The Art of Nicknaming

Our Satyam Days, part XVI

Within our cherished group of friends at Satyam, where hilarious nicknames flourished with striking creativity, I, Kavitha, and, to a certain degree, Mandeep, who was the foremost Bugs Bunny-like funny man behind almost all the humorous game of nicknaming anyone who fitted the bill, managed to evade a potential nicknaming scenario that could have, as usual, clung on like a stubborn koala? Having one or more nicknames would have been lovely; however, none of us had any.

Kavitha did have a fluky nickname for herself that she could not know. It was briefly considered, not when she was working with us, but well after her taking that all-important ‘more-personal-less-professional’ getaway to the U.S.—Papita it was, which I came up with but did not stick—and Mandeep's nickname was Mandy, an anglicized shortening of his first name but not really a nickname worth being funny about. While Mandy doesn’t sound much like a typically funny moniker, as did others we came up with, Devi's instantly catchy moniker 'Sexy,' was something to die for!

Similarly, Suresh's filmy 'Truck Driver Suraj,' Shiv's leg-pulling pseudonym 'Joey,' and GG's burlesque, Hubba Bubba-like 'Chicha,' that was about as far as we got with our nicknaming revelry. Oh, it was so much fun while it lasted.

Thanks to the good offices of mischievous, humour-mongering Mandeep and the genteel charm of Sexy Devi, and Suresh's jovial nature pervading the office like a gale of fresh wind— who'd often come over to our cubicle for a quick chat with us and find themselves indulging in the activity of putting together nicknames for everyone who fit the bill—that we had an excellent atmosphere of charm at the workplace. It was the most fun we've ever had while working under GG's wrecking ball of management of men and affairs of the roaming division.

Occasionally, even Kavitha would pitch in with some predictably situation-dependent punny humour, even if she doesn't usually like to joke.

The glue of nicknames never dries! They never really get old or die. That's certain. Chances are, the longer you stay in the organization, the more likely you are to notice that the creative juices of our dear friends are proliferating freely and fairly. ​In an office setting, the game of nicknaming unsuspecting colleagues is not only the most fun but also—I'd go as far as to say—showcases one of the ingrained knacks (talents if you like) that some people invariably possess and, therefore, making it worth every rupee invested and even more for the enjoyment it brings to the usually mundane office environment. That's how it was: speaking on a lighter note.

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Renju laughed good-humouredly at the playful rhyming of her distinctive name Renju as: "Renjuuu... Ganjuuu!" We couldn’t resist that rhyming! The first time, she responded by holding her belly with hilarious laughter, then grinning during the second instance, and finally, on the last occasion, smiling not so much; in fact, it just vanished altogether when we gently tried pulling off the same act like two school-going children denied their OK'd candies at the fair: myself and Mandy!

Renju, however, was a good sport. Equally good-humoured as we thought we were ourselves, and a caring and gentle soul who had an unwavering passion for life's simple pleasures. Ditto our teammate Gnana. Thankfully, the 'unofficial' nickname didn't catch on, likely because it was a tad banal and unappealing.

Elzy, Elzy, From Chelsea,

Elizabeth Taylor Ki Darzee!

Banaye Kapde Jaldi Jaldi.

Renzo, Merlene Ki Friend Elzy,

Is Healthy, Wealthy, And Stealthy!

Who crafted that limerick for her friend Elizabeth? ​I claim the credit for penning it! That was something, I concede, whimsical. But to make Renju's friend Elizabeth laugh a bit as she often disregarded smiling, I made up those mixed-up phrases on the spot; especially the funny lines "Elizabeth Taylor Ki Darzee!" and "Banaye Kapde Jaldi Jaldi" sparkled a hearty laughter and made her day. Even Renju felt rather amused by it.

Renju's beloved friends Elizabeth and Marilyn, the three amigos, often dropped by our cubicle to say hello briefly. Or enjoy a cup of coffee during breaks. While Marilyn worked as a software engineer on the fourth level of the same building, Elizabeth, who was not an employee of Satyam, accompanied Renju to the office on weekends. Every time they dropped by, the stories of their work and general life experiences brought us joy and laughter while Mandeep and I worked on our computers and Renju worked on hers. Every time they arrived, it seemed that our work routines experienced a refreshing pause, a welcome break, from our daily morning grind and evening office schedules. At the same time, we felt upbeat for the jovial camaraderie they brought into our midst. Today, I can't help but feel enormously nostalgic whenever I reflect on our wonderful days at Satyam.

(In June 2015, I authored a blog article titled "CHAPTER 40 - Three Amigos, Pizzas and a Film!" that delves into the experiences with our former friends (with their names changed but recognizable). That piece is a significant part of my memoir, "Lost Days of Glory," I wrote reflecting on my wonderful Satyam days.)

As far as I can recall, Gnana had no moniker. He was a positively inclined self-observer, more like a self-contained, private solitudinarian, who kept to himself, focusing solely on his office work while retaining a hermitical sense of preservation and forbearance. Gnana had forever been a world unto himself, with little to no side effects or issues in his software programming skills. Ditto Renju, in terms of software programming, that is.

Mandeep was no stranger to my playful jabs at him. I often teased him with a cheery persuasion: “Oh Paaji, tussi tope ho!” He did, however, enjoy referring to himself as "Heartlight," a combination of "Man" (pronounced as 'Mann') meaning "Heart" and "Deep" meaning "Light." To each his own.

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The level of engagement at our workplace was remarkably high, with everyone collaborating and learning together. With the support of wonderful friends, we tackled our daily tasks with an easy familiarity that made everything feel, more or less, a breeze. (Balaji played the role of a helpful leader by being amiable and eager to communicate enthusiastically. He approached any problem—or any concern or issue, for that matter—with patience and a cool head, in contrast to GG's outright ferocity in his line of attack to anything that needed looking into.)

Even the most challenging projects/tasks felt achievable and enjoyable to do despite GG's reprimanding presence in everything as we kept up the tempo to commit and complete while we learned new things. Fortunately, GG mostly stayed in his dungeon-like cabin in the West Wing (on the other side of the building), which allowed us to focus on our roles and responsibilities—including our witticisms—without too much distraction or some micro-managing narcissist breathing down our necks.

GG liked overseeing what we did, mandating a cc-copy of every official email we sent out, even the ones we sent to Susanne in Copenhagen, Denmark, or to Balaji, who had his cubicle on the other side of the big hall. That's how it was. Occasionally, the resident Lion, known by the name GG alias Chicha, unleashed himself from his swivel chair before taking a leak at the urinals and then passing by the HR terminal, nodding at Ann Mary R. sitting erect, prim and proper behind her green-marbled concierge desk around the green-marbled central atrium of the office tower, swaggered down further straight via the hallway through the entrance door of the East Wing to the enclosed workspace of our cubicle on the far left. Seeing him coming, Mandeep would quip, "Agayee ji agayee Police agayee!" alerting us all to the danger heading our way!

Kavitha likewise could not be given a reasonably suitable moniker. ​Having worked with us for only a year, she, fortunately, evaded the runaway consignment of a potentially assigned nickname from either Mandy or me and instead uncovered her inner alchemy of more personal, less professional self-motivations for dollar dreams, which prompted her to pack a motley assortment of her VIP slash Safari slash Aristocrat bags and escape to the other side of the globe, specifically in the direction of the landmass of America called collectively as the United States.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

The Charm of Being Plump

Our Satyam Days, part XV

Being plump or well-rounded remained a practical way of life for a dedicated family man like Devi, prompting Mandeep to affectionately confer upon him with a playful prefix to his name: “Sexy.” He astutely perceived how the world operated, correctly recognizing that everything else typically comprised a chaotic territory, a hellish domain, so to speak—within GG's complete 360-degree posture, off-limits to all the other members of the roaming division, like ourselves.

From that operational standpoint, Devi and Suresh both sustainably managed to appease GG, our perennially bad leader, to a large extent. After all, it is not every day that someone justly merits a fantastic prefix like “Sexy,” a playful term of endearment bestowed upon him by Mandeep, a fellow plump young man who undoubtedly had in common comparable physical attributes but had not yet become a family man.

Without a doubt, Devi would ultimately tell a valiant tale or two to anyone willing to listen about how the peculiar title he had come to receive had stuck on him—as we were convinced then and now—like a badge of courage: the one that could be flaunted only among the circle of known friends, not in front of GG, of course. There were not many of his stories, but the one that characterized the new-age manly 'sexiness' in question—thanks to one of our associates—has become a chef-d'oeuvre! On the other hand, Suresh, his financial counterpart, got dubbed with an equally amusing appellation—"Truck Driver." And why leave GG out? He earned a hefty accolade for himself that stuck on him like a blood-sucking leech—"CHICHA."

Mandeep had once remarked: “He deserved it, didn't he? If you ask me.” Without a doubt, we all happily concurred with that term. Life is what it is.

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Plus, the extensive IT experience that someone like Devi can readily relate with his other friends. But GG won't listen to anyone about anything: it's his way or the highway—except maybe listening only to the plastically (okay, sometimes genuinely) smiling receptionist, Ann Mary R., whose friendly demeanour he interprets positively: while viewing our oversights with unrelenting bossism that made no sense. (Terrible though it was, we succeeded by the sheer dint of our resilience, strength of character, and ability (read skill-sets) we brought to the table). Despite the clear and present danger posed by GG's extreme egocentric navel-gazing, amid the excessive commandeering shrouding us in a veil of perpetual torment from morning to evening while we worked with our heads down, liable to work hard in a day-to-day routine for something more achievable and adaptable in a work-life blend, witnessing which, we thought, our U.S.-educated Silent Killer of a boss could become happy for once in his lifetime, it is commendable that Devi (and Suresh, Renju and Gnana, and Mandeep, Kavitha and I, Shiv, Shahnawaz and Jagan, even Revathy and Rafi, not to forget Balaji) recognized this undesirable GG-writ cataclysmic broadside in the roaming division and acted with the same professionalism as the rest who had to be in touch with him professionally.

And how incredibly startling, at times, the world can indeed be with a verbally abusive, irreverent heathen like we had to report to daily: too well-ensconced in the power structure of the company as if nothing could ever go awry (and it did not thankfully, it was a miracle indeed), especially when Hari Sadu-type toxic managers like him had seemingly perfect individuals leading flawless astringent lives, like for example, Ann Mary R.—the quintessential damsel, who, at least, to our knowledge at Satyam, had never known distress (of any kind) and not that anyone was anticipating for her to—hung enraptured by the exquisite chocolates that our roughshod boss GG brought her from abroad. GG, a Big Rig of a man, meant business; this near-hysterical tyrant loved lording it over everything in the roaming department: the power of being in a perceived dominant position writ ominously large over all our days at Satyam.

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​Experience teaches; it alone counts, and all else falls by the wayside, and Devi knows that perfectly well. Good things happen to good people, though. The charm of being "Sexy Devi" must be immensely gratifying for him! And why not!

Fondly referred to as "Sexy Devi" thanks to Mandeep's impeccable comic timing during those beautiful days on the 5th floor of TSR Towers, this cherished memory of our incredible time at Satyam serves as a heartfelt reminder of the meaningful connections we, once close colleagues and friends, can genuinely acknowledge for Devi, the devoted family man!

His unique charm, characterized by his being a plump man with a gentlemanly demeanour, was truly remarkable as I reflect on the days when our IT careers blossomed at a great company called Satyam Computers. Oh, how swiftly those days have passed!

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

A Gulab Jamun Champion

Our Satyam Days, part XIV

Devi was a gentleman. His ardent love for sweets, particularly Gulab Jamun, was legendary, a well-known facet of his dynamism that we teasingly called his greatest "sin." Which it wasn't really. His sweet tooth, as big as his heart, was remarkable, as expansive as the compassion he showed to everyone around him.

That's one reason why, as I think back to that golden period of our work and friendship at Satyam now, Mandeep gave him the moniker: "Sexy." I can't help but feel delightfully amused as I write down my thoughts on this blog that possibly eating Gulab Jamuns might have contributed to Devi's confirmed sexiness!

Sweets, often associated with indulgence, were something he loved to spoil himself with, as he frequently indulged in substantial servings of Gulab Jamuns alongside an array of sweet dishes he could lay his hands (read fangs!) on. After all, sweets and indulgence often go hand in hand. And each one of us was a culprit in some way or the other!

Charming Indulgence: The Temptation of Sweets in Devi's Life

While we all loved sweets—myself included, as I certainly still do—Devi's relationship with them was extraordinarily obsessive.

As a true connoisseur who embraced the joy of feasting sweetmeats like no one else in Satyam Computers, he had an undeniable love for Gulab Jamun that stood out like a lighthouse on a moonless bay. (Although I feel tempted to say it stood out like a boil on a bum—though I jest, it was certainly not a boil (that too on the bum! God forbid)—Devi's unwavering love for Gulab Jamuns, which he indulged in without fail every other day, was a testament to his obsession with the sweet delicacy.) That's more like it.

He was a sabre-toothed, no...! Oops! A sweet-toothed enthusiast who loved sweets like crazy, relishing them not in ones or twos but in overloading abundance. Suresh, Mandeep, and I would often playfully tease him for being the Laughing Stock, no...! Oops! Buddha of our hearts — undoubtedly, our division’s lucky charm, and he would respond with the same lively spirit. After work, you'll find him chanting his favourite emotional mantra — Eat, Pray, Love sweets, joyfully driving his white Maruti Omni back home while celebrating in the car everything sugary sweet that life could give to a hearty man like him. Devi was unique: a gentleman of reliable honour and goodwill.

Let this be said: Sexy Devi has a longstanding weakness for cakes, sweets, candy, desserts, and every national and international sweet item. From soufflé and mousses to chocolate chip cookies, pies, doughnuts, jams, tarts, and even bare open raw molasses that you get from jute sacks at your local kirana store, Devi savoured them all.

Like him, Renju, Mandeep, and I have a perfectly ensconced sweet tooth kicking in for any event or occasion, never mind serotonin! (Though I love Rossogolla (or Rasgulla) the most, homemade Gulab Jamun, too, is an utmost necessity in life.) For Devi, however, and by extension all of us, barring Suresh maybe, living with one without the others is unthinkable, even practically impossible.

Devi's Dessert Diaries

Being a great foodie, Devi—grew up to be a proud plump person: a well-dressed and handsome cherry bomb with natural gradient lips rounded in shape, almost pouting like a small fish, hair cropped in short and curly fibrils, laugh lines under his possum eyes of an ever-alert financial expert, having a soft heart (in a hard world); cherubic is the word to describe this glossy doughboy of Satyam Computers—disengaged himself from us momentarily and took up a corner in the dining hall, his possum eyes became big with delicious anticipation of sinking his teeth into those roly-poly balls of pure enchantment, even as he began helping himself to devour a decent number of those supple, juicy, scrumptiously spongy dough balls of magic, all single-handedly!

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Devi’s gourmet taste was, of course, the stuff of legends. No one can take that away from him. Rasgulla, Ras Malai, and golu molu Gulab Jamun were his all-time favourite Indian desserts he never failed to wax eloquent of. Hurray! Nothing compares to these versatile, sweet bombs of happiness! Devi was the First Citizen of the Gulab Jamun country. A Gulab Jamun champion, hands down. The truth is, we all were in the same league in some way or the other, but Devi's case was something of a lovely fetish.

He once remarked, albeit jocosely, that whenever he receives an invitation to weddings, festive holidays, or family get-togethers, he cannot help but deem his excitement skyrocketing—prompted by the indulgent thought of a delectable Indian dessert: the great brown globs of Gulab Jamun that he expects to get at the party! Soaked in sugary syrup and handcrafted to divine perfection, these heavenly sweets are a must-have at any celebration he visits; otherwise, he cries out something along these lines — Stop celebrating! Pointless in toasting without Gulab Jamuns in the end. Please refrain from hosting social gatherings if Gulab Jamuns don't make an impression as traditional sweets. Point noted, milord! So, you can see why he considers Gulab Jamuns a highlight of any celebration known to man on planet Earth!? Like Jockey, it's Gulab Jamun or nothing!

When at a party, whether at home or elsewhere, if Devi finds that Gulab Jamun is missing or insufficiently served, or if he feels deprived of his fair/Lion's share of the delightful dessert due to the server behind the counter who might become stingy in serving ample pieces of these spongy milky balls soaked in warm sugar syrup, Devi, by this time breathing plumes of fire, is most likely to storm out in a huff (not before giving an earful to the much-harried waitperson or the host!), only to end up (during those days, very frequently!) at a nearby sweet sweeter sweetest sweetshop: the best mithai bhandaar that East (not West!) Marredpally could accommodate in its surroundings, gorging on Gulab Jamuns to satisfy his insatiably inquisitive and omnivorously acquisitive craving, thus solidifying his reputation as the undisputed Gulab Jamun monarch our generation has ever known!

It's Gulab Jamun all the way.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Also published on Medium.

Hearts in Harmony

Our Satyam Days, part XIII

Elzy and I versus Mandeep and Renju duelled in the game of dumb charades; needless to say, anything about the friendly duel between friends having a shared appreciation for music, we won the game. Elzy couldn't contain her joy as she cried out in excitement, "We won! We won!"

By closely observing Elzy's brilliant miming of the movie title that Mandeep threw our way, thinking we would never be able to suspect, let alone decipher it, I could correctly identify the title of the Hindi film. And it was: "Qaid Mein Hai Bulbul." Mandeep would have nicely assumed that no matter how much we try, we will never get it. But thanks to my keen interest in old Hindi movies, until the late 1990s, we could determine the film title. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

As Renju and her teammate Mandeep looked on like cute puppies (Awwww...!) at what Elzy and I got ourselves so delighted in the game, Gnana, Suresh, and Devi laughed in bemusement, with Suresh voicing "Yo, Arindam...! Elzy...! Great going." Elzy and I revelled in our triumph like two school-going little munchkins finding a house of candies at the carnival grounds, only that I was a little taller!

I can still see in my mind's eye the stunned look that Mandeep had on his face — as if mortally wounded by something so sudden and unexpected. Renju grinned away as Daisies caught in the cool breeze that the STC campus was known to regale its guests, looking at us astonished as both Elzy and I rejoiced like boisterous school kids jumping and pumping our fists repeatedly in the air on winning the dumb charade round.

An Evening of Laughter and Longing

The evening wore on; it was not very chilly on the campus, though it was December month, and it was already supposed to be winter. We all became more composed and stayed seated on the velvet grass for some spare time while Gnana clung to his thoughts, not intending to dismiss them; perhaps he might be considering hitting the bed in our shared dorm room and catching a nightly wink before getting ready for another day in the STC paradise. Elzy sat in a zen-like posture close to Renju while we all sat close together on the lawn — a symphony of friendship.

Mandeep looked cool and fun, smiling pleasantly like a mini-celebrity strolling along the sandy shores of life. He began crooning "Mere Dil Ka Pata Tumhein Kisne Diya," a tune we both enjoyed back in the day on our music systems, putting all the songs on repeat (an endless loop, as they say these days) and listening to them nonstop. When I was younger, those Jaanam songs were always on my ‘playlist;’ I still listen to them occasionally, without fail. They remind me so much of those college days.

He once borrowed audiocassettes of Soldier, Kareeb, Afsana Pyar Ka, and Sonu Nigam pop albums like Jaan and Deewana from me. In my turn, I used to borrow from him, as I had desperately wanted to listen to the remarkable songs of Jaanam, First Love Letter, and Phir Teri Kahani Yaad Aayee, the audio cassettes of those extraordinary movies, the music of which I grew up listening to. Melodies of nostalgia.

Always in a good vibe, Renju crooned a song about flowers blooming and swaying in the wind, feeling nostalgic about the grasslands and meadows of her homeland while the cosmic stars twinkled in the pale moonlight like pearls. Slowly and privately, she hummed another: "Dil Se Mere Door Na Jana" and appeared solemn, searching with her gaze for something from her distant past that she knew could never be forgotten.

As Renju was feeling a little down either because of being far from home or perhaps due to personal concerns, I thought, wouldn't it be a great idea to perk things up slightly more? ​Mandeep (Mandy for short) also seemed ever-ready to tango, sparking the idea to lift spirits even higher.

​Piped up at the prospect of playing a round of Antakshari and Dumb Charade, with the tempting spread of good food at the dorm cafeteria later in the evening, Elizabeth (Elzy for short) and I got Renju and Mandeep on board and started to play, slowly singing, "Kathai Aankhon Wali Ek Ladki. Ek Hi Baat Par Bigadti Hai." ​Antakshari was fun as I sang the first two lines of another charming little Hindi song, "Oh Tumse Dur Rehke, Hamne Jana Pyaar Kya Hai."

​Taking over from Renju, Elizabeth began to spout a strange lyric with spoken dialogue as a song, "Oops!... I Did It Again," while observing our reactions, which was one of the year 2000's greatest hits along with the debut album "Baby One More Time" that MTV and Channel V channels used to play until the twelfth of never, as we were glued to the TV set, eagerly watching the swashbuckling top-of-the-charts musical numbers being replayed one after another on those famous channels.

​Mandeep grinned knowingly and said, "Britney Spears?!" as he retrieved his ever-present steel pin from his shirt pocket to secure the knit puggree on his head, checking if it was in place.

Gnana shortly said, "Elzy, feel free to proceed with singing that peculiar English song if you wish."

While Elizabeth joyfully sang, "Oops!... I Did It Again. I Played with Your Heart, Got Lost in The Game," Mandeep bubbled up significantly and hurled out as musically as he could manage, and followed it up with a musical flair, continuing with the next line of the song, "Oh Baybyyy, Baybyyy," which prompted Renju to giggle uncontrollably at him but remembering to playfully interpose continuing with the line, "Oops, You Think I'm in Love," before Elizabeth wrapping up with "That I'm Sent from Abooooove, I'm Not That Innocent." ​All this culminated in an incredibly delightful evening of laughter and conversational humour even as I humorously chimed in with this: "Hit Me Baby One More Time!" albeit from another song on the same album. (One thing I should note, though: Mandeep's fulltoo, fantastically mirthful intonation of "OH BAYBYYY, BAYBYYY" was something of a total dhamaal to witness!)

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Devi and Suresh were engaged in a lively conversation a little way away. Suresh was likely growing anxious by the hour about his upcoming outing around the city with the stunning Michelle from London. (​I'll go into more detail about his perfect dilemma in a future blog article titled "The Beauty and the Gentleman.")

We continued the flow of chatter until 9 pm when it was time for dinner at the dormitory cafeteria. Suresh and I were especially anticipating a hearty portion of the paneer dish cooked in coconut milk, which was wonderfully made by the STC's in-house kitchen, along with some chicken korma, rumali roti, butter naan, and a small amount of rice pulao and curd with plain rice before washing it down with fresh sweet lime soda.

​After the main course, we decided to indulge in a couple of deliciously soft and irresistibly tempting Gulab Jamuns (that melt in your mouth like butter on a hot paratha. Ummm..., Wow!) generously dipped in a large amount of thick rose-scented sugar syrup, with an addition of malty caramel-milk or Rabdi to pour over them. We did exactly that! We ate to our heart's content.

We, especially Devi, oh! my God, ladies and gentlemen, couldn't resist the temptation of those warm, heavenly mouthfuls of pure perfection sprinkled with slices of pistachios no top, could we? (In my upcoming blog, "A Gulab Jamun Champion," I will delve into Devi's high jinks predilection for Gulab Jamuns.)

Even as I write these lines from memory, my mouth waters thinking about those brown, milky, doughy, cloyingly sweet wonders of the world. Gulab Jamun.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Also published on Medium.