Stolichnaya is fun. With her, it is so easy to converse. And more importantly, with her, it is easy to not converse, when you want that bit of solitude. You can talk just about anything in her company. I used to cherish every moment spent with her - night or day, breakfast or dinner, alone or with other company. In short, there is not an occasion when I would feel out of sorts with her around.
Topics like this are a little personal to me and I usually do not discuss such matters in an open forum, let alone an internet blog. But events of my life lately have given me the courage to open up a little bit and share my feelings. Before I start, just to help you form a mental image, let me give you a little background to my story.
I grew up in a staunch vegetarian teetotaler family somewhere in the east of the Vindyas. In that part of the world, those days, children were expected to not only go to school but also do well. There was too much undue pressure. I was an extroverted kid who wanted to just go out there and have fun. Sitting in a dimly lit room doing algebra was not my thing at all. But my parents would have it no other way. End result - I flunked my eighth grade. This was the turning point of my life. I was so scared to face my law abiding parents that I decided to run away from home. It was a very long walk from school to the local bus station.
Long story short, I found myself in a big city doing odd jobs and fending for myself in the ripe young age of fourteen. But as they say, nothing teaches you more than life itself. I did well for myself, given the circumstances. With all humility, I used to have a way with the written word, even with my premature exit from formal education. In one of my odd jobs that involved sorting books in a second hand book store, the owner noticed my talent and got me a copywriter job at a local advertising agency.
Life was a roller coaster ride from there on. The job soon took me to places. One week I would be in Madrid walking the corridors of the Plaza de Cibeles and the next I would be negotiating traffic in the crowded streets of a sub Saharan town. As they say, I was going places - I was flying high. Now, you would be wondering what copywriter job on earth makes you travel inter-continentally, let alone the odd trip to the local branch-office. I do not blame you. You are well within your rights to caste an aspersion, frown at me. Your question is legitimate. Let me calm your nerves, allay your suspicions and restore my integrity.
In the course of the first two years at the copywriter desk, I picked up languages. I first picked Chinese as the obvious easy choice anyone would first try their hands at in the business of professional translation. Then I moved to Swahili and gradually to the more difficult ones such as French and German. I did well for myself. Soon, I was the official translator copywriter of choice in the firm. I started traveling to pick up nuances of the local dialects and that too, can you believe, at company expenses. This was a dream come true for me, a clean sweep, winner takes it all kind of setup - meeting new people, exploring new cultures while performing the only job I was good at – all expenses paid.
You must be thinking the fun is all over, the story is told, game over. You cannot be more wrong. Sit tight and hold on to your horses.
One of my business trips landed me in Vladivostok. Little did I know the bright sunny morning, that my quest for linguistic exploration would turn my entire life upside down in one single trip to the most commonplace of business destinations. It was in this trip one fateful weekend evening that my local guide took me to a friendly gathering and introduced me to Stolichnaya. Yes, the very same Stolichnaya that I began my story with. The rest, as they say, was history.
With my very conservative upbringing, at first I was hesitant to open up to her. But once I got going, there was no stopping me – conversation flowed. To say that she was delightful company would be an understatement. With zero warning, she had my mental juices flowing. I was unprepared. In her company, suddenly I was a transformed man. I copywrote like a maniac, translated like there was no tomorrow. There was no frontier left unknown, no border to be trespassed any more, no alphabet unexplored. I started seeking her for breakfast lunch and dinner. I would have her by my side even when I sought solitude on my copywriting desk. No business trip went by without making special arrangements to have her accompany me. She almost became an obsession with me.
In my delirium of obsessive indulgence, I got carried away a little too far. In one of the business trips to somewhere in a region commonly referred to as middle east (Although it is neither in the middle of anywhere, nor in the east), I had special arrangements made to have Stolichnaya accompany me all the way from St. Petersburg. She was to join me directly while I flew from the nondescript town where I had my home office set up. I was anxious to have her by my side the moment I got to my hotel room, let business take a back seat.
Just as I had freshly showered and come out of the hotel bathroom whistling in anticipation, there was a knock at the door. My unbridled excitement got the better of me. I rushed to the door eagerly without caring to put myself in proper attire. Alas, the fact that I was not exactly dressed for the occasion did not discourage the local law enforcement authorities at my door. I was promptly put to task. Even a specially ordered bottle of Stolichnaya smuggled directly from St. Petersburg could not persuade the men at my door to be lenient with me. Vodka induced copywriting is apparently not as widely appreciated around the world as one would like to believe.
Topics like this are a little personal to me and I usually do not discuss such matters in an open forum, let alone an internet blog. But events of my life lately have given me the courage to open up a little bit and share my feelings. Before I start, just to help you form a mental image, let me give you a little background to my story.
I grew up in a staunch vegetarian teetotaler family somewhere in the east of the Vindyas. In that part of the world, those days, children were expected to not only go to school but also do well. There was too much undue pressure. I was an extroverted kid who wanted to just go out there and have fun. Sitting in a dimly lit room doing algebra was not my thing at all. But my parents would have it no other way. End result - I flunked my eighth grade. This was the turning point of my life. I was so scared to face my law abiding parents that I decided to run away from home. It was a very long walk from school to the local bus station.
Long story short, I found myself in a big city doing odd jobs and fending for myself in the ripe young age of fourteen. But as they say, nothing teaches you more than life itself. I did well for myself, given the circumstances. With all humility, I used to have a way with the written word, even with my premature exit from formal education. In one of my odd jobs that involved sorting books in a second hand book store, the owner noticed my talent and got me a copywriter job at a local advertising agency.
Life was a roller coaster ride from there on. The job soon took me to places. One week I would be in Madrid walking the corridors of the Plaza de Cibeles and the next I would be negotiating traffic in the crowded streets of a sub Saharan town. As they say, I was going places - I was flying high. Now, you would be wondering what copywriter job on earth makes you travel inter-continentally, let alone the odd trip to the local branch-office. I do not blame you. You are well within your rights to caste an aspersion, frown at me. Your question is legitimate. Let me calm your nerves, allay your suspicions and restore my integrity.
In the course of the first two years at the copywriter desk, I picked up languages. I first picked Chinese as the obvious easy choice anyone would first try their hands at in the business of professional translation. Then I moved to Swahili and gradually to the more difficult ones such as French and German. I did well for myself. Soon, I was the official translator copywriter of choice in the firm. I started traveling to pick up nuances of the local dialects and that too, can you believe, at company expenses. This was a dream come true for me, a clean sweep, winner takes it all kind of setup - meeting new people, exploring new cultures while performing the only job I was good at – all expenses paid.
You must be thinking the fun is all over, the story is told, game over. You cannot be more wrong. Sit tight and hold on to your horses.
One of my business trips landed me in Vladivostok. Little did I know the bright sunny morning, that my quest for linguistic exploration would turn my entire life upside down in one single trip to the most commonplace of business destinations. It was in this trip one fateful weekend evening that my local guide took me to a friendly gathering and introduced me to Stolichnaya. Yes, the very same Stolichnaya that I began my story with. The rest, as they say, was history.
With my very conservative upbringing, at first I was hesitant to open up to her. But once I got going, there was no stopping me – conversation flowed. To say that she was delightful company would be an understatement. With zero warning, she had my mental juices flowing. I was unprepared. In her company, suddenly I was a transformed man. I copywrote like a maniac, translated like there was no tomorrow. There was no frontier left unknown, no border to be trespassed any more, no alphabet unexplored. I started seeking her for breakfast lunch and dinner. I would have her by my side even when I sought solitude on my copywriting desk. No business trip went by without making special arrangements to have her accompany me. She almost became an obsession with me.
In my delirium of obsessive indulgence, I got carried away a little too far. In one of the business trips to somewhere in a region commonly referred to as middle east (Although it is neither in the middle of anywhere, nor in the east), I had special arrangements made to have Stolichnaya accompany me all the way from St. Petersburg. She was to join me directly while I flew from the nondescript town where I had my home office set up. I was anxious to have her by my side the moment I got to my hotel room, let business take a back seat.
Just as I had freshly showered and come out of the hotel bathroom whistling in anticipation, there was a knock at the door. My unbridled excitement got the better of me. I rushed to the door eagerly without caring to put myself in proper attire. Alas, the fact that I was not exactly dressed for the occasion did not discourage the local law enforcement authorities at my door. I was promptly put to task. Even a specially ordered bottle of Stolichnaya smuggled directly from St. Petersburg could not persuade the men at my door to be lenient with me. Vodka induced copywriting is apparently not as widely appreciated around the world as one would like to believe.
