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An estimated 2-minute read

On being banished, being back and being screwed over...

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So for those of you who remember me from the past, I was recently cleared of my charges by Kian. Finally the months of pleading, begging, bribing with MDH Chunky Chat Masala and L’Oreal lipsticks (don’t ask me why) – Kian has lifted the embargo on me. So here I am. I have not learnt from my mistakes and I will continue to remain the bitch that I am. For all those faint hearted readers, please stop reading here rather than complaining like kindergarden students.

Past year, other than repenting for my sins and fighting off my banishment, I was looking to make that leap from the Indian Big Law to the global Big Law. And, after months of procrastination, collecting contacts, scouting for recommendations I was finally ready to make that big jump.

One particular vodka-fuelled evening, when I spent the entire night bitching about my partner, her failing marriage, her spit filled lisp and that cute mole carefully balanced between her perky bosoms I decided that I was done with her and the time to make the move firms was now.

When I mean now, I didn’t mean it as in the near future, I meant RIGHT NOW. In my drunken stupor I copied and pasted my cover email and CV and sent it across to the six India group partners of global Big Law.

Three weeks later…

Two of the partners emailed me evincing interest. Meetings were set up in amchi Bombay amidst some meaningless “conference” they were attending. I couldn’t have been happier.

Dressed in my suit, cufflinks, Satya Paul tie (that’s all that I can afford) and stealing some of my room-mate's cologne – I made it to the Big Hotel. With dreams in my eyes, imagining the look on my partner's face when I say fuck you to her and leave the firm and dreaming of the house across Notting Hill -  I was sitting in front of my interviewer.

It started off casually with clichéd questions and was turning out to be a cake walk for me until he looked at the bunch of papers in his hand and burst out laughing.

When I say burst out laughing, I mean laughing so fucking hard as though he was looking at a picture of my (less than average sized) genitals. Just the way Samba laughed in unison with Gabbar in Sholay, I started squealing a little myself, then giggled.

He underlined something on the papers in front of him and passed it on it me.


Now we've all heard the “attention to detail” talk, but this was worse than a big red felt pen circle on a picture of my genitals attached. My cover letter read  “…I was also assfisting my partner in knowhow and knowledge management matters such as…”. Though I would have loved to do it to her, the joke was on me that day, as I sat there, assfisted by global Big Law.

[Post Script: No I didn't sue Microsoft for the typo. No I didn't drown myself in a glass of Royal Stag. No I did not get the job. I remain a lowly associate in Indian big law. Traumatized and stigmatized, I decided not go to any of the other interviews I was picked for.]

Dudediligence is a BigLaw certified asshole. He loves his beer, her b88bs and banter. He can be abused at diligencedude at gmail.com

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