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Twilight Executives: Where do they disappear before Monday?

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CIOL Bureau
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The conference had ended but the real work was about to begin now. As CIOs inched away from the chairs that had hijacked them unrelentingly throughout the day with sessions on data centres, servers and application delivery, it was time for me to tip toe my way to them for another captivation. It would be an intrusion I knew, but I had to accost them with my questions, queries and doubts all the same. I gave them enough time to grab a drink at least before I unleashed the terror of a gluttonous journalist.

Sometimes questions stay the same but answers undulate like a weather needle in a hurricane zone. With equal powers of versatility, on other occasions, the questions take a new turn only to be fizzled out by the same, years-old, canned one liners.

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Yet, there’s no other way of catching the pulse of ‘what’s happening’, except trying the Brutus way. Or so I thought.

The waiter changed every plan.

Out of nowhere, he floated with a tray of mushroom canapés, but only to rudely snap my hand before I could pick one to relish. He instead stuffed my hand authoritatively with a tissue paper.

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“Read it, it’s for you.”

He vanished with the same dizzying speed he had entered.

I was definitely not in a Farhan Akhtar movie to be subpoenaed with mystic epistles. The moment anyways was too thrilling, and hence too out-of-place like a Don chase scene in a Satyajit Ray opera.

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Hoping it not to be a water-toy prank, I opened the paper and read. “For real dope, come to the brown table in the coffee area. The guy in a blue cap.”

Huh! What was this nonsense! I craned my neck to see if I could find a cop around. If it was the other kind of dope, this paper had mistakenly reached the right hands and the culprit would be nabbed in two minutes.

Or it could be something else. Either ways, I texted my colleague and sprinted to the well-advertised brown table.Yes, there was a guy, more of a teenager going by his very young countenance. That convinced me all the more it was a wrong message. I dialed my colleague’s number frantically.

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“At least hear me out, Madam Christie.” He pulled a chair for me, in a dictatorial politeness.

“Umm, listen, I guess there has been a mistake. Anyways what’s your name?” I managed to mutter.

“Let us continue the Shakespearean way and skip this crap. Don’t worry. You are in no trouble here. I just thought I might be able to save you some time with that entire journo grind.” He tried to calm me down. “I might have some useful information for you.”

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Eight words that can make many reporters stop midway, whether in a taxi-catching-hurry, a burnt-omelette situation or on their final goodbye ways while on a ventilator. They had an effect that day on me too.

I relaxed, placed my handbag down, ruffled out the necessary paraphernalia and clicked my pen in the symbolic cue.

“I will ask some questions first. What do you know about the three CIOs you just met?” He had really planned a cocky start.

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I sighed. “If I am about to give answers why are we wasting time here? Anyways, I was about to know so much — their next IT budget numbers, their new pilots, the last application goof-up, but thanks to you, I am waiting to scribble ‘God-Knows-What’ with you, instead of being with them.”

“You will not regret it, don’t worry. I know things you or your peers have never known, may be because you never bothered too. I know where they go.” He lowered his pitch in a suspense-building tactic.

“What do you mean where they go? To their homes and then to their offices of course. Wait, you mean like what other conferences or off-sites they are attending.” I perked up at the though and moved my chair forward.

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“That’s about it! That’s why you all are suffering with a skewed vision. That explains the glasses your breed wields.” He tutted.

“What do you mean? That’s rude. By the way, what breed are you then?” I slapped back.

“I am a geek, if you may. Have been looking for a good IT launchpad for some weeks now. That’s how I started following these CIOs.”

“You what? You have been following them! Are you a detective?” I scowled, almost.

“No! Well, it’s like this. I wanted to hand them my resume. In a way, and at a time that it stays on their hands for at least two minutes before flying off to the dustbin. That’s how I have been at their heels, the moment they step out of their offices.” He cleared the fog.

“So you are a CV stalker!” I was enjoying this now.

“Whatever you wish. But that’s not the point. The point is I have found some real stuff that will tell you a whole new story about these so-called suits.” He became serious.

“What do you mean?”

“Like you always think and assume that this is how these executives are. Boring, dull, one-dimensioned, homogenous, disciplined, ordinary human beings. But that’s how people have underestimated the bespectacled Clark or the plain photographer Parker. But they never found out the truth about Superman and Spiderman.” He explained.

“I don’t get the drift here. You mean like they turn into other creatures when they enter a lift or a hidden stairway. Or when the twilight strikes. Come on now, they are nice good executives, not vampires.” I reasoned.

“Exactly my point. There’s more to them then those laptops, smart phones, black suits and meetings.” He tickled my curiosity at this point.

“Do you want to listen? I am guessing CIOL is the kind of space that will have a place for actually knowing these executives better. Am I right?” He winked.

“I can tell you, if it’s right and interesting, I am all ears. How many stories you have with you?”

“Six.”

“Wait a second then.” I ordered for some huge mugs of coffee and then I sat ready to listen. The plane is about to take off. You want to join?