The Butterfly Diaries 06 - The Vile Village

They say it takes a village to raise a child. And if the village happens to be a vile one, what would be the fate of such children? Or of us – the naïve children entering the corporate world.

But first things first: if we did not clear the training, such questions would be immaterial. And if the project failed, I would not be the only one facing the consequences. My schoolmate who had stood by me through it all, the Saint I looked up to, the nice Miss Graceful, a couple of other innocent bystanders and last but not least ‘she’ herself – they all would fall with me. No! I couldn’t let that happen. That thought served as a combo dose of Wikoryl and steroids. For the last three days of the project, I worked like I was possessed, not caring for food or sleep, stitching together the modules into a working application.

The others toiled valiantly too. Yet we could not finish on time. We finished a day late with a few bugs still unresolved. But we had met the minimum standards required to pass. We were stamped ready for client projects and passed on to our respective business units. The smooth operator ended up as topper and was picked up for a project at once. So was the Saint.

As for the rest of us, we were swept away by the corporate winds to be scattered and dropped wherever there was fertile ground to germinate and develop roots – projects needing resources. We were not helped by the global economic fallout of a recent terrorist attack on the land of everyone’s dreams.

While we waited to be called to serve, we made good use of our time – gossip, dinners, photoshoots - and the precursor to today’s WhatsApp culture – birthday greetings, good morning mails, random forward chain mails.

I had not seen her for a while and seemed all set to put all that emotional turmoil behind me. However, the corporate e-mail server had other ideas. And who should the very first forward be from but her? It seemed innocuous enough. But such things never end that easily, do they? Now it was my turn. Then hers. Then mine again. Before I knew it, my brain, starved of exercise, embarked upon a mathematical approach to solve a problem that has baffled men for ages – a woman’s mind – one particular woman’s mind in my case. I began to run analytics on the list of names to whom the forward was sent and their sequence. Further, I designed and ran experiments to study the correlation between her position in my list and my position in her list.

When these studies did not give satisfactory answers, the darkness started to return. It was time for another Wikoryl.

I approached my Malayali friend who had sincerely kept his promise of not smoking indoors across two houses and said, “Didn’t you say cigarettes help you clear your mind? How does that work?”

“Dude!”

“I was just curious.”

Before long, Wills Navy Cut became part of my daily routine.

After a few days, I asked, “Have you tried drinks as well? Does drinking make you feel the same way as smoking?”

“Dude!”

“Asking just out of academic interest.”

Romanov, Bagpiper and Old Monk soon joined the vile village of vices.

My schoolfriend’s wireless set supplied us with romantic songs to accompany the drinks. And my friends’ stories of disastrous experiences in the romance department added flavor to the evening. I, however, was the village bumpkin, in this regard, having next to no experience in this field beyond pining over e-mail forwards. We rounded off the evening’s drinking with a 3 am trip to the local tea joint for a Boost.

As time went by, the corporate hand swept into action, seizing us one by one and dropping us into projects, thinning our numbers. My two friends too finally got their summons. As did the Visitor. Only the hand delivering his marching orders bore a different name.

While I waited for mine, the newest undesirable habit to join my vile village was computer games. Right inside the office on the company systems. And my partners in crime were Mr. Zest and his two lady friends from the internet stream. Mr. Zest was a very sophisticated chap with a natural charm that had clearly impressed the two young women. Some of the charm rubbed off on me as well, and I too was party to some of this new female attention. I basked in the reflected glory like the fabled donkey carrying God’s idol.

I often thought I should make use of this time to do something productive. I could develop skills in a new technology. I could prepare for entrance exams for higher studies. But no! Why start today what a project might cut short tomorrow? And when that project would come was not in my hands, nor in those of my corporate overlords.

Days, weeks, and months disappeared down the black hole that the vile village was. From one weekend drinking binge to the next. From one potential project to the next. Tent theaters, multiplex cinemas, roadside eateries, fine dining, all manner of computer games, conversations with friends, potential colleagues, potential bosses, HR and the business unit head – all merged and disappeared among rings of cigarette smoke.