No. Problems arise with the image libraries, and are still being sorted. More on this as it happens.

And, somewhere before the rewrite, Scary briefs us on an international project for the same clients.
So we spend weeks exploring the mother-baby bond. We have to present three campaigns - three, when we're struggling to crack just one. What's worse - we have to write a book telling the rest of the world how to do advertising for that client. Seems like an ego boost, but believe me, it's slavery.

There go my weekends, my holidays. We're sitting in office till late almost daily, over weekends as well. By the time we're done, we've got three campaigns. After endless rounds of revisions with agency regional business director and agency worldwide creative director. And a very workable book.
Scary flies to Singapore for the client presentation. And comes back with more work.

Two campaigns are to go for research, only after tweaking. One campaign to be done no matter what - so we have to work out scripts. The book - rework!

There goes my week.

Send the two campaigns off after another weekend at work. Then start on the third. Goes up and down, up and down. The anal client bombs work, hysteria happens at Express Towers, the worst scripts ever are polished to imitate average standards, and sent. And approved.

The book? Well, there are more drafts than I can keep track of. Up-down, back-forth, write-rewrite. Until finally the work was completed last night and sent off for a Monday morning meeting.

Now to the nitty-gritties. The inside stories.

The story of me relaxing, thinking I'd cracked a campaign. Then my boss arrived, bombed everything, and we started again.

The story of me getting hysterical that same afternoon, yelling that I couldn't do it anymore. Scary and Carpenter (another creative director who was helping out) are laughing their asses off as I stalk up and down, muttering to myself and waving my hands in the air.

The story of lots of beer in office. Every time we cracked the work, we'd order beer. Then have the work bombed, and start from square one all over again...

The story of a day of rebellion. When Scary, Mister and I decided to bunk work and go drinking. And drank ourselves silly at Mondy's. Mister telling servicing that he was too drunk to check layouts.

The story of a horrible Diwali week. When the only holiday we got was Diwali, when we worked on New Year's, Bhau Bheej and Id.

The story of Scary going through a 45-minute teleconference with aforementioned anal client and anal regional business director, and storming out hysterical. Tearing at her already frizzly hair, eyes bulging, mouthing profanities, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. Then saying, "I need beer and loud music NOW!!!" and dragging us to Mondy's.

The story of yesterday, where I was in office for 11 hours and worked only 2.5. When I lost it and cribbed loudly on the phone to Slappy (in Delhi). When I made puppy-dog eyes at Scary till she told me to f*** off and go home.

Then I went to Doc's uncle's place, to bring in the Nag's birthday. Drank wine, chatted, slept. Then went for the bartending workshop to celebrate it.

In the meanwhile, Groper left for Delhi for good, Slappy left for Delhi for Diwali, and my best friend came home to do her wedding shopping, for all of four days, and left today.

In the meanwhile, I eked out time to get a haircut. I also played a lot with my new phone, missed all my favourite shows on TV, and had all my friends thinking I'm dead.

In the meanwhile, I learnt all about being a father (theoretically, at least). I learnt all about babies. I looked at 5000 baby pictures. I started to watch my sperm count decrease. I started hating mothers and babies with a vengeance.

Scary's told me to take off tomorrow. So I'm going to pick up Slappy from the airport early morning, and then we'll do dinner as well.

Then, research results and post-presentation debrief will happen.

And the work will start again.

And my fate is sealed for another few weeks.

Workaholic Reflections

Workaholic Reflections
14th May 2005

What’s wrong with the following situation?

Here I am, sitting on a Saturday night, all alone at home. I’m in no mood to party – I just want to relax. Listen to music, catch up with friends over the phone. Spend a weekend of constructive unconstructivicism. Sleep. Watch TV.

So what’s wrong with that?

Everything.

It’s the way I’ve been spending my weekends of late. Ever since Doc started his residency, our partying’s been happening on Thursdays or Fridays. So weekends are reserved for goofing off.

But this weekend, I’m tired, excited, wired, pepped up and dying for Monday to come. Unlike in the past.

Things changed around the time I got my increment letter. I’d started to realise that things weren’t as bad as I’d feared they were. That an award-winning ad wasn’t all that it took to make a career (though it does sort of shorten the time needed).

About that time work started to pick up. Scary took off for a client conference, and then sent me an SMS of praise. For a simple job I’d done, that looks good and should work very hard. Words of praise from a boss? Never before have I gotten something like that for something so small.

The other night our COO, Bossman, took Mister (my art partner), Scary and myself (among others) for dinner. As thanks for designing and writing a research report that’s rocked the corporate world, and has been very well talked about.

What’s going on, I wondered. Seems like I’m handling a lot more than I expected to. Suspicious handed over a trainee to me, who I’ll call Brashmouth. Suddenly a two-year old copywriter is asked to train an intern. Whoa there cowboy!

Suddenly I found that I’m enjoying work more and more. Coming in early to start, leaving late to try and finish. Despite the fact that I haven’t been too well – just got diagnosed with hypoglycaemia, in fact.

I’ve been roped in on a campaign that’s been going on for a while, and suddenly there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Two teams are on leave, and I’m taking up the slack. And going completely bonkers while doing it.

My day is now composed of work, toilet breaks, water breaks, two cups of coffee, lunch break, snack break. Of course, the flirting hasn’t completely stopped...

And, at the same time, there’s a ray of hope for three of my most prized pieces of work. Silent Assassin’s pushing the Father’s Day work; Loin, our senior VP has all but sold another campaign; and I’ve managed to revive a kickass catalogue. If all goes well, these three will do more for my career than anything else I’ve done – my promo film apart.

I’m dead tired. Exhausted. But remotivated, feeling happier and more confident about myself than I have in a long while. I’m sure my bosses have noticed – the way I’ve been working with them has changed. More joking, better judgement (thanks to Brashmouth, I’ve started to figure why stuff works and why it doesn’t) and slightly better ideas.

Life looks much better, all of a sudden.

There is, of course another spin to all of this.

Her pseudonym is Slappy.

She’s a little shorter than me, cute face (even with her glasses on), voluptuous, curvy – and good fun. Seems to be a sweet person. We got to know each other better while working on a film edit – and, before I knew it, we were getting closer. She’s the first girl in a long while who makes my heart beat faster – the last one was Legs; Sweetie was a different sort of chemistry – just thinking of her, or just thinking of calling her.

It’s not like Slappy and I are seeing each other. We went out once, and had a great time watching a crappy movie and then sharing a nice dinner. She comes over every day to say hi...and there’s a certain electricity every time our hands touch.

I don’t dare to push this too fast. I’m scared – of many things. Hurting myself is one of them. Rejection is another. An office relationship is, of course, another consideration. But Slappy’s never had a boyfriend. She’s the sort of person who wants to have just one relationship in her life. She’s never even kissed a guy. And my biggest fear is that somehow I’ll hurt her, destroy her ideals.

She’s out of town right now, and I’m actually missing speaking to her. Normally we talk a bit every night – most of the time it’s a chance for me to pull her leg. I was dying to go out with her again this weekend – but our next date(?) won’t happen for a bit.

I don’t quite know what to do about this – and I’m not too sure who to talk to. Groper, probably. Maybe I’ll call her after writing this piece.

Like I said, life suddenly seems rosy. I don’t know how long it’ll last. One thing I found out last year is that life is full of surprises (yes, the cliché is true). Crests and troughs, troughs and crests.

But as long as the crest lasts, I’m gonna ride it.

Yee-ha!

It's A Mad, Ad World

It’s A Mad, Ad World
18th October 2001

One week into my first internship and life has taken one more meandering twist.

It started on 9th October, when I visited the advertising agency to meet the Creative Director of the agency, whom I shall call Ms Tuff. There I was, dressed up in shirt, trousers and formal shoes, in an environment where a t-shirt and jeans is considered a uniform. Already slightly nervous, I found my knees trembling as I entered her office.

I later learnt that everything here is completely informal and people deal with each other on a first-name basis. In the meanwhile, she interviewed me briefly and introduced me to my bosses, the Bald and the Bellyful. And told them to "give me the odd jobs."

Hello? No comprendo. I thought I was going to be writing ad copy. At that moment, I had visions of myself carrying trays of coffee and tea and acting as a courier between various departments.

Nothing of the sort. I arrived at work the next morning and was promptly assigned a cubicle next to Desert, Impotent and Chilli Pickle. I was promptly commanded by my boss, the Bald, to study a book called Cutting Edge Advertising, by Jim Aitchison. I was to report to him after that.

My cubicle. Gorgeous. Beats the hell out of anybody else’s. It’s a desk, with a chest of drawers. The drawers contain ‘recycled’ paper, i.e. paper that has ad proofs printed on one side. These are to be used for rough scribbling. I have a white light tube light at my desk. There is a phone, to be shared by the four of us. A computer, also for the four of us. It’s a ‘copy machine’ – it has a printer, Ms Word, no graphics software and no Internet connection.

As I said, the best in cubicle technology. I now know how Dilbert feels.

In between the studying, I’ve been doing some odd jobs. My worst nightmare has come true. The world knows of my great love for tobacco and tobacco products. And there I was, working on a brand name for the new flavour of Click.

As I said, my day was made.

And then I’ve been working on a dummy assignment, branding and advertising for a Multi-Utility Vehicle. I’ve called it the WildCat. The Bald is suitably impressed by my creativity and I’m now formulating a press campaign.

Unlike my other friends, my work has been more or less limited to copywriting. That is the job specification, isn’t it? Not head of research, head of cut and paste or head clerk. The only research I’ve done is looking for some photographs to be used in a forthcoming Nerolac campaign. The Bald and the Bellyful want to submit this for awards, and there we were, Impotent and myself, doing their dirty work. All because the client was too stingy to pay for a photo shoot.

I am proud to announce that I now have brands like Click, Elle 18, Nerolac, Parachute and Planet M under my belt. I’ve written an ad (of course, in association with my immediate superior, Impotent) for the launch of Planet M, Bangalore. Besides that, I was working briefly on invites for an orgy. A job assigned to me on my first day by Palpatine and Shaolin.

I guess my decision to join a smaller agency has worked so far.

I feel really sorry for all my pals in other big agencies who are doing jobs like surveys, etc. in the name of client servicing or creative.

The atmosphere is really cool. The creative department seems to be full of mad perverts. Which is why I seem to fit in like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

Desert and Impotent have been really helpful. They’ve recommended books, critically analysed my ideas, corrected my copy, explained the functioning of an agency, etc. The works.

The Bald seems to have taken fair interest in me. Even though his statement of "I’ll meet you in five minutes" translates to "See you in three hours". I guess Legs has to slip to second spot – I’ve waited longer for the Bald than for Legs.

The Bellyful seems to have an attitude problem – either he doesn’t like my face or he doesn’t like interns. It has to be the latter. My face is irresistible. He seems to want to make me run from the creative department to the studio and back all the time.

And how do I explain to him that if I run so much I will disappear completely?

The best part is that I get weekends off. Unlike some of my other friends. I also get to sleep at home every night. Unlike some other friends.

I’m still waiting my for my first overnight copywriting session. I seem to excel in doing hard work overnight, as Ads will tell you all.

That’s been my first week or so at the agency. It’s been great fun – exactly what I expected from an ad agency.

As the title of this piece implies, it’s a mad ad world.

Burning Out

Burning Out
12th September 2001

I don’t think it’s ever happened to me before. Not as far as I can remember, at least. I’m hoping that it’s just a passing phase, one that I’ll snap out of soon.

What’s happened is that I’m feeling absolutely burnt out. Since I returned from Bombay last week, I don’t seem to have the will to work. The motivation, the desire, the determination – all seem to have vanished into thin air.

Some of it may be due to the slackening of the pace at SIMC. College started with a bang as students were set a frenetic pace and challenged to cope. I believe that I was able to cope. More than just cope with the pace, I revelled in it.

Now things are dull. As trainees rush around in fits of nervous panic trying to confirm their internships, I try my best to keep awake in class. I’ve missed more 8 am classes these last two weeks than I’ve missed through these three months. No projects and very few assignments. Can I be wholly blamed?

I’ve tried to get back into the pace. I’ve taken over the Cyber Club (to be renamed, I assure you) and have been appointed Coordinator for Nationwide Footprints, Mumbai. However, it hasn’t helped much.

Now all I want to do is go back to Bombay and begin my internship with Ambience d’Arcy. I shall return home next Tuesday for my surgery, scheduled for Thursday. After which I’ll be studying for the mid-term exam and preparing for my syllabus presentation. I return to Pune on the 2nd of October and come home once and for all on 7th October.

I’ve also been feeling very low about life. I don’t want to socialise much. I’m having mood swings. And people who know me are noticing.

It’s probably because I’m more than a little pissed off with my best friend. I’ve been feeling like this for three weeks – feeling that she’s got absolutely no time for me.

In Bombay, when I called her, she’d always tell me that she’d call back because she was talking to somebody else. If she remembered to call, she’d do so after an hour and then tell me to talk quickly because she only had five minutes to spare.

I can’t call her from Pune. She’s busy with classes in the evening, and calling her after 8.30 pm makes life difficult for her at home vis-à-vis her parents. The only recourse is to call on Wednesdays, but madam is generally busy studying. I don’t want to disturb her from that. I haven’t received an email from her in a very long time. Last week when we saw a movie in a group, I felt very left out. The only person who noticed it was my sweetheart.

If she’s got the time to go out with other others and talk to them for hours on the phone, then she’s definitely got the time to talk to me. The day Smelly tried to patch things up with me, I called my best friend. And the first thing she tells me is to make it quick. Putting me off completely.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it. I’ve emailed the gang saying I’ll be home next week. Now I’ll call her when I get there, and we’ll see what happens.

I’ve always felt that friendship has to be both ways. I can’t be the only one calling. Therein lies the crux.

The one friend who’s been in constant touch has been Legs, both via email and telephone.

Anyways, I’m looking forward to my return. And I’m singing for somebody to come on and re-light my fire.

Apologies to Jim Morrison.

Situation Report

Situation Report
29th August 2001

It’s been a long, tiring month.

Having somewhat recovered from the virus that had laid me low after my incredible work stretch, I returned to college to work on the Convocation. My fever promptly returned, and I spent the last two days working with a hundred-degree fever. However, the Convocation went off fairly well – the yearbook was well appreciated, as were the rest of the ceremonies. The launch of the media newsletter Blab!, which I designed, titled and contributed to, went off as planned at the hands of Cyrus Oshidar. Although the newsletters were left behind in college and nearly forgotten. Until Auntie and myself rescued the day. Superman and Supergirl to the rescue.

I returned late on the night of 12th August, miserably ill. Too ill, in fact, to attend Oshidar’s workshop the next morning. I did something intelligent and visited a doctor, and spent the next four days convalescing.

And then Dad and Amma landed up in Pune on the 18th. Dad needed a break from work; Amma was tagging along. It was definitely nice to see them, but there was something very strange about having other people in the house all the time. I’ve no problems readjusting when I return home, but I’ve gotten too used to the loneliness of my home in Pune.

Anyways, I needed a long break. Something that was promised to us by our Director, but never delivered. So I took off for home with my family for Ganesh Chaturthi. That was the second-best break I’ve had since coming to Pune – the best being the first time I returned home. I’ve slept like a log, watched TV and generally farted around with no pressures to worry about.

The best part was that I got to meet my best friend and my sweetheart. Not to mention Hairy Puttar and DJ. DJ and I spent over six hours at Andheri at my best friend’s house. My sweetheart also joined us, and it was a lovely evening.

I’ve been worried about my best friend. She hasn’t gotten admission as yet into an M.Sc. or Pathology course. Her last recourse is an MBA, and it’s slowly turning into her main option. The only problem is her conservative family. They want to get her married.

She’s been sounding like she’s already lost hope. Her emails read, "I’m getting married in 6 months. You are invited." I’ve been trying to boost her spirits, reminding her that it’s her life and that she’ll never be happy unless she does what she truly wants to. Things are slightly better now – she’s more relaxed and hopeful. That’s the way it should be. I just can’t bear to see her unhappy.

My sweetheart still holds that status in my life. We only had a few minutes alone that day, but we were as we’ve always been. Cuddled up, holding hands on the sofa, talking. And now she’s thrown me into confusion. I’ve just received an email from her, where she signs off saying, "Love you."

I’ve had very strong feelings for her for a while now, feelings that only my best friend knows about. Even when I was going around with Smelly my heart was divided. Last evening I went for a movie with my college pals. However, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my sweetheart since last afternoon. I guess I still have some soul-searching to do. Not for the first time I wish I could read women’s minds, a la Mel Gibson in What Women Want. I really wish I knew how she feels about me.

It’s surprising, but I’d been thinking of Smelly quite a lot before I left for Bombay. I guess it happens whenever I’m planning to return home. Bombay holds some fond memories for me about us – Pune has soured those memories now. I’ve now struck out twice with girls I’ve taken to that little lane near the NCPA – first with Jum and now with Smelly. I guess I’ll need to find another khopcha for my next affair. I’d better start exploring Kandivili well – who knows what’ll happen between my sweetheart and me.

And what about Legs? We spoke for nearly two hours the night after I returned. She was a little low and I caught it immediately, stunning her. I keep telling her that I know her better than she thinks, but her memory is like a sieve. She never remembers.

We’ve become closer since our little three-month rift. We’ve also become closer since my encounter with Smelly. She’s opened up a lot about her love life, and we’ve had some amazing conversations since then. I always tell her that we should get together as a couple – for the first time she agreed that night. On the condition that I give her a solitaire for our engagement. So I’ve started saving up.

Groper and I are having an affair – that’s what we tell everybody in class. This is what you call keedas. She spent the night at my place a few days ago – working on an assignment, nothing else, you pervert. And she threw up with food poisoning two days ago. So we’ve started spreading the rumour that she’s pregnant – but not with my child. I’m gonna become a chacha. Extra keedas, no?

We’re going for another movie this afternoon. Free passes to film festival, must take full advantage. So I’m going to sign off now, but I’ll be back. Like the Terminator. Or a bad penny.

End of situation report. Over and out.

Career Crazy

Career Crazy
15th May 2001

It’s that time of year again. Third Year Degree College exams are starting. Bringing with them the end of college life. It’s a new beginning for all of us. What does the future hold in store for us?

It’s amazing that the road ahead can have so many kinks and curves. It isn’t quite the straight and narrow path that Gautam Buddha spoke of. And my path is so crooked that it’d put Capone to shame.

When I was a little boy, I used to read Commando comics. I used to dream about joining the armed forces and performing heroic deeds on the field of battle. I was very determined to become a pilot – and then, one day when I was in the second or third standard, I was gifted with the bane of my existence. A pair of spectacles.

My dreams of flying having been shattered, I moped along for a few years. In the eighth standard, I took up Journalism in school as part of Friday Activities. Every week, a bunch of us used to sit around in a classroom, discussing the latest news, and honing our skills. It was then assumed by one and all that I’d become a journalist or writer of some sort. At the time, I had been writing poetry for five years. The poems all seemed excellent then. Looking back, I realise how immature they were. Three stanzas of four lines each, a rhyme scheme of ‘a a b b’. These poems talked about living under the sea, flying to Mars and John McEnroe.

It is my belief that, if published, these poems would oust the likes of Enid Blyton and J. K. Rowling as authors of best-selling books for children. But, me being me, I refused to publish because I adore Blyton and Rowling.

What might have influenced my decision was the fact that no publishing house of any repute and sense would touch these poems with the other end of a long barge pole.

It was always assumed that I’d study commerce. One day after my SSC exams, I was sitting in my tuition teacher’s house glancing through an Accounts textbook. I fell asleep. That momentous happening made me take up Science. My focus was then turned to Engineering. Dad told me to study Electronics at the HSC level. It’s a basis for IT, he said. Mom’s fancy was Aeronautical Engineering.

I quickly realised that Chemistry remained shrouded in mystery; Physics took a very brutal physical toll on my grey cells and Electronics shocked me. The only practical things I learnt from Electronics were that a soldering iron can get very hot and never to thrust one into a 230 Volt AC power supply. As one unfortunate classmate of mine found out, the results of such experimentation were quite explosive.

I decided that Engineering was best left to others. In a flash of inspiration – that was roundly denounced at the time – I decided to do a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics. I assumed that I would take up a nice IT job – so I joined NIIT and planned to appear for the MCA exams.

Then one day I heard of the abbreviation ‘MBA’. Acting on the advice of well-meaning family friends, I enrolled for classes for various MBA entrance exams. I appeared for the CAT. I also appeared for the MCA test conducted by VJTI. In the midst of all this, I noticed an ad in the papers talking about Mass Communication. I gave that test as well.

Thereafter the story is clear. I cleared the admission procedures for SIMC with flying colours. I am now set to take up a career in Advertising after a few years.

Even that is uncertain. Mom and Dad still want me to do an MBA. However, after two years in Pune, I might emerge as a gourmet chef.

The moral of the story is something I keep hearing. Live for the moment, people tell me. That’s when I want to strangle them. When will they realise that I’m a practical Capricorn male? Who’s not happy unless he’s more or less charted out his course for the next five or ten years?

Actually the lesson to be learnt is that studying does not really pay. In the end, just do what you want to do.

So I’m going to be a taxi driver.