A Confederacy Of Dunces

It was two years ago, on this day, I wrote my best blog post:

The “editor-in-chief” of the Magazine is Mr. Marx (Mahesh Sarma). When I joined the office, he said in a tone that barely betrayed his effort in faking intellectuality: “I am not a hard-core Marxist, but I admire Marx. But, more than Marx, I am a follower of Polanyi.” Marx said cheerfully: “The staff in the magazine is dead slow. I want to sack all of them and hire a new team. I am happy to have you here because it is not possible to have a meaningful debate in this Magazine.” Struggling to suppress my laughter, I thought, “He looks like a dud, but he has already started giving me hints. He is trying to tell me that I will also be sacked if I turn out to be as incompetent as the unfortunates who will soon be packing their pretty little bags.” I sat there silently. I was amused because he cloaked the threat in a strategic compliment.

The edit meets of Mr. Marx were really hilarious. The first edit meet lasted hours. I heard “Yes, boss” several times from many different corners in a low, ritualistic manner. I noticed that I was yawning throughout the meeting while others were laughing. Is it plausible that I am not evolved enough to enjoy such humor? But, it was hard to miss that there was no way an average teenager would have gotten away with such jokes, irrespective of his friends circle. Something was truly amiss.

While walking out of the “conference room” whining that Marx bored me, Michelle said: “The edit-meets are boring, and everyone knows it. The tactless Marx does not know when to stop, and these sycophants push him on.” I did now know that these people were pretending to live a lie. This is not too complimentary to my intelligence. As an economist would have put it, it was “reminiscent of Alice’s Wonder-land: Everything seemingly is, yet apparently isn’t, simultaneously.”

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