Macchars don’t wear sweaters

Please consider my new profound poem

 hmmmm…….

Commentary : “hmmmm” signifies the humdrum of life. The perpetual movement of humanity. The air of the mass of humankind going around its business, as if this business were the ultimate truth of life, and life were eternal.

“……” signifies gradually approaching death, sleathily creeping up on us taking us closer to our end.

“.” signifies the event of death.

the blank space thereafter signifies the vast nothingness, the cosmic mystery that exists beyond death, which no living man can know, and which shall be revealed only at the dying moment.

P.S – for those who havent realised it, the above is B.S

Having interacted with American clients much over the past 5 years, I have learnt some valuable lessons about how Americans communicate in a business context. Such communication has its own “vocabulary”. Smooth communications are all about using the right words at the right time. Some tips are:-

1) Omit the word “OK” from your vocabulary and replace it with “great”. For example

Client: I’ll talk to you in 10 minutes  You: great!

Client: I’ll send you detailed specifications in a mail. You: great!

You: How are you?

Client: fine…

You: great!

2) When the client speaks for 10 minutes, detailing a new project, and you barely got what the hell he was talking about you say “sounds good…”

3) When you say “south” and he twists it to mean north you say “Exactly!!”

4) When you think you heard the stupidest idea of your life you say “makes sense”

Well there’s your complete toolkit to master the art of client interaction – “exactly”, “sounds good”, “makes sense”, “great”, and perhaps an additional “got it”

.

You must have heard the recent newspaper reports of sightings across the town, of a ghostly apparition, a strange shimmering white scepter flying through the air in the death of night, thundering in its evil tongue. Unbelievers, I know you scoff. “Rumors started by the ignorant & the superstitious” – you pompously dismiss it. You couldn’t be more wrong.  

This tale is true, as true as light of day, as true as you and me. I, a principal actor in the events to follow, and having survived to tell the tale, soul forever scarred, bear live testimony to the truth of all the events that passed on that ungodly night. So listen. 

Creatures of the twilight must surely have an affinity to moonless winter nights, for it is on one such night my story begins as well. Having finished with my day’s activities, just as i was preparing to retire, the phone rang. As I look back upon those moments, I find it ironic how firmly rooted in the “normal” we are, how far the dark secrets of reality are from our thoughts, secrets that lurk in the shadows, never too far from us. Until one day, oblivious as we are, fate inexorably leads us to a moment of truth, and our lives are forever changed, “normalcy” a distant dream.  

My mother walked into the room informing me that a relative wanted someone to come over and fetch a quilt he had borrowed long ago. I was a little annoyed at having to make the trip at such a late hour, but didn’t think much of it, since this particular relative hardly lived a 10 minutes motorcycle drive from our house. 

As I weaved my motorcycle through the deserted streets that led to the relative’s house, I wondered at the chill in the air that night. Before long I was there, having made quick work of pleasantries, with the rather large quilt held with my arms wrapped around it, helmet donned, not having bothered to take it off at all, wondering how I would ever take my big load back on the motorcycle. 

Several alternate strategies presented themselves my mind as I surveyed the rather difficult situation. I mulled slinging it on my shoulder, but omitted that possibility given the size of the quilt. Another possibility was simply folding the quilt and placing it on the seat and sitting on it for the drive back. That was soon struck out as well, because the folded quilt formed quite a heap. A more plausible solution was balancing it on my lap between my knees as I drove back.  

I therefore placed it on the petrol tank, and proceeded to mount the seat. But just as I was seated, it slipped off the tank and fell on the road, and came undone from its folded position and spread all over the road. 

 I was forced to get off again, gather it and repeat my attempt. I realized timing was important, as the quilt would always slide off the tank, so I needed to get on real quick, and use my knees to keep it balanced on the tank. 

I cautiously placed the quilt on the tank, and with a deft movement mounted the seat just as the quilt was sliding off. Having accomplished the task of balancing myself and the quilt on the motorcycle at the same time, I proceeded to take hold of the handles to steady myself. This was no mean task with the huge quilt between my knees, almost obstructing my view, ever ready to unfurl itself and slide off. With much difficulty, I got my arms around the quilt to the handles, pinning the quilt in place with my knees, chin and chest. The next thing to do was to press the kick, and get the motorcycle started. I lifted my leg cautiously, placed it gently on the kick and pushed down. Lo! The tipping caused by the sudden movement caused the quilt to come loose, and repeat its favorite act of falling on the road and spreading out in all directions.