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An estimated 4-minute read

Nostalgia by Modern Bob

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Welcome once again to the world of Nandii aka Modern Bob, where buildings are made of shiny glass and all trains run on time to the right stations.


It’s nostalgia time. I recount below my first day of work (translated suitably to reflect events, where appropriate).


8.30 a.m.
: Dressed in my smartest suit, I steal a quick look at the Financial Times just to make sure my commercial awareness is up to speed.


[Translation: I wake up, slightly hungover from the free wine at the Colby, Hewitt and Richards’s introductory dinner party last night. Free stuff must ALWAYS be ingested in copious amounts.]


9.15 a.m.
: Being extremely perceptive, I notice the market is slightly under the weather and decide I must discuss this with my boss.


[Translation: I find a bomb scare has closed down Moorgate tube station, which means I have to take a bus to work. Of course, divine intervention ensures that there are bus stops every 50 metres. I have no choice but to read the front page of the tube paper which informs me that important takeover talks have collapsed. “Tabloid trash” I mumble to myself and crumple the paper, earning stares from my fellow bus-inhabitants.]


10.00 a.m.
: My boss walks in. We connect instantly and there are smiles and handshakes all around. We have a pleasant conversation where he tells me all about his wife and kids. Naturally, he is curious about India and we make holiday plans.


[Translation: I rock up to work to find a slightly sour-faced man in my room and the following conversation takes place. 

Boss: You’re late, and what’s your name?  

Self: Sorry sir, I'm Nandii.

Boss: Nandos?  

Self: It’s closer to Nun-dee. But you can call me Bob if you like, sir.]


11.00 a.m.
: I am given my first piece of work, which I complete flawlessly, impressing all at Colby, Hewitt and Richards. I am hailed as a rising star and the cleverest Indian in the firm (including the IT dudes).


[Translation: I am asked to draft a couple of simple documents. Diligently, I replicate the precedents handed to me. As luck would have it, they have slyly repealed the English Companies Act recently and replaced it with an entirely new piece of legislation. To complicate things further, my boss is aware of this and lets me know what he thinks of my drafting skills. ]


1:00 a.m.
: The best looking girl in the office rings up asking me if I want to go for lunch. We have a lovely Italian lunch and promise to meet everyday.


[Translation: I ring up the best looking girl in the office, asking her what she’s doing for lunch. She tells me that she’s busy till the end of the month, but will consider lunch with me next month if I take her secretary out today. I spend my lunch hour helping a 75 year old chew (?) her way through spaghetti ravioli.]


3.00 p.m.
:  I attend a seminar on recent legal developments and having read the FT this morning, I am able to contribute meaningfully to the discussion on the present condition of the market.


[Translation: An emergency firm-wide meeting is called- another important investment bank went into bankruptcy over the weekend. While I vaguely recall reading about the collapse of takeover talks in this morning’s paper, the events of last night and the warmth of the seminar room overcome me. The next thing I recall is opening my eyes with the entire room staring at me. This is not a pleasant sensation. Drawing on my vast reserves of commercial knowledge, I opine confidently that the Icelandic giant Kaupthing should take over the big British banks to save the day.]


4.30 p.m.
: I perform some simple but important administrative tasks.


[Translation: I email some documents to my PA, Jackie Richards, for her to print out ASAP. Outlook automatically corrects the address to ‘Jack Richards’, who incidentally happens to be the Managing Partner of the firm. His reply cannot be reproduced here. I learn an important lesson- my PA is called Jacqueline Richards.]


5.40 p.m.
: I ask my boss when I can leave. He smiles and waves me away. I leave the office for my swanky flat in South Kensington and make plans for drinks with friends.


[Translation: An urgent email is forwarded to me by my boss from his Blackberry (he is at the pub with clients) asking me simply to “Please action”. I leave the office just past
midnight having learnt all about repo/reverse repo transactions in Spain and wait for a bus to my flat-share in Mile End.]


Finding: Nostalgia is great!


[Translation: When you look back at things, you tend to romanticise them slightly.]

 

 

 

 

 

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