Okay, I'm going to try and not make this a senti thread. God knows there are enough of them. Some of them quite excellent in their tear jerkiness. (Meaningless aside. I had a batchmate called Tuhin Sen, and we called him Senti. Though he was anything but.) +
I went back to our office last Sunday. To tell our landlords we had decided to give up the place. And I walked around the deserted office, taking pictures and half imagining this thread. Maybe my wife is right when she says Twitter rules my life. +
Of course I couldn't say, Ramanandji, chai pilao. Because he is back in Madhubani, Bihar. And I have no idea if he will ever come back and serve us tea again. In the all too familiar cups. I always wanted to get fancier cups, but never got around to getting them. +
This was our third office space. And we had carted some of our trademark belongings here too. The cartwheel for instance, which @nadeemcon (or @sourabhonnet ?) scrounged. And my Grandfather's table which has some ambiguous symbolism associated with it. +
On the table are some old worldly things. A manual typewriter, a landline, a table lamp. We ad folks love nostalgia.
A mousetrap. Because someone said Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door. And a print of Norman Rockwell's Blank Canvas. +
It felt strange. Because we never thought we wouldn't be coming back here. We just decided abruptly that we'd start working from home. Guys took their machines home. And that was it. We thought it was for 3 weeks tops. Poor Parineeti. She misses Ashish. +
In our wishful thinking we created a lovely library in the basement. And for three years we kept telling ourselves we'd spend time there. Of course, we never did. Long lunches and mindless surfing always won. +
Sure enough, we have the essential agency props. Guitars and bean bags. To be fair we used them a lot. Way more than the library. We have an electronic drum kit somewhere too. And for a while we had tablas too. +
Office felt enough like home for some of us to bring pieces of furniture here. Just like that. Not an interior decorator saying Let's get some chor bazaar chairs in here. Just guys confusing home and office. +
I saw Mehboob's corner. What an amazing dungbeetle he is. His stuff has also come from office to office. That's where he gets his strategic insights from, I guess. Good luck to him, shipping all this back. +
I poked my head into the conference room. With its table-tennis top table. And the Calvin and Hobbes strip on the wall. I don't know if it amused or frightened our clients with its message. +
I was amazed by how quickly we adjusted to the idea of wfh. The same people who spent weeks trying to create the perfect work place. Let's have a nook here. A couple of benches there, just for fun. A picture of a happy girl here. And a bike hanging from the roof. +
The books we used most were on our desks. Not in the cosy library in the basement. For now, they've all been replaced by Brin and Page's ubiquitous invention. But in the next month, we are hoping we'll find a new home for all of them. +
We started in a small apartment in a residential colony. We then moved to a proper office. And then to this place you've been seeing pictures of. Now it's time to go back to a small place. Not because economics demands it. But because the world shrugged her shoulders.
ANTHE.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
Fear the worst, the new CEO said, pronouncing both the r's. He spoke with an accent that did not try to mask his roots. He wore an ill fitting jacket and a poorly knotted tie. On his way up to the top tech job in the world, he didn't make any fashion pit stops. +
His face loomed on the giant screen in the auditorium. And on thousands of smaller screens watched live by minions around the globe. His annual speech had become an international media event. Bits of it would trend for weeks on social media. +
The myth of the elusive man, embellished by bits of apocrypha, would go viral. WhatsApp groups would buzz with fervent forwards. Till his sound bytes would be replaced by clips of the latest red carpet sensation, embellished by bits of fabric. +
There was something ineffably graceful about her. Him. Them. I don't know what her preferred pronoun was. Or if she even knew there is some such thing. I'll just use she/her. Because that feels right to me. +
She was almost always there at the SV Road signal when I drove to work. A quiet, dignified presence. There was always a hint of a smile on her powdered face. Just a subtle widening of her brightly lipsticked mouth. But genuine enough to travel to her eyes. Making them look kind.+
Even when she was a few cars away, I felt the tenderness of her expression. Maybe it had something to do with the laws of reflection. Light bounces off differently from a painted surface. She probably used a cheap foundation cream and even cheaper compact. +
I watch people. And study their habits. Like that guy at the next table who taps his cup twice after mixing sugar. Not once, not thrice. Always twice. That Dell kid who gets into his chair from the left and out from the right. +
That woman with the pink iPhone who picks all her calls after three rings. The guy who takes a picture of every coffee he has. The doorman who wipes the handle after every customer walks in. Covid habits die hard. +
Yes, I'm at a coffee shop. Not the famous one. But the nicer one with better food, better coffee, better chairs. But weaker wifi and smaller loo. I come here every Wednesday. At the same time, and follow the same routine. +
Here's a bunch of random pictures. Will try to run a thread through them. And try to hold your attention with trivia, wordplay, and banter while doing so. +
Most of you may have recognised three of the four images. And some geniuses, all four. The logo of Rolling Stones, a Phantom comic, Sacha Baron Cohen, and the toughie - the root of a mandrake plant. Aah! Many of you have probably got the basic connection. +
Lee Falk. The cool dude who created Phantom and Mandrake. He was a writer, director, producer, and cartoonist. He directed over a hundred plays featuring actors including Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, Charlton Heston, Ethel Waters, and Chico Marx. (All wikipedia gyan, not mine.) +
Today is a good day to tell you the story of how my 85 year old grandmother helped us win the IPL. I will not tell you which edition it was. I am sworn to secrecy. +
I was on the bench the entire season. I didn't play a single match. I fielded as a substitute, for a couple of overs in our tenth game. I took a catch and saved 7, maybe 8, runs. I didn't get picked at the auctions ever again. But it was my paati who helped us lift the trophy.+
I should probably go back to where this story starts. My childhood. I was a habitual liar. And a really good one. My amma and appa could never spot my fibs. And I got away with a lot of stuff. +
Everybody hated the old bastard. That he was wheelchair-bound made no difference. He was a cantankerous, foul mouthed, ill tempered, misshapen bundle of vitriol. +
When he was found dead, slumped over his lap, held back only by the belt of his wheelchair, there was a collective unreleased sigh of relief. Even from his own family.+
He used to sit all day in front of his ground floor flat, in the little patch of garden that he usurped from the society. He had an unkind word for everyone - from the watchman to the drivers to the kids who played in the yard to the delivery boys.+