An Incomplete Search

The alert reader - one of my ten multiple personalities or that marvellous lady who publicly declared her loyalty to this blog - will remember that the previous post ended with me and Poli* surviving multiple spittle bombing attempts during our journey to the client premises.

In the lift, I did a quick check to ensure that there were no traces of mud, paan, grime or any carbon based lifeform on my clothes. We reached the front desk. I walked up to the secretary. "Spanker", I said with my winningest secret agent smirk, "Avionic Spanker." Blank look. Clearly the only Bond she knew had the first name Brook. Smirk duly wiped. "Avionic Spanker from the-company-you-are-paying-an-insane-amount-of-money-to-tell-you-nothings-wrong-with-you". I saw a look of recognition light up her face. "I am here to meet Mr. XYZ". "Of course, please wait. I'll let him know you are here" .. and so we waited.

Finally we were ushered into XYZ's room and I did a double take. Poli stifled a gasp. No, its not what you think. XYZ was not our friendly cook, Maharaj, in disguise. He did remind us of someone else though. As he stepped out to take a phone call, me and Poli exchanged notes. Our verdict was unanimous. He had a remarkable resemblance to an actor starring in multiple movies of a very popular genre. The name of the genre rhymes with torn. If you are familiar with the Indian word for this genre, it rhymes with brandy (If you haven't guessed it yet, stop soaking in the comfortable warmth of your ignorance and ask the first teen you run into) As we were trying to remember which movies we may have seen the actor in, XYZ returned to resume the meeting. I don't know if this has ever happened to you but talking to someone AND trying to match their face with someone you vaguely remember is a tough job. Now if this person you vaguely remember was always minimally or never clothed, the complexity gets magnified manifold. Besides you have to understand that as far this genre goes, the focus is never on the actors. Its always on the *ahem* action. As I mentally ran through an inventory of such movies I had seen, I realised all I could remember were the female actors.

This had to be a bad dream. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and in an absurdly wrong state of mind. This was like a 90 year old with arthritis deciding to compete with Usain Bolt. On ice. This was like being an industrialist in Bengal. With a name called Ratan. This was like randomly opening a page in Atlas Shrugged and landing in the middle of that monologue. Yes, THAT one. This was like entering the theatre and watching Tushar Kapoor's name in the opening credits. As sole lead. One just knows something bad is going to happen and that one will be scarred by the experience. And here we were, seated opposite a man droning on about his business as we racked our brains trying to identify his doppleganger. Never one to leave a question unanswered, I have made a mental note to go to certain websites as soon as I get unrestricted internet access and find XYZ's clone. I am pretty sure that industry has a very small workforce. Wonder how it is to work there. Everyone there must know everyone else. Intimately.

Many people have responded to my previous post to assure me that I do not have a future as a writer in EK's coterie. One of my loyal readers, most likely the 6th personality, even threatened to commit suicide if I joined EK's bandwagon. I have tried to think up ways of introducing saree-clad fat women with bindis longer than your average kitchen knife and their thin daughter-in-laws (or is it daughters-in-law .. pshaw!) with tear-filled eyes into this story. Sadly, I don't see how that can happen unless some of the characters in this story have simultaneous gender reassignment procedures and multiple plastic surgeries. Alas, joining EK is a dream that will have to die. Thanks for your feedback, people. EK's loss is your gain. I think.

*Poli refers to himself as Rampant Orbit and recommends you do the same