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Wednesday, September 01, 2004

THE METEMORPHOSIS

An eventful day, by any yardstick. One of those rarest of rare days in the last four years where I've not been contributing my mite in shoring up a company's bottomlines ( ahem ! ), a day of precarious Trishanku-like suspended animation, a day between the f.p. and the fire, but mostly a day of transition between my last and my future employer. One of the more poignant also because although for reasons outlines above, I get no income but was considerably poorer by more than a few grand.

Gave peremptory instructions to all and sundry to stop whatever they were doing for/to me at the Colaba abode--which of course also bids adieu to the leech-like Pest Control company that sends me mailers on when they plan to disinfect my house ( this is a monthly ritual and has never actually materialised due to being away during the day and most of the night).

had the Samsonian locks shorn ( another indefatigable attempt to lose weight ), returned the still-unswunm murky waters of the borrowed BCL books and harked to Vashi for an epileptic bout of shopping with my sister.

The CentreOne mall at Vashi has its priorities just right--an entire floor devoted to the epicurean predilections of those who have been unsuspectingly dragged. Did find the patience and the strength of mind to pick up the odd touch of sartorial necessity and made the dash all the way to VT.

Despite my best efforts, Tele-check in and all that, managed to miss the flight to Delhi--the first time I''ve contrived to do so, and an education nevertheless. All my entreaties fell on deaf ears and was forced to take recourse to an 8 pm flight . Mde a sheepish way to the Lounge where my missing the plane proved to be a b. in disguise, cos' I caught sight of my first boss ( from Bhopal days ), himself having given a though too much to the chicken snack and behind the eightball in his Indore endeavour--a quick exchane of words and he was off. Completed my Sunday Hindu edition before I asked ( and received ) a warm glass for saline gargling from the helpful attendant, came backn and found to my chagrin that my newspaper had been purloined by none other than Aziz Mirza, and his companion. Now I couldn't say much , could I , given the act itself ? Waited patiently till they decamped on their Calcutta flight. Never take a celeb for granted, you never know what they will whack.

The niggling sore threat turned to a full-blown cold by the time I touched down in Delhi and was received by a placard-holder.

Ode to the Placard-Holder

No poetry here, but I doff my non-existent hat to the hours of toil and sweat put in by the placard-holder--he stands in rain or shine, holding up an inanimate piece of corporate memorabilia ( nonsense really ) expecting a response from a person he's never seen. He seldom even knows if the flight is on time , delayed or in fact whether his stooge has even boarded. Cannot delve into the depths of his emotions, and all of them bunched together gives the entire thing a piquant feel--I half suspect a revolution of sorts is brewing in their minds.

Checked into a hotel called the Lemon Tree, an unusual name with even more burlesque designations like Nimboo Pani ( that's for Junior Officer ) and Nimboo Soda ( for Senior Officer ) . The whole bally place is replete with Dilber, Calvin and Hobbes--the elevators, the dining tables, the aisles, the galleries--full of wit, wisdom and indubitably somethign to make you chuckle. Much appreciated from a beleagured corporate pawn.

The first day of reckoning was good-except my health whicb deteriorated, but the meetings seemed decent, the people seemed warm and courteous. Looking forward to tomorrow.

India's been thrashed--hurrah !!!

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