Domain Maximus

So we’re spending the weekend in Cambridge, the missus and I. Our agenda for the weekend is one big, refreshing, rejuvenating void. We intend to breakfast gloriously every morning at our b&b, and then ensconce ourself in one of this wonderful university town’s many cafes. Where we will read and write and talk and think and over-caffeinate ourselves into a state of zen. (Currently I am slowly, but rapturously, chewing my way through a book of essays by AJP Taylor. While the misses has just started an Abraham Eraly and is proceeding very slowly because there is too much happening on Twitter.)

And so it was this morning. Our B&B, the best bed and breakfast in the whole wide world so far, is a brisk 40-minute walk away from the city centre. Most of those 40 minutes are spent along the banks of the river Cam. Though it does seem a little embarrassing to call the Cam a river. I’ve seen potholes in Thrissur that are wider, deeper, have more consistent fluid flow, and have a livelier water sports scene. 

But if the locals insist it is a river, who are we to disagree?

This morning the Cam was, as usual, fabulous. Swans and ducks and college rowing teams jostled for space on the Cam’s surface as your blogger and his missus and other pedestrians calmly walked by in the biting cold and glorious sunshine. (This is, without a doubt, the worst weather in the world to dress for. Every layer is one layer too much for this much sunshine. Every layer is one layer too little for the cold. Bloody nonsense.)

So we walked, occasionally stopping to watch the rowing teams piston by, and generally wondered how much it would cost to buy a little house in Cambridge. And then, suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the smell of somebody burning some kind of wood wafted over on the back of a gust of wind, penetrated my nostrils, activated a vast array of nerve endings and smell receptors, all of which then relayed a burst of electrical signals into my brain.

Et, as the french say, voila. Suddenly, clear as crystal, I could see my grandmother hunched over the wood-burning stove in the kitchen of my old ancestral home in Kerala.

Smell is the WinZip of the brain. One moment somebody is burning something somewhere. The next moment you have a full 3D diorama in your head of something that happened years and years and years ago.

We don’t burn wood in our stoves back in Thrissur any more. We don’t have grandmother anymore either. But the memories are vivid. I can still smell the bits and pieces of dried coconut palm fronds and coconut shells fogging up our kitchen and sooting up the insides of our massive chimney. We cooked simple meals in those days. (We still do, mostly. You need a lot of wealth to wash away even the slightest run in with poverty.) But depending on where you ate your food it could taste completely differently. Eat in the kitchen and everything tasted smoky and sweet and, frankly, a little grainy. Things got better in the dining room. Take your plate outside to the courtyard and the tamarind in the fish curry and the coconut in the kadala curry began to slowly emerge from beneath the smokiness. 

There are other smells that mean much to me. The smell of the carpet in the lobby of my building in London is a powerful sensory marker. It tells me I am home. And that everything is ok. And that you no longer have to use strange toilets or eat strange breakfasts. The smell of carpets, though, is an ancient totem for me. The smell of carpets also remind me of my flat in Abu Dhabi. Of how we’d come back from the airport after annual vacation in Kerala, open the door, inhale the smell of carpets and… suddenly realise that it was time to go back to school, and read the Khaleej Times, and eat sausages from a plastic bag. It meant that you no longer woke up each morning to hear cows being milked and grandparents fighting and uncles battling with scooters and cousins carving wickets out of wooden sticks. It was a sad feeling. It was a happy feeling. And it was all because of the carpets.

Yes. Smells. Awesome things. I just thought I’d share. 

As some of you may be aware, in January this year I embarked on a new exercise regime. This new regime, chosen after extensive research and rumination, involved a series of run-cum-walks that gradually increased in intensity till I could finally run for up to 40 or 45 minutes without frequent cardiac arrest. This intense, but very doable, regime replaced my previous exercise routine. That old routine was structured around physical activity depicted in the diagram below:

Why did I choose this new system? There were many reasons.

First of all I wanted to run in the British 10K and raise money for an education charity in India. Pastrami’s wife, a woman of uncommon enthusiasm, signed me up. At the time I thought to myself: “Ten kilometres? Ha ha ha. Where is the challenge? Can I run it twice to raise more money?”

The next day I changed into some casual gym-type clothes of t-shirt, shorts, towel socks and sports shoes and went to a nearby sports stadium that has a splendid running track outside. I took a deep-breath, started my stop watch, and set off. It took me merely seconds to cover the first 12-15 meters and another five or six minutes to regain consciousness. It had been a hard experience, but the lesson was clear: several hundreds of poor children in India would have to continue with their informal education without the institutional limitations of a school. Perhaps through Khan Academy.

Unfortunately for me Mrs. Pastrami has the mental flexibility of a large inter-state bus terminal. She wouldn’t budge. “If you start now you will definitely be able to complete the run by July,” she said, as if she is talking to Ravichandran Ashwin.

And thus, in order to avoid humiliation in front of thousands of London runners and the local media, I embarked on a running program.

“IIM Ahmedabad graduate collapses hilariously during British 10K. Subsequently run over by 23 members of IIM Bangalore London Alumni Association.”

Shudder.

But also I really did want to get fit. Over the last few years I’d let myself go just a little bit. The pressures of work and the incessant newspaper deadlines had begun to show in my chunky gut and my 1.6 chins. This run seemed like a good chance to shed some of that excess weight and top up some of that legendary chickmagnetism that has always driven ladies all over two countries (India and UK) mad with desire.

So far my plan has been a total success. Every day I am approached by men and women who want to know how I’ve managed to lose so much weight and get so trim. I am fitting into my old clothes once again. And even as I write this I can once again feel both my thighs as separate entities. 

How did I do this? How can you also learn the pleasures of running? How can you bring some Vaducuteness into your life?

Let me distill all the wisdom of my experience into ten easy to remember bullet-points. This is the outcome of one year of hectic running, research, online socialising, forum-ing, reading and documentary-watching. Follow these instructions and you will become as good a runner as I have.

1. Like any other form of exercise, running is not without its risks. Always consult a physician before you start.

2. Do you now own a small telescope, a Van de Graf generator, and understand the wave-particle duality of light? Excellent. This is because you consulted a physicist by mistake. Go back to step one.

3. So now ready to hit the road and run, run, run? After all, how difficult can running be right? Wrong. You have now been physically incapacitated for life. Sorry.

What mistake did you make? You chose the wrong clothes. Running is no longer what it used to be. Depending on the weather in your native place you need to buy the appropriate clothing for running. In places with mild, temperate weather, such as southern Europe or Kerala, you need nothing more than a high-tech sweat-wicking top, a minimal pair of running shorts and sports socks. In colder places you might want to add a layer of thermal clothing, unless you are one of those mad people who run without a shirt on in London in the depths of winter. The good thing about these mad people, however, is that they are incapable of propagating due to frostbite.

Finally, if you live in very hot weather in places such as Mumbai or Delhi, it is better to take an auto.

4. Have you hit the road running? Big mistake. You no longer have functioning legs. Sorry.

This is because you thought you could run in whatever shoes you had. This is a common error with unsophisticated runners. Nobody should run even for five centimetres before undergoing a complicated procedure known as ‘gait analysis’. Here a professional gait analyst-certified on the internet-will ask you to run on a treadmill in your existing shoes while pointing a video camera at you. After a few moments the analyst will show you the video and show your how you are running. This is when most runners realise, for the first time in their lives, that they have enormous buttocks that, on the video, seem like an alien trying to eat a pair of their shorts. They also realise that their ‘running form’ is all wrong. Ideally your feet should hit the tread mill at a perfect 90 degree angle.

Alas. Most people have feet that hit the road at wrong angles. Either your feet slope inward. Or bow outwards. This means you need to buy special shoes, made by a company called Saucony, that cost at least £80 a pair. 

At this point you may be wondering: Isn’t there a conflict of interest here? Does the gait analyst, who usually works in the shoe store, ever have an incentive to say that you’re running form is correct?

Such questions are not welcomed in the running community. Avoid.

5. One important point here regarding Vibram Five Fingers. Many of you, while driving around in posh neighbourhoods, may have noticed people wearing ridiculous running shoes that seem to cover their feet like a glove. This is called Vibram Five Fingers. Next time you see them, point your vehicle in their direction and continue on your journey, ignoring any bumps.

6. Feeling exhilarated as the wind blows past your hair, and you pump foot in front of foot? Tragedy! I wish you best of luck finding the perfect pig that will provide you with replacement heart parts.

This is because you have put on your new clothes and shoes and just run out of your door like a caveman. Where is your heart rate monitor and GPS watch? Without these pieces of equipment how will you know how much you are running and if you’re working your heart too much? I expected much more from you. If educated people like you are doing this then how people from IIM Calcutta will run properly?

Remember, every individual has an optimum target heart-rate band. You should aim to run in such a way that you hit a rate within this band. Below this and you’re not running hard enough. Greater than this and you’re treating your heart like it is some sort of traditional Indian family in Oslo.

I know it is frustrating to wait for Amazon/eBay/Rediff Shopping to deliver the heart rate monitor. But, as Oscar Wilde once said: “Be patient, or be patient.”

7. Before you rush out of that door, just one more piece of advice: take your phone. There are many benefits. First of all this means that you will have to buy one of those Velcro arm-bands that you can put your phone inside. This, along with a minimum of one item on the body in fluorescent green, is the current global symbol of a serious runner. Without this you are just a suspicious type possibly running away from a crime scene.

Also phones are capable of helping you run better. There are many apps such as RunKeeper and Runtastic that keep a track of how much you run, count your calories burnt, record your route and even help you pace your run through cheerful voice prompts: “Next interval! 10 seconds! Fast! Sieg Heil!”

Normally most runners download between 35 to 75 running apps before they find their perfect one: the native iPhone music player.

8. Next you must choose the perfect place to run. Normally you will find yourself asking the question “Where do I go and run today?” only seconds before you leave your house. Therefore you will then go back to your house, open your Macbook, switch on your iPad or use some other poorer quality computing device and go to Google Maps. You will then spend 30-45 minutes crafting a perfect route that blends both challenge and entertainment. And then just, when you have everything planned out, it starts to rain.

This is very common among beginners. Which is why a basic gym membership is essential for all aspiring runners. On days with bad weather, the treadmill is your friend. However do remember that running on a treadmill is fundamentally different from running on the street. Compensate for this by increasing the incline on your treadmill by a few degrees. But how do you know if you are using the treadmill correctly. This is a basic thumb rule: If you are bleeding from the mouth and/or ears your incline is too high. Reduce immediately. On the other hand if your face is directly positioned in front of one or more armpits that may or may not belong to you, you are in a Pilates class. Replace dislocated shoulder and return to treadmill.

9. My second last, but not second least, point is on breathing. Even the most accomplished beginners have trouble getting their breathing rhythms just right. Usually personal trainers say that when you are running at the right pace, and breathing in the right manner, you should be able to just about speak with a little difficulty while running. However this is easier said than done. What if you are not a talkative kind of person? Or what if you’re running by yourself in a park, try to whisper to yourself to judge breathing, focus so hard on this that you don’t notice the young woman running ahead of you, who then mistakes you for a sex criminal? (This happened to a friend’s friend.)

Use this simple timing technique instead: for every cycle of inhalation and exhalation you should be able to take four steps. This could be as follows: “inhale, step, step, exhale, step, step” OR “inhale step step step step exhale” OR “inhale exhale step step step step” OR “step inhale step exhale step step”. However watch out for this cycle: “inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale”. This means you have stopped.

10. Finally we come to nutrition and hydration. A common saying in the running community is “Show me a dehydrated runner and I will show you someone who will die soon and then we can decide which of the two is more tragi-comic “. This is not a very positive community. But the message is crystal clear. Stay hydrated. But find your own personal rhythm. Some people like to have a small drink before running. And then a small drink again after. Other people drink while they run. Experiment and see what works for you. If you’re running with a large group of friends, secretly fill one person’s water bottle with mulligatawny soup. Hilarious.

Avoid all food at all times. Food is what got you into this mess.

Conclusion: I hope you enjoy this wholesome collection of running tips and tricks. And I look forward to our impending Vaducuteness.

When I was a kid I absolutely loathed going out shopping with my parents. Not that we embarked on protracted shopping trips too frequently. But when we did… shudder. Supermarkets bore me, textile shops siphon the life force out of me and, worst of all, my Dad’s proclivity for watch showrooms frustrated.

We’d be walking along some side road in Abu Dhabi hunting for ‘sale’ when suddenly Dad would disappear. We’d look around and see him mimicking walking, but not really moving at all, outside a Rivoli or Al Fardan or Al Futtaim gawking at an Omega or a Patek or a Kolber of some kind.

Over the years he did develop a small collection of watches with one or two expensive ones in them that he, I daresay, nurtured like children. After a while he infected a bunch of co-workers with the watch bug. And then every few months they’d all buy and sell watches to each other and feel quite posh.

I hated it.

But that kind of thing does leave residual tendencies.

And now I write about watches for the newspaper. And I bloody can’t get enough of the thing.

I can’t afford any of them. But, as you will see, just looking at them is a balm for the soul.

Hope you enjoy our second watch special (below) and the first in what will be a periodic series of MintWatch specials. This one is on the SIHH fair that happened in January. There should be at least two more this year.

Sometimes your parents make complete sense retrospectively.

This came in the email day before yesterday. Harish, as you can see, has mega-tons more experience than I do. And also runs a big company. So you should probably listen to him.

***

Further advice to the MBA Class of 2011

Dear Mr. Vadukut, and MBA students navigating placement season -

Your “Cubiclenama” of last week, containing advice for the graduating MBA class passing through the madness of placement season, made for inspiring reading. There is a strong case for making it compulsory reading at all business schools. I must clarify that I am from a very ancient MBA Class of 1987, but some of your sage advice is relevant to all MBA students and alumni, however young or bald they may be. I have indeed begun balding, but am yet to finally conclude whether this is on account of a quarter century spent in corporate cubicles, or a sign of true wisdom that comes from reading various pieces of excellent advice such as yours.

I agree with all the advice you have proferred to the new MBA batch, except your recommendation that they should forget Pink Floyd. This is simply because it is never possible to forget Pink Floyd, despite the fact that we first heard many of their songs in the midst of alcohol fuelled stupor or even worse. Hence, you are asking for the impossible. In any case I must point out that it is quite appropriate to sing their signature number “We don’t need no education” when we finally leave the portals of business school, which is possibly the last educational portal most of us will ever pass through. Many of us will say a very loud Hallelujah to that.

Now, there is further sound advice I would like to share with the MBA class of 2011 as they step into placement season, which builds on what you have told them. To begin with, you must not merely answer questions from the august panel of interviewers. Many of us who are part of interview panels these days also like to be questioned, since we get questioned all the time in our offices anyway. A day without questions is like a dancefloor without music, or Elizabeth Taylor without a husband. So ask your interviewers a few simple questions, such as :

“Are you really happy at your job, Sir ? And what makes you so ecstatic at work, if I may ask ?”

“Do you have really beautiful women in your Organisation ? I mean, even rough approximations of Katrina or Angelina ? Do you encourage dates, Sir, either blind or visually vivid ones, with colleagues ? And a last question, Sir, given the high costs of dining out, do you fund these dates ?”

“What is the best and worst thing that has happened to habitual latecomers in your fine Organisation ?”

You can gradually progress to more complex and interesting questions, such as –

“Sir, can you tell me how you segment consumers in your industry ?” (rest assured, questions on consumer segmentation can never be answered correctly)

“Sir, how can smokers light up in your Company, without breaking the law ?” (from my years of experience, atleast one member of the interview panel will be a smoker, and hence likely to be an implicit breaker of the law. You will therefore never get a honest reply.)

“Sir, do you permit the wearing of bermudas in your office ?”

Now, this last question may appear unusual, but it is a very important investigation to make. Reliable dipstick research has shown that offices which permit Bermudas are generally happy-go-lucky places which you will enjoy forever. If they permit quick tots of Jamaican rum, a delightful liquid close enough in origin to Bermuda, they will be even better. But if an Organisation says No to a Bermuda or a Jamaica, be doubly cautious about accepting an offer from them, because you may end up in a stuffy office which has never ever heard of Dilbert or Vadukut. Sadly, such places exist.

You must also enquire from the interview panel whether the Company parties often, and if so where do they go to let their hair (or what is left of it, in some of our cases) down. If the initial response to this question is positive, go ahead and offer to organize a party that same evening in your dorm. Here is a valuable insight. Most interviewers crave to get back to their campus lives, and there is nothing like a rocking party to soften them up completely. You can play Pink Floyd, mix drinks liberally, and provide colourful bermudas to the interviewers as well. The Chairman of your Placement Committee should be kept away from these happy events, and use good masks all around since these days photographs and leaks appear liberally on the internet, even if Julian Assange is in some sort of custody.

Masks are good advice, actually. Use masks during the interview. Mask everything interesting or illegal you have done on campus. Mask your mathematics scores, if you can, or attribute the dismal performances to the flu you repeatedly suffered during exams. Falling ill is the most natural thing that can happen in business schools, and is sound preparation for your later life in an Organisation.

But let me cut to the only serious point I really want to make, which is the direct opposite of masks. Unmask your passion at the interview, and say what you really want from your career. Tell the interviewers what excites you, what you want to really do in your life. Speak spontaneously. Stand up and speak, if you wish. Loosen your tie, and roll up your sleeves, even if this is considered heresy. Nothing will show you in better light than speaking about what really moves you, and how. Show them that there is fire in your belly, and that it burns brightly. All good interview panels look for the spark within you, but you have to unmask it first.

Here’s hoping you land a job of your dreams !

Harish Bhat

(Harish Bhat is Chief Operating Officer – Watches, Titan Industries Limited. These are strictly personal views, and are quite likely to be disowned by both his Organisation and Alma Mater.)

Last Friday’s Cubiclenama piece has been well received. So much so that it has given the nation strength at a time when it is ravaged by rife corruption, nadirs of public virtue and plumbing displays of power-play batting.

Unfortunately the version you read in the paper was the bastard child of two versions of the piece: the first one I had written before the missus had a chance to quality control, and the final one after. But something got lost in email transmission. So not everything is in the right place. For instance there shouldn’t be two references to shaving. And there are some lines missing, which jar.

This is what the final version should have read like.

P.S. Now I know you’re thinking that this is a complete cop-out and I am merely doing this to update the blog without actually putting in any effort into writing an original post. You are thinking very correctly.

P.P.S. I might start an email newsletter.

P.P.P.S. I want to drop everything and write a crime novel.

***

Ladies and gentleman of the MBA class of 2011,

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, a good USB memory stick would be it. The long term benefits of a USB stick has been proved by the number of times people lose laptops, or are suddenly asked to submit resumes on a plane or at a conference. The rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering work experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy your last few days in business school. Chances are that you’ve already cynically dismissed the whole bloody place. But trust me, in 5 years you’ll attend an alumni reunion and realize that business school was perhaps the last place you were both truly intellectually challenged and emotionally excited. Both those things will happen again. But rarely together.

You are not as smart, or stupid, as you think.

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to make investments based on research reports that will, one day, be written by that same clueless idiot sitting next to you in the canteen right now. The real troubles in your life will never be solved by a presentation or spreadsheet, and will always involve other people. And people are unpredictable sons of bitches.

Spend a little time everyday doing nothing.

Listen.

Don’t expect organizations to be as committed to you as you are to them. Organizations don’t work that way. If you do find one that is as committed, never leave.

Jog. (Or walk briskly, or cycle, or do yoga.)

Don’t judge yourself by how much money you make. Someone you know is always making more than you. (And no good comes from knowing who this is.)

Record all the feedback you ever get in your career. Especially the inaccurate, pointless, biased and vague bits that drove you nuts. This will help you when you eventually give feedback to somebody yourself.

Keep a copy of all your old resumes. When you are struck by bouts of existential crisis, flip through them in chronological order. Do the same with resignation letters.

Decide.

Not a lot of people are ‘meant’ to do something or the other. They just say that to sell bad books. Salman Rushdie might make an excellent, and content, supply chain management consultant. Who knows? You will find various amounts of meaning and satisfaction in various things. Choose your compromises wisely.

You’ll like the job a little better if you like the dress code.

Take chances when you’re young, single and don’t have loans to repay. You’ll take larger chances. Large chances are more fun than small ones.

Be nice to people for the heck of it.

Maybe you’ll retire when you’re 45, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll get an Awesome Alumnus Award, maybe you won’t, maybe you will marry your school sweetheart, maybe you won’t. Whatever happens, do not forget those probability lessons they taught you in school. Things tend to even out.

Dance. But keep it classy.

Avoid reading business books. However feel free to write them.

Travel light.

You will most certainly face difficult choices. In most cases it helps to think of what choice maximizes gain, instead of agonizing over what minimizes loss.

Invest in a good suit, pair of shoes and get a shave. Thanks to society’s shallowness, your return on investment will be considerable.

Calm down.

Let people give you advice. Develop the art of looking interested even if you are not. Pay attention to advice from people who have a stake in your happiness, and not a stake in your success.

Please stop listening to Pink Floyd.

But forget everything else. Quickly go buy that USB stick.

Best of luck.

***

If you have questions, thoughts, musings and such like leave a comment. Discussing things might further help a lot more people.

If you are a spouse, inferior half, life partner, dependent visa holder, civil partner, living-in (Shiva! Shiva!) type or similarly Facebook-relationship-status-ed, you are well aware of the many ways in which your partner is capable of communicating to you without audibly saying a single word.

Not even a full glance, just a tiny sliver of a glance. A glancelet, if you will. But it contains multitudes.

Oh yes he did. Image via Wikipedia

In fact if you are a resident of Mumbai you are already aware of one jolly good way of doing this. Of conveying messages across long distances without noise or electronics. Surely you’ve noticed that air-kiss-noise thing that, at least in my case, makes my skin crawl. (Also I can’t do it properly. It makes my face itchy.) I think I first noticed this air-kiss-messaging-service early on in my tenure in Mumbai. I was at Dadar station having a nimbu pani, waiting for my train. I had just paid the fellow in some large-ish denomination note when my train came.

Absentmindedly I ran towards the train. Which is when I heard this horrible, piercing, squeaky noise from behind me.

I turned around to look and you wouldn’t believe it. Exactly. Whining athletes from New Zealand! And Wales!

Oh ha ha. CWG comedy. For contemporary relevance. Just like that.

No. In fact it was the man minding the juice stand. I had forgotten to pick up my change.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Dadar Station. It is a busy establishment. Yet somehow I knew that the juice man was kiss-whistling exactly at me. The hideous noise drilled through the thronging masses, as if with turn-by-turn navigation, and drilled into my head. Somehow I knew he was calling me.

Only one head turned around. Mine.

I ran back, picked up my change, thanked the man profusely, before jogging back to my train. Just as it seemed that I was going to find nothing more than a tiny, perilous little foothold on the very edge of the doorway, a resilient, hardy Mumbai hand reached out of the crowd and–tears come to my eyes when I think of the city’s unbelievable warmth and sense of community–reached into my nostril and ejected me from the train.

Tip: To make a kiss-whistle pout vigorously with your lips. Make a tight almost-shut ‘O’ shape. And then suck air in through the tiny gap between your lips. If done correctly it should make a noise like old banians being ripped for kitchen use. And the kiss-whistler should be left feeling like one is about to commit a sex crime.

But the point I making is that there are numerous ways of communicating without words. For instance take the case of the missus. I will now list just a few of the numerous wordless transmissions she achieves using merely a combination of look, grimace, weighed pause and small kitchen utensil. Ha. No no I am kidding. No kitchen utensils on weekdays.

A brief, selected list:

1. The ‘I don’t care if blind Trappist monks made it by distilling their own sweat, and it costs hajaar. It is still beer. Terms of engagement shall be the same as Tuborg or Haywards 2000. Have two. Or less. Or whatever. You are a grown man. Have one.‘ look.

2. The ‘Jaunty beach shirts are so fun and jolly and really make fat people look cool. I completely this look for other fat people.‘ look.

3. The ‘This tremendous excitement you see on my face about this potential  Twenty20+MatrixTrilogy+KFC party being planned by these friends at our place next weekend is utterly fake. Be a man and back out now. Or at least get it moved to someone else’s place.‘ look.

4. The ‘No. Use your PS2 properly and exhaustively first. At least finish God Of War II at some sort of respectable difficulty level. Instead you may chat with the saleswoman for a bit.’ look.

And finally 5. The ‘What? She is thinner? Is that it? Should I straighten my hair too? STOP TALKING TO THE SALESWOMAN YOU OBJECTIFYING LETCH!‘ look.

There are a plethora of other looks of course, meant for use in every situation from family office parties, overlong blogger meets, to new BlackBerry launches, and even a series of distinct and impactful pregnant pauses meant for mobile phone use. (Can’t wait for 3G and video calls when we can go back to looking and pausing instead of just pausing.)

One of the cool things about this is that wives and girl friends think that nobody else in the room notices these looks. In my experience EVERYONE, including the expat using the wifi on the table next, notices the look. Subsequently everyone else there lets loose a flurry of rapid inter-personal silent despatches. Perhaps an illustration will help.

Let us assume there are three couples in a room. Let us call them A, B and F. For ease we assume all three are men-woman couples, and individuals shall be referred to as Husband-A, Wife-A, Husband-B and so on. Let us assume that Husband-A has made an observation that his wife does not approve of. Such as:

“I’d totally apply Zandu Balm on her if you know what I mean!!?”

The following subsequent exchanges are all unspoken:

Wife-A to Husband-A: What the… How cheap… I am disgusted. But I have to laugh now with everyone else… Chi chi chi.

Husband-B to Husband-F: Did you see that look? BURN!!!

Husband-F to Husband-B: I swear.

Wife -B to Wife-F: Thank god we’re not married to the type no?

Wife-F to Wife-B: I swear.

Wife-B to Husband-B: It is not that funny.

Wife-F to Husband-F: It is not that funny.

Husband-F to Wife-F: Sorry babe. Only because Husband-B laughed.

Husband-B to Wife-B: Sorry babe. But Husband-F laughed first.

Husband-A to himself: How quickly that moment has passed…

Husband-B and Husband-F to themselves: Zandu balm. Malaika. Mmm…

Uff. The politics I tell you.

And now, I have realized suddenly today, the missus has developed a brand new, high-impact, high-velocity look.

It happened like this. I was sitting this morning reading the papers and flipping through the news channels enjoying all the excitement around the Commonwealth Games and Talking Newspaper Advertisement developments. (Note to Volkswagen people: Next time your recording could start with the kiss-whistle. Super customer connect.)

Suddenly something most most jovial occurred to me.

“Darling!,” I said to Kaaliya, “what if there was a special Commonwealth Games campaign in the Times of India?”

“Have you brushed your teeth yet?” she responded shrewdly.

“So you open the paper and suddenly the AR Rahman theme begins to play out of the newspaper… and then as you are astonished by this development, a mosquito flies out of the paper, bites you and then you get Dengue. Ayyo classic no?”

A furrow appeared on her forehead. Her brows approached each other tentatively. One corner of her mouth smiled. The other frowned. And then she nodded. No. Don’t.

It was a new look. It was her shiny new: ’Oh god. You really, really want to tweet that wisecrack so badly right now don’t you? And then madly check for retweets no?’ look.

And she was right.

So I didn’t.

I wanted to inform all of you of this significant development in my marriage. These new looks don’t happen often. Therefore I wanted to save this development for posterity.

Or should I say pause-terity. Classic!

Ok. It appears I am not allowed to tweet that either.

I am back. Again.

Ahem. Hello there. Welcome back.

As you may be aware this blog was away for three months doing authorly things like launching, reading, interviewing, posing for pictures, reading good reviews, reading bad reviews, crying ourselves to sleep and so on. And amidst all the celebrity-ing, Pranab Mukherjee presented a Union Budget. The union budget is pretty much the highlight of the annual calendar for the business journalism business. (Whatay play on words.) Which means the Union Budget is one of those “do anything as long as you are doing something” periods in the office. And boy did we do things. Many, many things.

Of course today no one remembers anything Minister Mukherjee said or announced during the budget. Read the rest of this entry »