After I passed my graduation, my well-wishers thought I should be independent now. In the sense I should get a job, a government job of course. I had this attitude of vini, vidi, vici (or is it vini, vici vidi …or vidi, vini …anyway somewhat of the permutation combination, isn't it?) So after scouring through scores of job advertisements, I zeroed on a job fit for me. Revenue Officer with RBI. Earlier, I gleefully rejected all those jobs that best suit the middle class pen-pusher bongs. I have seen my father, and I have hated him all my life for writing with those twin riffled pens (linc-made), red on one end and blue on the other. The idea that I had to handle it and make it my life partner was something alien to me, better suited for lesser mortals like my father and Co. I didn’t go through the prospectus properly, only I noted that I had to appear for a preliminary written test (what nonsense), than main test (I know what stuffs would come there) and viva (huh, you didn’t see m