It was 10.40 am. We were in an office beside a mammoth construction site that subsequently turned into a mammoth mall. Pune would be glad to have such a shopping destination in the ensuing years. But this is 2009. We are in the office. Beside that construction site.
It is raining.
The usual tea rounds were just over when the security guy came in with a missive. There is a car at the site gate and the occupants of that car are wishing to see the top boss. I looked around the office, peeked out and tried to configure who could be the top boss for the day. As the real top boss sat in Mumbai and rarely ventured out and even if he did, he would never jump up and meet the occupants of the car outside.
So, it fell back on me to decide what was to be done and how it was to be done.
I am generally a laidback chap. I would like to tell people, who arrive in unmarked cars with self-importance written in large letters across their bonnet and rear guard, to take a hike. And then see where they go to take the hike. But I needed to meet the guys first. So, I told the security guy to bring them in.
The guys were brought in. White shirts and trousers. Mobiles in hand. Some of them clutching two at a time. Gold chains of variable shapes and sizes. Five in all. I was proud to see the political generation of the country. They were why we make progress. They sign off on irrigation canals, maybe four times for one location, thereby creating employment for people over a longer period of time. They were the ones who grabbed land and asked for more to release the land. Because of people like them prices went up, making the real estate companies do larger advertisements and create larger sales teams, again resulting in economy. For the media, for the colleges, for the automotive fellows and for the insurance guys.
Low-level politicians, the actual growth guys!
So, they arranged themselves around the table. And spoke in Marathi. Excellent. I loved the fact that they promoted the mother tongue. It was my fault entirely that I didn’t know Marathi that well. I should have been shot and thrown in a filthy well. But I wasn’t. I was on the other side of the table. They weren’t so happy about it. If they were to have a gun then, they would take it out and play Russian Roulette with me. Their faces said so.
But they were there to ask for money. So, they had to suck in their anger and talk.
They kept going at it. I kept listening. Then, they stopped. Probably saw me nodding off. Hell, I am entitled to a mid-morning sleep, aren’t I?
They glowered. Collectively. I felt a deep sense of remorse. For myself. Here lies the “Not Top Boss”. Died in dire circumstances because he slept off during intimidating negotiations. It was my epitaph that I saw. In big bold letters. On the tombstone.
Then, one guy leaned in. “Brother, are you the boss? Really??”
“No. I wasn’t,” I said so.
He was just short of a slap. “Then, why did you meet us?”
“Good manners,” I said.
They were nonplussed. They had no answer. Chai had come in by then. They drank the tea.
The guy who leaned in earlier asked, “when is the top boss coming?”
I don’t know. I said that. Then I sat and decided to tell them about the nation, economy, the street dog malaise in Kharadi and Mirchi Bajjis in JM Road. It was a 10-minute soliloquy. It was their turn to droop. I stopped. They heaved a collective sigh.
Okay, see you then. They got up and went off.
I could hear one telling the others, “Kaisa kaisa paagal logon se paala padta!”
I don’t know why politicians are always unhappy with me. I try voting every time. I even know some of their names. And that’s saying a lot, isn’t it?
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