‘Are you free tonight?’ he asked her. ‘We can go to Zoo bar after I’m done with this fucking interview.’

‘I am always free for you, my love,’ she said, trailing a crimson-tipped finger down his cheek. The crowd thoroughly appreciated the PDA.

Madhav obsessively adjusted his tie until the HR head called out his name.

‘Your turn, baby,’ Meera said as she planted a kiss on his cheek. The security guards gave them dirty looks.

Madhav headed towards the room where the interviews were being held. There was a long line of students standing in the corridor, all mugging answers to questions they might be asked during the interview. The geeks stared at him as he walked towards the interview room. People found it hard to believe that someone like him was the university topper—a loafer who spent his time writing shitty poems for his blog. Madhav felt neither overconfident nor scared. He just wanted to look good for the interview.

The HR executive checked his college ID and faked an encouraging smile. He entered the room. Three people sat at a conference table—a middle-aged man, an old man and a beautiful lady.

‘Good morning,’ said the middle-aged man. He appeared to be the manager.

Madhav nodded and adjusted his spectacles. He wore spectacles that blurred his vision; he didn’t really need them, but insisted on wearing them.

‘You can at least wish us good morning, young man,’ said the old guy. Madhav felt his sense of decorum beginning to waver.

‘What’s so good about this morning, sir?’ he asked impertinently. The three company executives raised their eyebrows. Madhav had certainly captured their flagging attention with this response, but not in a favourable way.

‘This is a rather negative approach, Mr Mehra,’ the lady admonished.

‘No, madam, this is actually the bitter truth. I wasn’t able to go to the toilet in the morning and now I have stomach cramps, which you might unfortunately have to deal with in a bit. I did not eat breakfast. Another publisher rejected my poetry last night. And I lost my favourite pen. So, you see, for me it’s not a good morning at all.’ Madhav was only half-aware of what he was rambling on about, and the panel was extremely taken aback.

‘Ridiculous! Are you out of your senses?’ the lady berated him.

Madhav placed his file on the table. ‘I am really very sorry, madam. Please take a look at my credentials.’ It was impossible for anyone to predict his temperament. He would say something one minute and then do the exact opposite a minute later. People thought he was just a pathological liar, but nobody bothered to ask him why he behaved this way.

The two men flipped through his certificates and whispered amongst themselves. Madhav smiled all of a sudden.

‘Tell us something about yourself.’ The manager started the interview. Madhav was still standing, out of courtesy.

‘I am Madhav Mehra.’

‘We know your name! Tell us more about yourself.’