Untitled

There is some amount of debate about when actually did Rob Sawhney’s head come to resemble a crocodile’s. Different people have offered different versions of the story, and it is difficult to assign credibility to one and not to the other. What is uncontested is that it did indeed happen. It is a matter of record Rob was arrested in his office, crocodile head and all, dressed impeccably in a bespoke suit and a silk shirt, both of which fit his crocodile neck to a T. Equally incontrovertible is the fact that he was arrested with the four tines of a fork sticking in his chest vibrating like a tuning fork gone out of control, put there by his secretary, Mrs. Gupta, an elderly lady who, slightly hysterically, claimed that he had been trying to eat her. Rob, on his part, of course vigorously denied the fact that he had any plans to consume Mrs. Gupta with his victuals, and in fact even denied the fact that he had a crocodile’s head at all, even when confronted with a mirror.

Statement of Mr. Eduardo Lagarto (Rob’s Boss, Head, Eurasia at Whiskey Tango Inc., for which Rob headed the local operations)

Of course, this is all rubbish. I think it is some kind of plot by the competition. This is not the first time this has happened. They have always accused us being sharks, and crocodiles and all sorts of metaphorical mischief. I am not bothered by it, and I do not think Rob will. He is one of the most brilliant leaders in the world, and is destined for great things. In fact, I suspect this whole rumor was started by those fellows who got fired when we took over Esperanto PLC. They were spreading lies while the negotiations were in progress and were raising illegal hurdles to the acquisition. Then they got fired, and accused Rob of having influenced Esperanto’s board into firing them. Nonsense, of course. It is all on record. They were total non-performers, deadweight afraid of losing their cushy positions. The record shows Rob has done nothing even remotely illegal in his. They are saying he tried to eat his secretary. What rubbish! He is a vegetarian. It might have been the other way round, though…after all, she stuck the knife in him. And have you seen the size of that lady?

Statement of Mr. S Viswas (Ex-CEO, Esperanto PLC)

This was inevitable. Rob has just begun walking in the footsteps of his boss. He works for an alligator, is it too big a leap of imagination to see him changing into a crocodile? Why does no one ask why Lagarto has not been seen in public for close to six years now? Why does no one ask why all his interviews are on email and never in person? Why is he so reclusive?

You know, Rob and I- we go back a long way. We started our careers together- bright-eyed, naïve interns working the musty, smelly corridors of an obscure public sector bank twenty years ago, but dreaming of the stars. We were fools who dreamed of things bigger than those that even existed. We were young and full of life and living in the most vibrant city in the country, maybe even the world. And so we worked our butts off, and then late in the evenings; our eyes glazing, our vision made even sharper by all the alcohol we had consumed; we would roam the seafront, pretend to serenade the waves in a mock-pretend manner, for it was real, our passion, our jealousy for the spread of the seas- we wanted it, and we wanted it all. And we wanted it yesterday. I guess I am becoming a touch nostalgic.

Anyway, we were friends- I would like to think we are, but now that he tried to do that horrible thing to his secretary- I don’t know. No, there is no bitterness in me. He did get me fired, but I guess that is part of the game. Lagarto wanted Esperanto, and it was Rob’s job to get it for him. I just happened to be in the way, I guess. And I do not think he could have, or would have, done it, if not for that cheating, lying, slimeball executive of his, that German they bought in a couple years ago, Adolf Fucks. He was the one who screwed Rob’s mind, who spread the madness in the board of Esperanto, and in the end cost hundreds of people their jobs. And he was latched deep enough into Rob that he went along willingly with all this.

Statement of Adolf Fuchs (ED to Rob at Whiskey Tango Inc)

It is unfortunate, of course, very unfortunate that Rob’s own secretary should try to murder Rob. That she should try to do it with a fork is something which belongs in the realm of the ridiculous. That things should come to this… What? Yes, yes, I am filling in for Rob while he is gone; only temporarily, I assure you, you know, keeping the seat warm for the old man. Now, as I was saying, ridiculous…yes, Rob was a man who often tended to get himself in to situations too, you know, untenable for real life. You will not be able to believe some of the stories…there was this time I went with him to that quaint little place called The Horn of Zeus. Typical misinformed Indian place, you know…I mean when did Odin donate his horn to Zeus? These guys mixed up Gods, mixed up their mythology, but couldn’t mix a drink to save their lives. Anyway, we went there…and they had this interesting little system- they served you beer in wide mouthed pint bottles which they would not uncork. The cork, so to say was a tiny little replica of the head of Medusa, and they served it to you without the benefit of any openers or bottlescrews or anything. If you could uncork your beer, you got to get drunk, else…you know, namaste. I could not, of course. But Rob was a natural at it- he ordered half a dozen pints at once, and uncorked all in a jiffy. And then we were joined by a real sailor, you know, I think his name was ____. What? Is this place still open? No, no, got shut down last year. With their twisted sense of mythology, you know, they were, what do you call it- eccentric, yes. Too eccentric to go mainstream.

Anyway, this is how it plays out. Ron and ____, the sailor, get into a discussion about the corporate world, and it turns out the sailor is an alcoholic with a semi-addled brain who claims to have once been a successful corporate lawyer who chucked it all to join the merchant navy. We should have left at that point, and I did indicate that to Rob, but he was too deep in the argument to listen to me. So they go hell for leather about corporate life, ____ sparring and punching deep into Rob’s arguments about the morals of corporate life or some such philosophical thing, and Rob keeps getting drunker and drunker, when all of a sudden, this sailor guy stands up violently, sending his stool clattering behind him, and yells, “What the corporate world needs of more pants.” And Rob all of a sudden goes mad and hits him with a beer bottle, one of the pint sized green bottles without the tiny medusa-head removed, you know, sitting there sort of like a miniature cauliflower at the neck of the bottle. So he whacks ____ on the head with it, and the bottle breaks and beer sprays all over the bar, ruining my suit and all. Of course, the sailor guy goes down, but as he goes down he screams ‘Pants’ one more time, and then all of a sudden Rob is down there cradling his head, tears streaming all over his face, the look in his eyes all funny. What did I do? What? No, of course now. It was a minor bar-brawl, and Rob was drunk and the Sailor was drunk a bit too, and Rob and I took him to the hospital, got him three stitches to his head, and then we came back and had another few beers together. No, I have never seen ____ again. Of course, I never went to Sailor’s Bar again, but you might find him there if you go. Ohh, I forgot. The place is closed.

Anyway, this must be strictly off the record, you know. Rob is a lively man, and so I told you a story about one of his wilder nights. I am keeping his seat warm, you know, but I am eagerly awaiting his return, for him to fill his too-big-for-me boots, you know.

Rob’s Diary, Sanatorium Purgare

They are trying to make me insane. Everyone claims I have a crocodile’s head. They keep forever in solitary, and my food is pushed in through a grille, almost like I am a dog being punished. This whole affairs…I do not know anymore if I am sane now, or I was sane before or I was insane before. Someone is going to pay heavily once I get out of here. But will I get out of here? And what if they are right? No, they cannot be. Mirrors do not lie. I have seen myself. They made me see myself in the mirror. My hair was somewhat disheveled, eyes slightly wild. I was afraid. That bitch had just put this dining fork into my chest, and it hurt as hell. I suspect in the past two months my appearance hasn’t improved. But I will get out one day. And then?

I sometimes think it is Viswas who is doing this. Or may be Fuchs. Or Lagarto? But why? Viswas would know it was nothing personal. It was wrong, yes, but nothing personal. Or were all those years for nothing? He would know I did not want to do it.  Lagarto? I sold my soul for him. Year after year after year- from a fledgling banker to being called a shark, I was a large part of what got him where he is. Would he? It has to be Fuchs. That little shit I took under my wing. Let me get out and we will see. I will tear the little bastard’s heart out and eat it. And that fat slob! I will see to her too. Trying to murder me and claiming I was trying to eat her when all I was trying to do was try to hug her out of joy, C had just promised to meet me for dinner. After thirty phone calls. I wonder what she is doing now. I wonder what she thinks about this whole affair. I wonder if she believes them. She has not been to see me, but when I come out? Or does she believe that I have turned into a monster and will try to kill her too?

Meanwhile, I have to wait. These walls have started becoming narrower. I can see patterns in the paint where the damp has begun to chew its way inside, making me believe these walls open on the outside. Maybe I can arrange for them to be broken somehow. Maybe I can get back to my old life. Or maybe I will spend the rest of my life watching ghostly flower patterns transform into equally ghostly images of men fighting battles no one notices on the poorly whitewashed walls of this shithole, my life illuminated only the jaundiced light of a failing electric bulb.

What do I do?