This post is rather special. I’m going to give a shout out here (the first one I’ve done, very exciting…) to a talented and upcoming artist Krishnan Venugopal. Like most talented and upcoming artists, he is fending off starvation currently by working at a cushy 9-5 job while spending an hour every night post dinner dreaming about owning his own design agency. When he is not doing either of those things, he keeps himself busy by putting together a portfolio of his work. You can see it by clicking on this link – Krishnan Venugopal
He is the one to be credited with designing the images you see in this post, as well as the beautiful logo of this blog. Quite a talented chap. I also bear the distinctive honour of being his brother in law. Who says only Trump can do nepotism ?
Now, on to the post.
At the age of 10, like thousands of boys before me, and likely thousands more after me, I wanted to be James Bond. The glitz, glamour and sheer thrill of danger were too good to be missed out on. I couldn’t wait to grow up, finish my ICSE board exam and go join James Bond College. Over time, maturity sank in and I started to understand the truths of life. For instance, my dad told me that James Bond College took in only about 100 applicants every year, and selection exams were very tough. He convinced me that I had a better chance of getting into College of Engineering, Trivandrum.
Other than the sheer competition, there are, unfortunately, some practical limitations that prevent me from becoming the next Bond. Please find attached below.
Direction impairment – I once drove round and round a butterfly flyover in Koramangala for half an hour trying to find an exit. I need a good view of the sun’s position and ten minutes of mental calculation to understand the cardinal directions. Imagine an emergency situation where a building is on fire and someone yells at me to “proceed out the east exit and then go half a block south “. I am far more likely to sit down where I am to try to get my head around things than to obey those instructions. Contrast this with spy films in which the hero, often wounded and carrying a civilian, speed reads an entire city map within seconds and then manages to find the right shortcuts, all the while negotiating rush hour traffic. Unbelievable.
Inability to withstand torture – I find this the most disturbing of super spy requirements. Any 12 year old worth his salt (read, who has seen all episodes of ‘24’) knows that eventually, everyone breaks. So what’s the use of withstanding all the pain and embarrassment in the first place? If captured and questioned, I can be relied upon to volunteer any and all information, including the low down on the Kennedy assassination.
Codes? What codes? – Studying and memorizing disjointed pieces of information to recall and connect them in future has always been utterly confusing for me. I can never for the life of me understand how trained agents do it on the fly. Memorizing phone numbers, license plates, PNR numbers and phonetic codes are basic job requirements for trainee agents. Such skills save lives. Me? I learnt the English alphabet with great difficulty. The last time a travel agent asked me to tell him my PNR number, I had to put him on hold for 5 minutes while I hunted down the e-ticket. Then, with all the confidence born of ignorance, I proceeded to describe the PNR number EBP DUJ in NATO code. “Echo, Bravo……Erm… Police, Delhi…. Unnikkuttan…. Jellikattu”.
Blind trust in beautiful women – I mean, in the lost unlikely scenario that a good-looking dame who is in the honey trapping business takes it upon herself to recruit me in order to pick my brains, who am I to disabuse her of her illusion that I have any? Brains, that is. If she asks me to proceed out the east exit, I might actually go to the trouble of asking someone else for directions, so as to impress her. If that doesn’t tell her the amount of brains I have to be picked, she deserves what’s coming her way.
Zero knowledge in poker, rummy or baccarat – Self-explanatory. All spies, irrespective of age, race or gender, play poker and win every hand. On the other hand (pun intended), I can’t differentiate between a straight flush and a manually operated one.
Until I can figure all these things out, I am one step further away from being captured and tortured.