Late last afternoon, I came to know from normally reliable sources that there is a job opening at one of the buildings in South Bombay. The building is a very famous one, though for the purposes of keeping things quiet, I shall only give two clues to the curious reader:
The job itself was quite a senior post in a reasonably large company. Again, for the extremely curious, the company name two words, the first being of 4 letters, signifying 'goodbye' in common slang. I SHALL NOT give you any clues about the second word.
The benefits of the job are very attractive:
- the name has two words
- the first word is the old name of the city which today goes by the label 'Mumbai'
The job itself was quite a senior post in a reasonably large company. Again, for the extremely curious, the company name two words, the first being of 4 letters, signifying 'goodbye' in common slang. I SHALL NOT give you any clues about the second word.
The benefits of the job are very attractive:
- the incumbent will be supervised by an old man, who used to do this job before he retired. However, he's so enamoured of the job that he is quite unwilling and unable to give it up. So he'd love to continue doing it - very much like Sir Alex Ferguson trying to run Man Utd, even when David Moyes was the manager. This would suit me down to the ground - let the old man do the work, while I can have a good time, collect the handsome pay, ride the equally handsome chauffeured vehicle that, I hope, comes with the job, not to mention the other perks. (I mean the vehicle is handsome, not the chauffeur, I hasten to add!)
- The money, as I've mentioned above, is generous. I believe that a largish, if not exactly palatial, house goes with it, although other sources tell me that I'm expected to have my own house. I'm good with that - my palatial house in Santacruz East should suffice for my humble wants.
- all expenses are covered, I believe. The only costs that I shall have to bear is breakfast at home, which on normal days runs to a banana, a couple of paavs with butter, milk and wheatflakes and Darjeeling tea; that doesn't burn a big whole in my currently meagre household budget. Lunch is at the office, cooked by chefs from the hotel owned by the company and served by staff from the same hotel. Every evening, dinners are fixed by the secretarial staff with the best and the brightest in the land - and naturally, the company pays for all the food and drinks. I don't know whether the office has a bar with complimentary booze, but I think I can sneak in a half bottle of Old Monk from time to time.
- Monthly overseas trips are written into the job contract, and all expenses paid! Think of that! The wife will go berserk with the shopping in Viramgam West (aka Birmingham) and at all the Patel shops in Flushing Meadow. We can stay at the fanciest of hotels, eat the most expensive of foods, drink the really vintage wines and the really socko single malts - all on the house, matey! I'll have to check if the wife's tickets, etc are on the house as well; if not, she'll just have to stay and go to work like she's been doing for years.
Sounds like a really good deal. So, I've sent in my CV and recommendations from my various IIM Calcutta alumni friends, as well as a draft contract, just to demonstrate my honest and straightforward approach. The key clauses in the contract are:
- after one year in the job, I shall step down and permit the company's spin doctors to spin it the way the want. If they want me to be sacked, so be it - I'm not one to deny the small pleasures of an old man.
- I shall not go to the Low Court or any other court of any description whatsoever, and I shall not give any media interviews.
- However, my job contract must specify that I'm permitted to write a conspiracy theory novel to surpass all other such novels, about my climb and fall in the said corporate house, after a decent period of waiting - let's say, 6 months after my successor has gotten into office. This is non-negotiable.
I understand from my highly reliable sources that currently the company has cobbled together a committee called The Five Wise Men, aka The Five Finder Outers (for which moniker they may or may not be paying royalty to Enid Blyton), who are tasked with filling in the vacancy before April Fool's Day, 2017.
I believe my CV and draft contract will suit the Five Whatevers down to the ground, and I'm convinced I'll get the job. I can't think of anybody who's been so quick off the mark in sending in the application - that alone shows my initiative, energy, eagerness, ability, etc. etc. for the job.
And I am willing to negotiate - if the Five Thingys don't want to give me the Rolls, I shall not call them cheapskates; I'll be quite happy to settle for an El Cheapo Merc or Beamer. I'm not choosy.