All, in a Day!

“It’s 720, and you are still sleeping as if you haven’t had even a wink in the last one week”.

Muzzeebatein pehle batake nahin aate!

“You better get up now” – this is one wake-up call no husband could pretend he didn’t hear. “You see, I went for a walk all by myself. Your colleague Mr. Sharma was walking with his wife”.

“Why, did you expect him to walk with some one else’s wife?”

“You sleep till 730 and then complain in the evening you are having pain in the neck, back and I don’t know where else.”

“Mein, aur mera saaya – my pains will go with me only.”

“OK, don’t ask me in the night to put Volini and hot water bottle here and there”.

Another day has broken in all its glory…

“Accha, we are leaving, come and close the door”. (For the uninitiated, Accha is dad in God’s Own Language).

“Son?”

“Yes, I have taken the house key, I will call you when I am back from school, and I won’t open the door for anybody: you don’t have to repeat that”.

“Good boy! But finish your homework when you return, rather than sit and watch Hungama channel.”

“Accha, I think Delhi Daredevils are going to make it to the semifinals of IPL. Just see that sixer Sehwag hit! They couldn’t even locate the ball! Bye”.

What a ball, I say!

I don’t have any option now, but to get out of the bed. You can trust the world, but not the robbers of Delhi who can give a run for one's money for every run that the Daredevils may hit! What appropriate choice of Team name!

War-torn Kabul during the heydays of the Taliban would have looked more orderly than my house at this point of time. But I had left it more like the clean and orderly Frankfurt last night! You blame it on me: keeping order is a disorder with me – of the obsessive, compulsive type.

Time for action: a quick look at the headlines to see if Bush had bombed what is left of Iraq, what is right and what is wrong in Pakistan, who killed whom, whether any `leader’ had been caught in a sting operation, and if Federer had finally won the first tournament of the year. Oh, clothes have to be washed, so set the machine – and bring some order in the house – at least like Delhi’s traffic; and wait for The Maid to come.

There’s something great about The Capital’s Maids. Mine knows that I have to leave necessarily at 930; so, she will make her grand appearance right at 858 when I am about to enter the bath. Well, maids have a choice, beggars don’t!

All set to go, fans, lights, gas, all switched off. 928, my, my, the clothes are still in the washing machine. Daley Thompson of Olympic Decathlon fame will doff his hat to yours truly when I enter the car at 930 after finishing the mean machine business!

945, and I am in my room. First things first: before office starts, I have to check all my mails. I am sure the Interpol must be in mighty trouble these days, what with each world citizen having not less than five different IDs.

I open Sabeer Bhatia’s Hotmail first. Vanitha says GM J Lycos, my oldest ID, comes next, followed by the two G-mails. In between, I respond to Vanitha’s GM. “I am busy today, will try to catch up with you later in the evening”. “No probs”, says the good friend.

Hotmail, Lycos, and the two G-mails together remind me every morning of my favorite post “My Inbox Floweth Over”. Rich widows of senior statesmen still want to share all their bounties with me; and I have won yet again the Euro/Spanish/British lotteries, all in one day, which would put me ahead of Laxmi Mittal in the Forbes’ list. But Michelle from Madagascar still wants me to take treatment for erectile dysfunction; I still haven’t been able to make out how she came to that conclusion sitting so far away in Madagascar!

The office ID, as usual, has steamy stuff about who is sleeping with whom, who filed a false LTC claim, who was sighted at the PVR Cinema during office hours and the like: nothing of “Breaking News” standard…

My room has no windows, only glass panes. Birds of the chirping variety hang outside, and enquire once in a while whether things are going fine with me. From my seat, I can also see who has entered the complex and who has left!

“Lots of work to finish today, Sir”, reminds PS at 1010 – sadist: it is as if he derives some pleasure out of inflicting such pain on me. “Done”, I say. “What if your friend Mr. Ranjan calls?” “Tell him, I am not in the room/busy in meeting/whatever you like”.

Attendance Registers land at 1030. Mr. Verma, whom I saw enter the building just a few seconds ago, has put the time as 1002. If you look at Attendance Registers, all your apprehensions or misapprehensions about government servants will vanish in no time –just like some stain removers. Every one comes in religiously at 10 and leaves dutifully at 6!

Files and files come one after the other. As I go to the loo, I find Mrs. Trivedi, all of 59 years, taking her regular walk through the air conditioned corridors; she smiles benignly at me. The big, fat, yet young Mr. Patnaik is behind the atrium talking to his girlfriend on his cell phone. When I return, he sees me and tries to hide the cell.  “How’s your girlfriend?”, I ask. Without blinking an eye, he says, “No Sir, that was my grandmother!”

PS announces that the draft brief for the VVIP has come, and gives it to me, adding that his office wanted it urgently. I open the file – it carried the paternity leave application of an attendant, a file that should have been cleared at least five levels below. I demand PS to seek an explanation. An hour later, the VVIP brief comes with the file subject as paternity leave application of attendant!

It’s 1240 and I see the steady stream out of the building – going for lunch, talks, walks and what not. I ask for Mr. Arora when PS tells me, “Sir, today is Tuesday”. I retort, I didn’t ask for the day, I asked for Mr. Arora. Cool as cucumber, PS says, “Sir, Mr. Arora goes to Hanuman Mandir every Tuesday at 1215 PM.” “What about Mr. Talwar?” “Oh, Sir, didn’t you know that they have started a Bhajan Club in the office? They meet every day from 1245 to 2 PM”. Whoever said India is a secular state!

115, and I walk down for a quick lunch. And then, it’s Rediff time. Whatever happened to my `honest pardner’ VT? Saakshee too is missing, even though iLand has proclaimed her as Blog O’ Maniac! Could it be that the keen observer that she is, Saakshee didn’t really like the `maniac’ part and decided to migrate? KB is not to be seen too, PK Madhavan has become a rarity, The Ambrosia a celebrity. Indigo Iris, Ekantapadhika, Alakananda – no news! TG, or is it TGIF, Moe M is still there J

It’s 215: Guptaji, Sharmaji, Talwarji, Vermaji, and other assorted Ji’s are still outside under the greenwood tree, discussing the latest rumors on the capital’s grape wines or most probably the latest episode of `Waar Parivaar” on Sony Entertainment Television.

315: VVIP vest, oh, I mean, brief, has acquired some shape after repeated tailoring. PS peeps in to say friend Ranjan had called three times, and had threatened to call home later in the evening.

“Where is Mr. Nair?” “His Director says that Nairji will come late”. “What does he mean, PS? It’s already 340 PM!” How late can late be, I wonder…

As I come out of the loo, Mrs. Trivedi is still on a stroll. “How many rounds do you take every day”, I enquire innocently. “Six rounds is almost a km. So, I take eighteen rounds in all, in three shifts. After all, I have to be in good health if I have to work hard”, she replies equally innocently. Now I know why this stinking rich woman doesn’t take voluntary retirement. The roly-poly Mr. Patnaik is still clutching his mobile for his life’s worth. “How’s your grandma?” “No, Sir, I am talking to my girlfriend!” Double jeopardy, is it???

Finally, the VVIP brief has gone – I hope it fits him fine J Several more papers need to be cleared, you know. I ask for Mr. Arora. PS tells me, “Sir, he has other programs in the evening; so, he leaves early”. Not bad, Hanuman Seva in the afternoon, other `sevas’ in the evening! 540, and the exit procession has already started. All of them who put 6 pm are trouping out one by one. PS walks in, “Sir, I am leaving”. Et tu, Brute?

625 pm, and the table is almost clear – phew! I check out Vanitha, chat for a few minutes about the weather, kids and old Malayalam songs. 700 pm, and time to leave…

As I walk in, my son asks, “Accha, how come you are early? No work in office?” I stroke his hair. “Accha, is it true that the uncle next door is a much, much bigger officer than you, and that is why he has a blue beacon atop his car?” “True son, but who told you this?” “The maid”. I thought I paid for the maid! “And Accha, why don’t you carry a bag to office like other uncles do?” “Because I don’t carry lunch, newspaper or Manohar Kahaniyaan to office”. And I believed that the son-dad-duo Q/A series had come to an end when Karanjia stopped publishing The Blitz!

“Where is Amma, by the way?” “Oh, she is lying down; she has a swollen ankle waiting at the Gurgaon Toll Plaza for about 45 minutes”. I never knew that you had to pay toll to get a pain in the leg!

“Son, I am going for a walk”. The next three-quarter of an hour is my time with the nature. There is a cool breeze from the green belt; the small temple looks Godly in the glow of an earthen lamp. The few walkers on the road have replaced their spouses with dogs who make friendly or unfriendly exchanges as they pass one another, and very promptly mark stones to record the event. A colleague pretends he didn’t see me, but his dog says `hello’. Thank you, I say, you are more civilized than your master! I, though, pretend I didn’t see the neighborhood uncle, now walking without the blue beacon! My beacon too will come, I should tell my son J

I ring the bell and son promptly opens the door. “But why did you not first ask who it is?” “Why should I? Who else comes at exactly 45 minutes after he leaves?”

A quick shower does wonders. Wife is up and about, her toll paid swelling now showing for free. “Dinner is ready”, she announces, which is repeated twice again at five-minute intervals. And then the final call…

Friend Ranjan chooses that very moment to call. For the next twenty minutes, I had to listen to an overview of men, women, matters and material. The food had turned cold.

Wife retires for the night, but son hangs around for some more time. “Accha, how many times does she call Sanju in that life insurance advertisement? Your options are - A: 4; B: 6; C: 8; or D: Lost Count”

“Muzzeebatein pehle batake nahin aate! He was resting so comfortably at the end of a hard day’s work, and she chose to exercise option D”.

“Accha, I too am going to sleep”. “Why, no IPL match today?” “Oh, all the fun has gone out with Bhajji being thrown out; if Bhajji is not there, there won’t be any action, you see. Any way, if Gopumon Sreesanth gets slapped and starts crying, do wake me up, good night”.

I open Set Max, and cheerleaders of different hues are going haywire. It’s as if all unemployed young girls of different sizes and shapes from Estonia, Moldova and Kazakhstan have suddenly found greener pastures on Indian soil, thanks to the BCCI and Sharad Pawar. I suspect Rakhi Sawant’s future is in serious trouble, though.

Time for some Gandhigiri and his experiments with his People and an Empire. 20 pages of font-size eight, and I have to bid adieu to the Father of the Nation.

The Kabul backyard needs to be brought back to the Frankfurt level, or else Herr Hitler can rise from the ashes; so, I get busy with my OCD.

1145 pm: I call it a day, or rather night! Every day has to end, and a new day will dawn. Till then, as my friend Hellz Angel always ends,  “…peace…!”