Our Satyam Days, part IX
Every year at Satyam Technology Center (STC), Mandeep and I shared a luxurious dorm room to help plan and coordinate the annual summits, which were always a delight to attend.
Satyam's concierge on the 5th-floor front desk, helmed by a ‘snow queen,’ an apt pupil by the name of Ann Mary R. or vice versa, as it chimes felicitously well in any way pronounced, reserved a dorm room for Gnana and Renju. We all got it done for all of us — per GG's bossy diktats, which come with a dreary supplement of other grotesque directives and hideous instructions straight from the Jaws!
GG's pet, his chosen one, Ann Mary, alias snow queen who lived her flawlessly chic astringent life delirious with feverish anticipation of something good coming her way soon or of prospective interaction with some potentially drool-worthy ‘sizzling bacon’ à la Salman Khan’s big pear- or almond-shaped eyes, or a tony looking nutty professor, or a Shakespearean duke, or maybe a haranguing do-nothing, good-for-nothing, say-anything yobbo who likes pronouncing the word twenty as 'tonetee,' moving around the vast halls of the East and West wings while every suitor comes in her sharp focus of the colleen entitlement for a little dillydally perhaps; with the buzzing possibilities of much-awaited things to come, such as GG's foreign-bought silky-smooth chocolates and candies, specially bought for his confectionery-loving bonbon Ms. Sugarplum while she eagerly expects someone familiar mysteriously sweep her off her feet — that, alas, never came to pass, and that was the end of the story, finished before it even started for her, poor finch.
Ann Mary R. relished being at her scintillating best every single day. Most days, with GG-gifted chocolate candy, this was as good as it got, optimistically her best prospect. Being spick and span in everything she handled did make an adequate impression on everyone, including Chicha, who cared so much to notice the 'snow queen' making professionally significant progress in her role. As a result, she showcased her highest potential as a Front Office Administrator at Satyam, gladdening all those in her vicinity. And, of course, not to miss mentioning GG—who was not known to dabble in magic charm or jinx, but when it was Ann Mary, he did bring, unbeknownst to anyone, his killer instinct forth—as he resigned from Satyam. She was the first to find out that GG had resigned, and she felt crushed under the ponderous weight of her justifiably fond entitlement to 'international' treats that GG regularly got for her favourite office employee.
And that was all about this strange, elegiac maiden who has been deceptively tact from moving on from one to another at the drop of a hat, constant nit-picking plain Jane and thy name Ann Mary R. Many likened her to a modern-day Urvashi, albeit with a venal whiff of private motivations despite the charm offensive she is quick in using, aiming to entice you to the boondocks of infamy. One of her natural talents was problematizing things with a winsome smile that made a good case for her every time she indulged herself, even as she clung to a special place in apostolic GG’s largely blank jolly good books. Who knows, she might be expecting more chocolates from him, maybe. Adding further intrigue, she bore a surname that started with the letter R., which humorously translates to "Do you come daily?" (to the office!) — a witty invention by the ever-artful comedic colleague Mandeep, adding a layer of playful irony to her ballsy surname, Rozario. Ann May R. was a classic case of having your cake and eating it, too! (Only replace the cakes with the godforsaken chocolates).
However, Gnana had to stay in our spacious bedroom once and judiciously chose to sleep on the plush, velvety sofa. Devi and Suresh would get a lovely room down the dorm hallway.
+*+*+*+
The experience of these all-important summits was not solely about work; it was a joyful journey of productive collaboration and entrepreneurial creativity that GG—we got to give it to him this time for his sort of corporate battle-hardened business acumen in top presentation—knew how to handle, making each summit a notable event to remember. GG aside, those days were some of the most enjoyable times of our career.
GG was there, of course, at STC, erratically acting like a mythical phoenix (Rising from the prickly ashes? Whatever!) or something idiomatic like that; at other anxious times, he managed to keenly look like a love-sick (un)social lion looking for his seemingly estranged 'ZZ,' on the move with its sabre-rattling, graveyard stones like teeth bared, creeping stealthily around the exquisite campus: prowling, howling, hawking — he would, it genuinely seemed, stoop down from on high at any moment and catch us all unawares! And no, GG wasn't being funny, nope; he could never match up to Devi's self-esteem or Mandeep's blasting, globe-swallowing power of his artistry, or better still, his dazzlingly spectacular skill, in making spontaneous jokes and delivering them in a way that only those with a humorous bone in their good self could. GG was never schooled in good behaviour or politeness when he dealt with us and, therefore, was never fun to be around. That's why we amusingly dubbed him "Chicha" behind his back, a little inside joke at our boss's expense that always brought a grin to our faces and allowed us to lighten the difficult circumstances at work. His death-scare glances were reminiscent of a desi Dumbledore, a Chicha-esque dark lord Count Dracula.
Uttering a little more on GG while I can. Although he would not stay (hardly the bother) at STC for these summits, he typically preferred to drive back and forth from home in his executive private car every day for the three crucial days of his lucrative career at Satyam. A colossal narcissist who comes from a graveyard of lifelong anger management issues, GG is a bulbous-faced, frog-lipped, insult-spewing, swaggering oaf of a devil who maltreats the observations made, bumbles over pointless debates, useless arguments hurled over dispassionate grassroots concepts we tried to articulate.
As you can see from the vocal abuses (I admit!) highlighted above, it's evident that GG was beyond saving — a gone case! So hopeless and dire that there was no way back for him to a better state, and any prospect of redemption seemed utterly elusive. Overall, he was an unsocial gadfly.
+*+*+*+
While the three of us were relaxing in the room, Mandeep, dressed in a T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, sat on his bed, removed his pugree (turban), and grinned away as he did. We were preparing to sleep for the night. When Gnana noticed Mandeep without his ever-present turban, he shot a glance at me to gauge my reaction to Mandeep's appearance (without his turban on his head). Lo and behold! Gnana and I weren't expecting to find Mandeep stark… bald: with practically no hair left on his head, with only a few light strands dangling here and there around his neck, but the entire top floor had no hair or hair follicles to speak of — silky smooth and shiny like an… airstrip! Or a big slice of Amul butter!; in fact, his clean bald head gleamed luminously under the white recessed lighting of the dorm room as he sat on his bed, still grinning at us like a smiling Doraemon. Sadly, all his hair had escaped a long time ago. Holy fuck!
Poor Mandeep's hair has long since vanished, leaving him a small number of strands to comfort himself so that his head can still flaunt with pride. Seeing what I was seeing had left me feeling flummoxed, taken aback, startled, and even somewhat stunned. I or anyone else had never seen Mandeep bald, as he always wore a close-knit pugree covering most of his head. He had a full beard dyed with henna, perfectly snipped, but the hair on his head was altogether out of our critiquing. I noticed Gnana felt the same way as he lounged on the sofa with his head propped on the armrest, grinning away to himself and looking at us! While Mandeep was a good sport, a die-hard Punjabi munda, and a comedic Turbanator, he quickly explained, "If you constantly wear a pugree, you will eventually lose your hair." That's true, Mandy. We sympathize with your feelings and understand their perspective. Hair or no hair, life was indeed on an even keel for Mandeep, and that for him was a saviour.
Gnana fell asleep on the couch (Or was it a chaise lounge? I never could tell), galloping fast with his sleep-horse into the night. Mandeep slept on the right single bed adjoining the bedroom wall, and I slept on the other left. All night, I couldn’t get proper sleep. Sleep eluded me. After spending a long, exhausting day in meetings and conferences, where my contribution was to be a superb spectator, I had anticipated a dreamless, pure slumber, but that was not what I experienced. Devi and Suresh called it a day and retired to their rooms across the hallway for a good night's bedtime.
I don't know about Gnana, but before I could get some proper shuteye, Mandeep’s shining bald pate kept clicking (like a computer mouse) in my mind’s visualization for a long time into the night. As I lay on my single bed and moved this way and that, I thought Mandeep must be sleeping soundly by now, with his bald head free to enjoy the cool winter air in the spacious room, and he must be feeling very relieved as his breath rasped in the quiet night. I raised my head to see Gnana in the ambient light cast by the bulb recessed in the wall. He already drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, however, Mandeep's majestic turban that he placed on the bedside table will be back on his head, and he will be ready to face another day head-on. Tomorrow morning, there will be more meetings, followed by a luncheon by the pool. Cool!
More pictures were taken, official and personal. The digital camera, owned by Susanne's Danish colleague from Copenhagen, was unlike anything we had seen. I can't believe I own a Sony Cybershot digital camera but have no use for it. Sadly, it has gone out of fashion. Nobody cares much about such outdated, obsolete junk lying around the house anymore. (I purchased that one a few years later and had only started using it before it fell into permanent disuse. It’s a shame because I had hoped to enjoy taking pictures with it far more). I brought my little Canon Prima SLR camera to take photos manually, if not digitally. I peered through the tiny viewfinder to take several snapshots of Mandeep, Suresh, Devi, and myself together — in the conference hall, in the lunchroom, by the pool, in the corridor while we had lunch with clients, and at the sumptuous repast in the evenings. I handed my camera to one of the poolside concierges, asking him to take a picture with one of our Kolkata clients. Devi and I are on each side of him in the photo, standing close to the blue-as-the-sky waters of the swimming pool on the promenade. That shot came out looking great.
I don't know when we were taking photos by the pool, Mandeep was nowhere to be seen; perhaps Devi and I thought he kept company to Ms. Shikha, a gorgeous-looking Delhi native, which caused his heart to race and visibly aflutter. And that's why—I can't believe—he skipped our poolside photo shoot! Where is he now?
(To be continued…)
By Arindam Moulick