How I Met A Billionaire

Picture this. You are leaning forward on the roof top of the tallest building in the city. A concoction of feelings flood your senses, where at one moment you realize this is it! There is no place higher to go and at the same time, every drop of blood drains out of your legs looking down from the dizzying height.

It was a board room invite with a self made billionaire, interested in reviewing your area of work.

He walks in the room and instantly, he is Gulliver and we all are the lilliputs, or so I felt. With the chatter in the room disciplining itself, the business of the meeting starts ticking like clockwork.

The tallest among us sets the tone with a sense of suerity about the conversations to follow that can only come with diligent preparation and readiness to field any curve balls thrown along the way.

As the pencil streaks accumulate in his notepad, our collective awareness on what was just said or shown could be contentious, grows menacingly with every streak.

The tenured amongst us understood that to show the here-n-now and grounded-ness with humilty were the most crucial virtues, nevertheless carelessly ignored by the naive at his or her own peril.

He senses the hyperbole early, but waits for the pitch to complete, allowing a short lived sense of accomplishment for the presenter, then asks a simple question, usually masking the oncoming “taking to the washers” if you falter, which he has mastered over decades of dealing with dysfunctional teams and miss-aligned organisational priorities.

There is a method to his generous attention and metered humour peppered with pointed questionnaire, and it is anchored firmly in these three anchor hooks - is this for real? did it work for you? when can we see its worth?

The anchor clutches harder if you miss else unhinges you to unfurl your sails.

I had entered the room expecting to see the billions that made this man.

I came out meeting the man who made the billions.

Comments

Miss D

"You'll look sooo stupid if you tell this to someone" I chuckled to myself trying to sleep at Terminal 2E of Paris airport. With more than four hours to wait for my flight to Atlanta, all I could think of, was Ms D or rather "Miss" D. So, who was Miss D? As any bachelor in his mid 20s, returning back from an India vacation, foreseeing the daily grind of work that awaits him, wondering why his hair is mysteriously thinning and witnessing the loss of his friends to their wives or work, would feel, I … had this sudden urge to find "the one" for myself. Rather than planning it, I had always wished it would be a random coincidence. Like, finding someone on the plane next to me! With that silly wish, I boarded the Bangalore-Paris flight at 2AM. As I walked to my seat 21B, the silly wish kept me distracted from the sadness of leaving family and friends behind, in the hope that it may come true. No less than a miracle ... it did come true! There she was, on 21...

one line of fame

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Springtime for Hitler

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