And now i am working. That is to say i am working for a living, earning my keep, singing for my supper, toiling to afford toilet paper and the like. One can trace back the origins of this happening to sometime last year when certain individuals considered to be very smart, thought it prudent to offer me the opportunity of adding to the awesomeness of their enterprise. (See, Mom, not everyone thinks i am a no-good, lazy bum. Hah.) i, of course, was overjoyed at the prospect of getting to see more of the Mahatma than i ever had and engaged in the customary celebratory hop-skip-and-jump and maniacal shouting. i did not however, contrary to vicious rumours spread by the 'jealous rejects', weep in joy. That would be so lame and something totally out of character for someone as breathtakingly macho as me. Pay no heed to such idle talk.
So anyway, fast-forward a few months (in which i managed to get completely drunk for the first time in my life and was also forced to question my largely indeterminate sexual preferences) and now i find myself in the city of gargantuan real estate prices. The amount you pay as monthly rent for a half-decent place in Mumbai is only marginally less than the annual aid provided by the World Bank to Uganda. And the rigmarole that surrounds the whole exercise of visiting prospective houses and choosing one that may be your home (albeit for a year) is calculated to make even Rajnikant break into sweat. A single bead that evaporates the moment it is formed on His Holy forehead due to the sheer heat of His Holy self. But sweat nonetheless. We (that is, the two blonde eastern European swimsuit models i stay with and me) spent a week house-hunting and endured much; not least being riding pillion on a pink scooty pep+ in driving rain. We did finally find the perfect place, that later turned out to have irregular water supply, a hooked electricity line and a resident pigeon in the loft, but what the hell, right? At least we have a roof over our heads. (Damn, its leaking, get the bucket Nikita). And once we had moved in, rented the furniture (say hello to our plush leather sofa Simonova, we shall make good use of it, wont we?) and generally settled in, it was time to suit up and head to office for the first day of work.
And this is where, i can see you draw in your breath in anticipation, tense in your chair and lean closer towards the screen. You are no doubt wondering, and not without reason, i may add, how i refer to the eight (and greatest) sin, i.e., working, so nonchalantly. You scratch your head. You are flummoxed. Mystified, even. i, who had sworn an oath to lazedom and denounced all forms of physical and mental activity (well, almost all) am now cheerfully prattling about working. Fear not comrades, for i have a plan. A plan that has proved to be successful every time it has been used. Yes, i am talking about the three easy steps to complete world domination, known popularly as ICC. Infiltrate. Co-operate. Conquer. It worked for the mammals when they killed all the dinosaurs. It worked for the Mughals when they came to India. It worked for the Jews when they went to America. And it worked for the martians who have now secretly taken control of earth. Infiltrate the enemy ranks. Co-operate to lull them into a false sense of security. And Wham! Conquer the living daylights out of them. That's all it takes, really.
And that is precisely what i intend to do. i am the trojan horse. i am the iloveyou virus. i am that annoying autorun worm that refuses to die. i have plans, comrade, grand and ambitious plans worthy of my epochal genius. And this is but merely the first baby step before the colossal leap. i have my eyes set on lofty goals but for now i shall focus on the local scene. Laziness and contempt for honest labour is like a miasma. It appeals to the very core of human nature. No one can deny its primal cry. Very soon, the tapping sound of busy keyboards in office will be replaced by the soothing sound of soft snores; no deadlines will be met, hell, there will be no deadlines; people will throw client files at each other like frisbees and in the unfortunate event that one goes out of the window (which is not the thrower's fault at all but is due entirely to the utter lack of hand-eye co-ordination of the catcher) there shall be no scoldings or threats of being fired. Food in the canteen shall be edible and the canteen guy shall not superciliously ask for coupons or throw looks at you that make you feel like a pedophile when you go for second helpings. There will be none of that. There will be no demand for submitting work. There will be no tolerance for people asking for work (such people shall face swift and cruel retribution). There shall be no work. Only lazing. And i shall make that happen. Just don't tell my boss, i said this ok?
