Fiction Ramakrishnan wanted to retire. “50 years is not the age for sannyasa,” said Saroja, his wife indignantly. She had been noticing some weird changes of late in her husband’s lifestyle. Ramakrishnan was the Managing Director of a major wing of a renowned corporate enterprise whose ostensible objective was to buy up the whole of India – from footwear manufacture to nuclear weapons manufacture. Yet he was becoming increasingly discontented over the past few weeks, Saroja had noticed. “What will you do anyway after throwing away the job?” Saroja asked her husband who was sitting on the plush velvet sofa looking like a unique specimen of borderline mental retardation. “I’ll go to a cave in Badrinath and become a fulltime monk,” Ramakrishnan said. Saroja snickered. “Fulltime is any time better than the part-time monking that our PM, your boss’s thickest friend, did once.” That landed like a boxer’s punch on Ramakrishnan’s cheek. Back then, when the PM spent a few hours i...
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