Life, less but full….

 It was in the midst of Bangalore’s flurry summer when I joined one of the erstwhile big fours in Bangalore to pursue my CA. Fresh from college, the burgeoning wings could not be clipped. The aspirations to have fun in a serious setting like a CA firm of all places was more important than doing anything serious in a firm full of curd rice lovers. These curd rice lovers recited Company Laws and Income Tax acts like nursery rhymes. Instead of fearing this erudite lot or at least being in awe of their “intellect”, I honestly regarded them to belong to a class of individuals who fitted into a framework of boring, lifeless, jaded, and plain. They were so boring that boredom could be redefined with their callous attitudes towards life. They were a breed who never illuminated themselves with the greatness of Amitabh Bachchan or Maradona or Tendulkar (which was by itself sacrilege) or cared to know the difference between the Khans (they could have well been four brothers) or understand an empire called Bollywood, (lets not even try to go across the Atlantic to Hollywood).But, they could dissect every Tax Lact, every Company law ammendment and maybe even each Raaga that the great carnatic maestro MS Subbalakshmi sang in fifty years. God chose to drop me in the middle of these peculiar species.

(In order to know more on my penchant for the curd rice terminology, please read this previous blog of mine at https://sharmilasays.wordpress.com/2010/02/10/of-curd-rice-gongura-pickle/)

I recall my first day in the hallowed wooden decked offices. People stared at me; I walked in confidently, cheerfully and above all normally. I was received with looks that bordered between oddity and ludicrosity. “It is wrong to sound and look so carefree in a firm of Accountants ” they whispered to one another. Did they expect a litre of coconut oil on my scalp and maybe two strands of jasmine flower braided on my head? Maybe. Evolution had bypassed this firm’s office in the last millennium I had concluded. An erstwhile “big four” they called themselves.

My first day there after an initial orientation of important things like how big this firm was, who their clients were was not as important as procuring knowledge as to what time we got served coffee by that whiz coffee maker from Trivandrum (or Ernakulum). I eventually went on to give more respect to this chap who served us delicious, piping hot filter coffee (religiously at 10 AM and 4 PM) than what I dished out to my Managers. I met the boys and girls from my batch. The first year, eager batch of wanna be Chartered Accountants was a heterogeneous lot with a homogeneous mind set of aspiring CAs. It was a healthy mix of rustic Tamilians, Kannadigas, Sindhis, one Persian (or so he thought) Anglo Indians and Malus scattered in for a good measure. Each character had his / her peculiarity and traits that deserved a patent.

In this rookie batch there was a chap by the name Vinod Sreedharan aka Mr. Noddy and going by a few other nom de plumes which were mostly made up by a larger Malu batch mate. I instantly developed a rapport with Vinod, this large Malu chap, the Persian, the Sindhi, another IQ infested Tamilian, a junior tycoon from Karnataka and an Anglo Indian choir boy. These chaps were fun to hang out with, great to party with and a pleasure to go on Audits with ( if at all ). Any permutation and combination with either one or several of them produced the much desired result of extreme fun. I was the only nineteen year old girl in this club of crack pots and these chaps well and truly prepared me for male stupidity in the years to come.

My bonding with Vinod was valuable. An extremely lean geek with a heart of gold, who answered questions late, who flickered like a tube light that ran on voltage of less than zero watts, who was the “butt” of all jokes that were raised mostly on account of his posterior (that was said to have been flattened by a road runner in his formative years). In him I found a true friend, who laughed at my silliness and remained an able alibi in all my tricks and treats alike. There were certain peculiarities about Vinod that made us wonder about him time and again. He eluded any questions about his family but treated us like one. The Malu chap and Vinod were constantly in a game of “dumb” charade with one another, but it made me enjoy their company even more albeit I was the go between most times in their frictions and factions.

I remained in touch with Vinod during the years that I was not in India. Vinod went on to do extremely well in his chosen career path and was getting ready to move to greener pastures in the US sometime in 2007. I recall speaking to him one evening in May 2007, a few hours before he was ready to embark on his journey to Tirupati with his family. He was all set to leave for the US and obtaining the Lord’s grace was important for Vinod before commencing this new league. I recall the mirth in his voice and his excitement about life in the US with his lovely wife. He promised to call back on his return from his pilgrimage. That was the last time I said bye to him. Vinod, his wife and his Mother in law perished in a car accident en route to Tirupati.

I chose to write a bit about Vinod for the first time. If Vinod can log on to a computer wherever he is, I hope he reads this.

If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character…Would you slow down? Or speed up?