Dear XXXXX

(Too lazy, so posting a long letter to a friend instead of a fresh post – if frustrated, do feel free to splatter me with cream cakes- am hungry)

Dear XXXX,
How are you? I thought I would break the stalemate of "will she mail, will i mail" by nobly venturing forth. But before I update you on the many inanities that mark the milestones of my life, let me admit that I didnt know Haruki Murakami was a she? Are you sure? I remember seeing an album cover of a Japanese man in one of those melancholic covers that mark out such novels in the windows of airport bookstores.
Maybe it was Ishiguro.
Maybe it was a mistake.
Maybe I was drunk.
Now now, before I follow the examples of lonely Tamil women in strange quasi-Mexican land who love to lie on the beach of dusk as waves of self-pity wash over them, let me come to the main subject of this mail - which again is not much in the greater scheme of things but still does matter to us - you and me. (LOL - love rambling like this)
 
The truly important and self centred existence of Ganja Turtle continues in full blast as always. Rather predictably but still with enough splashes of random happenings to make it an interesting subject for a once-in-a-month mail. Any more frequent and then we would have to fall into a routine of "I woke up in the morning, brushed my teeth and dragged myself to and back from office and yeah...I also ate lunch" We dont want that, do we.
 
In this illustrious company that I work for, we are short of cash for everyday operations. While this paucity makes for some very interesting anecdotes for the app essays of various B-schools, the everyday reality of this phenomenon SUCKs. No new laptops, no canteens, the A/C conks out every 2 days and what start out as "Mega advertising campaigns" (inevitably ushered into MS PPT at beginning of the month reviews) are eventually watered down to two small palm size advts in dailies which no-one reads - these poor darlings- them that have issued from the font of my ad agencies creative bowels and so look suitably dirty & clutttered - have to fight for space amidst bigger blacker & whiter brothers promoting a wide range of products and services aimed at the discerning Mallu customer...from hair replanting options that exponentially increase your chances of a job in the Gulf (and therefore aptly named GULF GATE HAIR TRANSPLANTING SOLUTIONS)...to FINAL SOLUTION FOR PILES, HYDROCELE & AIDs...yes, beloved comrades who purport to offer the modern day endlosung-final solution- that Hitler aggressively promoted for the Jewish masses now available in Kerala, customized for your particular malady and if not by too far, designed to send you to kingdom come, just after you shell out sufficient moolah to pay the white and gold clad women who in "traditional Kerala" ways welcome you to the ADVANCED AYURVEDIC CENTRE FOR TREATMENT OF PILES.
 
I am trying very hard to focus on GMAT prep in the light of such continuing developments that challenge my daily existence in many humourous and life threatening ways like say "How many times can you not pick up the phone of a vendor to whom you owe 3 crores before he turns up with 5 dark fat lungi-clad men at the office? How many times can you crash down your backend pricing platform and deny a customer promotional offers that you have aggressively promoted through 5 SMSs to the same sleepily delighted customer at at various times between 11pm and 5am? After an irate & suposedly loyal customer of 5 years breaks through the mentally erected pretty barriers at the office reception, fights his way past the hordes of cust-support executives and reaches the office of your super-HEAD BIG BOSS MAN and smashes his phone to smithreens despite carpeted interiors, do you
1.Help him to gather the pieces of his phone and enquire in a gentle non-threatening voice if he has the Nokia warranty card with him?
2. Whisper in his ear that the police are on the way and try not to get into his way when he looks like hes about to make a leap for the BOSS MANs throat?
3. Look terribly sad while handing over a tissue when he breaks down and crying, starts to gather the pieces of his phone?
Confronting such utterly deviant risky choices liven up existence and almost make me forget about the vagaries of working in a cash strapped organization...at least until I get a credit card bill for 25k and remember that this respectable company still owes me around 40k in pending claims. You ask me, why do I still work here - witness firsthand, woman - the thrills of living on the financial edge!
 
My GMAT prep continues...ahem...it does...when am not drunk, not flirting, not staring at trains leaving the railway station overlooking my balcony or not taking in the perfect oval sunset over the Vembanad backwaters...yeah, it does. Truth be told, after a days work of screaming, spreadsheeting and making BIG, motivating "Yo man! Go man!" statements on ppt presentations, coming back home to arrange Tom, Daisy, Jim and Luke around a round table and making sure Tom and Daisy don’t get too close is NOT absolutely exciting. NEITHER is exploring the many reasons for the migration of farmers from the mid-West in the USA circa 1960. However certain actions I have mastered by now can lighten up the mood like... taking a sip of chill Appy, a stroll to the balcony where one sees the mosquito repelling mist rolling into a warm Cochin night, taking a decision about whether to feel (1) Happy about two resting camels that were brought here to be slaughtered but now are giving rides to children after their slaughter was banned by the Mayor  (2) Sad that the traders are most likely to take them to the Malabar (reliably reported by the Express) where in all probability a bunch of hungry heartless carnivorous morons are planning to eat camel biriyani...these draw the mind away into a small cubicle of happiness away from the vast ugliness of perverse convoluted data sufficiency questions that evil GMAC has devised for entering an Ivy league MBA.
 
However of late, I had written two full length practice tests and scored 650 & 690 in Kaplan and Powerprep respectively. Am informed with great confidence by a Mallu brother that these are wommale (rowkuthaka slang for "severely") decent scores - thank you, Nair, for that confidence. Suspicions that I had about your moral capacity to return my Amazon ordered, dollar costing KAP800 book stand dispelled, until they regroup again to form that dark cloud that has always hung around your oiled head (all the more so after you gave KK a Pink Floyd album during your now-infamous Mahabs trip).
 
A thankful amen to
these scores...these harbingers of hope, money and Tuck/ Duke.
to the generosity of my bosses who keep the net & coffee machine turned on during weekends.
to the unknown American voice that always said "YOO HOO" after I scored a right answer in the KAPLAN prep CD. 
to this woman whos receiving such a long mail that seems to be turnig into a spaced out version of an Oscar acceptance speech.
 
Apart from this daily drudgery of finding the nth root of an integer 10k+i and other such adrenalin boosting activities, I have joined a theatre group...to catalogue the roller coaster ride of this theatre venture would take too long...suffice to say we started off with an adaptation of Hamlet, offended certain feminine sensibilities who initially discovered "gender biases" in our script which were later extended into the original Shakespearean "Hamlet", dropped out certain elements who insisted on not turning up for practice, mixed in a scene from Mamootys "CBI" film series with recurring humour about dummies which till date, I have not understood (probably explained by the fact that I havent seen any of those humourous movies), dropped the "Hamlet" idea altogether in order to salvage the cast who were on the verge of backing out in consideration of aforementioned sensibilities, moved on to "THE DEAR DEPARTED" with some gay jokes and eating bananas...HUMOUR, you must understand, is essential to theatre. By now you must have come to a realization that when I say "Suffice to say" you should pick up a coupla beers, the latest IKEA catalogue and settle down while waiting for me to finish. Our production goes onstage on Dec 17th at the XXX which also supports us by supplying cookies @ Rs.10/bite and coffee/tea @ Rs.50 per cup.
 
This apart what else am I upto - you might be delighted to hear that I have also started writing in a blog...acceding to this uber mode of metrosexual self expression was quite easy considering that my delusions, of acquainting myself with beautiful, intellectual women from (preferably) metro-India who gape at the amazing flow of my prose and poetry, persists. Also cunningly hidden amidst these layers, are the hope that they will be astounded by my ambitions to get into an Ivy league B-school. "Wow" is expected reaction but not too many times, please. I prefer more direct cuddles. Danks you.
 
This blog which initially started off with lofty ambitions of recording my GMAT progress has somewhat veered off from original aims...er....yeah somewhat. I advertise my poetry fishing for free compliments as well as generally rave eagerly inviting and dispensing advice to fellow bloggers who include a pretty (Hope, Carl Sandburg says, is a tattered flag fluttering in the breeze) Bangalore babe called silvereen who raves quite funnily about generally everything, an ex-college-mate called Arunthur Dent (I admit not terribly creative, but ahem, let us applaud him for trying) who displays his sense of classic Tamil humour, a fellow MBA applicant called MaelstromX and also some on/off peoples who still deserve an honourable mention for making "comments" on my blog. You would be surprised at how long I can survive on such comments even if they aren’t compliments. Must be something to do with my subconscious cravings for roots/identity/a sense of belonging and similar things in OB that Naga ma'am tried very hard to teach us. A pity, that class.
 
Went to good old Chennai last week for an old flame-now friend's marriage and got all choked up. Ugh, you say? Ugh, I echo. Not my style, I know, I know...my style would have been to waft into the scene with a neat gift, congratulate the groom for having bagged the most beautiful woman in the world and flirt around with the bridesmaids before doing that nifty dance number that has everyone dancing in sync with me. Scene ends with melancholy look of bride staring at me thinking "What a guy, how well he doesn’t show it" and me looking back with my eyes saying "Cool, babe, will keep the show going". Unfortunately as they told me at IIM-B at a recent training programme, there is a very large gap between "I am" and "I want to be". Gap analysis at this inappropriate juncture in time resulted in choking up and walking out of the marriage hall. But not before cute gesture of giving a cute Indian toy (three wooden ducks tied in a string in descending order of size) to the girls niece - all of 6 years,damn cute-called Gulika. Just couldn’t help it! Jeez, you says. Style, I says...yeah, I know...quite sad,na - what I have evolved into-mushy metrosexual male capable of displaying emotions on his sleeve and yeah moisturizer too ;-)
 
As is becoming evident, the truly self-centred existence of the author continues well into this nice Sunday where I got to see pretty Anglo_indian women singing quite well "Ave Maria" at the Infant Jesus church..post which some hot appams + veg stew @ Cofee Beanz gathered me into the momentum required to write such a long mail to you...so there.
 
And where were you? What have u been upto? What happened to LSAT? What happened to your apps? Status? Work? Books? Music? Movies? My looking-in-the-mirror existence at times is briefly broken when I deem it fit to consider how my fellow bums might be going about their Sunday mornings across the oceans...and hence this stream of questions. Now that this altruistic break is done with, let me get back to the most important issue of the day - If xy=1, then 2(x+y)^2/ 2(x-y)^2=? Such is the rich variety of life.
 
Have a lovely weekend, XXXX and remember you owe me an equally long reply.