Maaf Karo Saab

A few friends and I had been to Cal. No . . Not California, Calcutta. Cal being the undergraduate slang for Kolkotta nee Calcutta. A major book exhibition and a leather goods exhibition were the attractions. In the morning, five of us had reached the railway station on three bicycles. One the way back, we met another friend and hence we were six, we returned.

One was tired, another was not used to riding in the dark. Dark indeed, as there were no street lights either. We hired a rickshaw. A cycle rickshaw. We hated this inhuman mode of transport. Whenever we decided to hire one, we eased our consciousness by getting off it on upward gradients. We even pushed the rickshaw to help the rickshaw wallah (RW) cross the railway level crossing which was nowhere near level. We agreed to pay practically any fare the RW quoted and sometimes more.

As we started the cyclecade with two bicycle outriders, the unmistakable smell of alcohol and sweat hit us. The RW, obviously, had had a couple of shots.

We commented about it, made jokes about it. We speculated about our fate if the sozzled RW missed the gentle turn before a culvert and we all landed in the sewerage flowing undeneath. Vaitarani we called it.

After an incident free ride we arrived at the VS Hall (Vidya Sagar Hall) and alighted. I was about to pay the RW when he asked me, still breathing hard, sweat pouring down his cheeks - even on that cool early winter night, "Saab, you were talking about my being drunk, weren't you? You thought that I can not understand English. Saab, I can. I have passed BA. I can't speak English but I understand it well. What to do saab, I have to do this hard work for the sake of this traitorous stomach. I tried for a job. Without influence and money to bribe how can one get a job? I do this job. It is hard, Saab. At the end of the day, when I lie down, the whole body aches. The only way to ease the pain is to eat a little and drink. Pardon me Saab, I know it stinks."

He said all this without rancour, with very little self pity. Without anger. Without humiliation.

I have never felt smaller.

The Tendulkar

It was 1981. I was a member of a sales team of two, selling Sony professional and semiprofessional video equipment. My boss was one Minoo Adajania, a dapper, gentle, super methodical Parsi gentleman.

One day, he told me that he had got a lead that TISS (Tata Institute of Social Sciences) was looking for video equipment. He asked me to organise a meeting with the concerned. I called a contact in TISS. He told me that 'one Mr Vijay Tendulkar' was their adviser and should meet him. He gave me the phone number too.

I called the number and talked to Mr. Tendulkar. I got an appointment to meet him at his home. He gave me the directions to his house and was about to end the call when I said, "May I ask you something more sir?"

I asked him, "Sir, are you THE Vijay Tendulkar?" Pause on the other side.

"What do you mean by the Vijay Tendulkar?" he asked me gently.

"Shantata Court Chaalu Aahe and all that?" I said.

He laughed and said it was indeed he. Somehow, the sound of that easy laughter of his has stayed with me ever since.

Minoo and I went to his house on the appointed day. I knocked and we were asked to enter. There were footwear at the door and I automatically took my shoes and socks off. Minoo was horrified. He looked as if he was having second thoughts about trying to sell anything at all. Reluctantly he too took his shoes off but kept the socks on. I could visualise him going home and consigning his socks to the waste bin straight away.

When we entered the carpeted, Khadi - if I am not mistaken, hall, Vijay Tendulkar was sitting down on the floor leaning on a sloping desk. It was the kind of desk used by the 'Munimji' in Hindi movies. He indicated the floor - for us to sit down. The only pieces of furniture in the room were book filled shelves and some bolsters. I sat down comfortably, cross legged.

Minoo was at a loss. He kept his brief case down and slowly, very slowly, lowered himself to the floor. He looked as if he expected the stitches of his trousers to give way or his kneecap to fly off. When he had settled down, we began the most unusual business meeting I have ever attended - sitting on the floor cross legged.

Minoo did all the talking. Whenever he wanted to show a leaflet or a picture to our prospective customer I would go on my knees and point at the relevant thing to him. After about half an hour, suddenly Vijay Tendulkar asked, "Are all these things in colour?". We were eager to confirm that it was so, proud of the great Sony technology.

He said, decisively, "Then it does not suit us. You see, what we are trying to portray is poverty, hardship, the dirt and grime of the slums and such things. Colour glamourises everything. We don't want to glamourise all these things." That is it. It sounded final.

Even though I saw a business opprtunity slipping away inexorably, I could not help admiring the man's clear thoughts expressed so succinctly.

Perhaps Minoo's knees and ankles were hurting or he too was impressed by the definiteness in his voice, after a few feeble attempts to make him still consider the colour equipment, we had to leave. We did.

Minoo had great difficulty wearing his shoes again as there was no chair in sight. We walked to the nearest taxi stand and returned to the office. I was disappointed that we could not sell anything but elated that I had met THE Vijay Tendulkar.


The inimitable Vijay Tendulkar has passed away this morning. This is my small tribute to him.

Oracle

I was flying back from Mumbai to Bengaluru, in the company of a senior colleague. The thing started badly. When we got on to the aircraft, the a/c failed and it was unbearably hot. It was some time before it was set right.

We approached Bengaluru airport and then the aircraft started circling over it. No hint of landing. After some time, the captain announced that the ground staff had some problems keeping the runway lights on and hence we were circling. When we were over the airport again, I could see the runway lights go on and go off again.

After a few more flypasts, I told my companion, "Just watch. The captain will say that we are running out of fuel and hence we will fly to Chennai". It was just a hunch and I wanted to see if it would come true. It did.

After the captain had made the announcement, we could feel the aircraft straightening out on its trajectory and gaining height. There were whoops of joy and clapping by some co-passengers who were obviously from Chennai.

After we had stopped gaining height and leveled off, I told my companion, "Now, the captain will say that the runway lights are on and we will return to Bangalore". I could not believe it myself when that came to pass too. This time there were groans from Chennaiites and whoops of joy from Bangaloreans.

We could now feel the aircraft banking and heading back. After about ten minutes a logical thought came to mind. I had been in the Quality Assurance business for too long not to have great faith in the divine Murphy and his law. I asked my companion, "Sir, (he was my boss and that is how I normally addressed him) what if the runway lights go off as we near Bengaluru? The captain has already said that we are short on fuel. We can't even go back to Chennai..."

The poor man really paled. He was a particularly religious and superstitious man. To be fair to him a far more responsible man than I, by nature. Two of my predictions had already come true and now I was saying this! He protested and reassured himself that such a thing would not happen and I SHOULD not say such a thing.

I (cruelly, I admit) started laughing. His protests were stronger this time. He admonished me. "Don't laugh!? How CAN you laugh?" I could hear a sense of desperation in his voice. It tickled me further. I was and am an optimist. I KNEW (Don't ask me how. There is no sensible answer to that question.) that no such thing would happen. My first predictions coming true was mere chance. I laughed louder or at least with greater mirth. He now tried to order me not to laugh. The poor man was now sweating. He asked again, rhetorically, "How can you laugh?". I was insensitive enough to answer him. "Sir, if I have to die, I would rather die laughing.."

This direct talk of death was too much for him to bear. He ordered me to keep quiet. Finally some sense and sense of sympathy entered my thick skull and I relaxed and tried to tell him not to worry. He continued to sit stiff and perspire.

There is no need to tell you that we landed safely without much ado, is there?

Let me admit that the brave talk of dying laughing is as far as it goes. I wonder how I would have reacted if what I had predicted had come to pass too.

You would never know, would you?

Zürich Impressions

I had a large part of the day at my disposal. I saw the sights until early evening. I then visited a small company in rural Switzerland to deliver some PCBs for repairs. That was the reason for my visiting Zürich.

During the journey to and back from that village I experienced Swiss precision.

As I sat in the train, I was attracted to the clock on the platform. Its second hand did not move in jerks as I had seen in all other clocks before. This one moved evenly without stops for seconds. As I watched it, it touched 12. It was 1800 hrs and I could feel the pressure in the small of my back as the train moved. Wah, I thought. The ETD was 1800 Hrs.

It was a journey of about 40 minutes and delivering the PCBs took about 40 minutes. The train from the village back to Zürich was at 1952 hrs. It was due to arrive at the station at 1950 Hrs. My host from the company dropped me off at the station at 1940 Hrs or so. I bought the ticket and waited. The clock on the platform in this village was similar to the one in Zürich. Again, as I watched the clock, the train thundered in and the second hand reached 12 the trains came to a halt. It was 1950 Hrs. Wah!, I thought again. The synchronisation with the second hand was repeated at 1952 Hrs when the train started, the same pressure in the small of the back.

I was curious about the time the train reached Zürich and did as expected. Should I say that the clock did as expected? It reached 12 as the train came to a complete halt, at the designated ETA.

I walked in the cool quiet streets of Zürich and reached my hotel. After freshening up a bit I went to the small restaurant attached to the hotel. I went to a small counter where people seemed to be ordering food and drinks and a petite pretty girl came to me across the counter and asked me what I wanted. She looked as if she was a student who was earning some extra money a waitress in the evenings. She had that kind of abandon about her.

I said that I would have a beer as I looked at the menu. “Whatever you say Sir” she said and brought me my beer. I did not understand much of the menu anyway. I chose something that I thought would be good. The girl said “Sit at a table Sir and I will bring your order there.” I was actually surprised by her Sirs. It sounded very formal. At the same time, all through this interaction she had a casual carefree attitude and appeared to be flirting with everyone.

I took my beer to an unoccupied table and sat down. Zürich being full of tourists there were a lot of different kinds of people. I had an interesting time observing them. Soon, the girl brought me my single dish and placed it in front of me with a flourish, wished me a cheery Bon Appetit and went away. As I started eating the food, I realised right away that there was something wrong with it. I mean that there was something in it that did not agree with me.

I am allergic to the cooking medium that goes by the name Dalda in India. It is actually a hydrogenated vegetable oil. What happens is that my tongue becomes itchy and if I look at it in the mirror, I see a lot of small cuts on it. They do not bleed but they appear to be fairly deep cuts. Certain types of bananas also do this to me.

I went to the counter again and explained the matter to the girl. She went pale. She was profusely apologetic. It was almost comical. I said that it was not her fault but I had ordered it and there was hardly anything she could do about it. She was not ready to buy it. She said she would get a purely vegetarian salad for me and brought me a tomato salad. It had pieces and gratings of cheese and various herbs for aroma. It was bland but delicious. She also brought me another beer though I had not ordered it. She repeatedly came to the table from behind the counter to see how I was doing and to make sure, perhaps, that I had not conked out.

I really enjoyed that unusual meal, in spite of the fact that my throat was still itchy, a little.

At the end of the meal, I told her that it was good and asked for the bill.

She crossed her arms and said, “No bill Sir, compliments of the restaurant, Sir”.

You Men!

I flew into Zürich early in the morning. The flight from London was on time and the captain apologised and gave us some chocolates!

What happened was, once we were airborne the captain of the flight announced that the weather was excellent and we would be landing at Zürich twenty minutes ahead of schedule. However, as we neared Zürich, a ground fog crept in on the airport and hence there was a delay. With that delay, we landed on time. Still the captain sent large chocolates with his compliments, to all the passengers.

Once I reached the hotel where I was booked, I started the check in process and entered the customary details such as Name, Nationality, passport no. and then the date. I entered 22-10-1985. I then recalled that that was my birthday!

I knew that I would be in Zürich on my birthday but, the tensions of international travel had made me forget it, so early in the morning.

As I wrote it down I remarked to the dignified looking matronly receptionist, “Oh! I had forgotten. Today is my birthday.”

I must have triggered something deep inside her. Her shoulders sagged. She glared at me and the look was transformed to a look of pity and she said “Oh, you men, howwww cannnnn you forget your own birthdays. I can never understand this.” She shook her head pityingly and stared at an imaginary point, above my head, far away.

And then suddenly duty beckoned. She straightened up, forced a smile back to her face and shook me by the hand and wished me a happy birthday and a pleasant stay in Zürich.

I did have a great time except for a small hitch, which was also a pleasant incident, as the next post shows.