Tales from a Travelling salesman

 Township tales Until age 21, I lived in a street that was narrow, dirty, chaotic, and pulsating. I thought this is how the world looked like. A brief stay in Ahemdabad showed how orderly the world beyond my hometown is. Incessant travel did not allow me to enjoy order around me as I was never at home. The home was anyways just me then.  I got married soon and took up a job in Baroda (now Vadodara). Initially, I stayed with my brother in Sayajiganj, the heart of Baroda. Then the company offered me accommodation in the township, about 8 km from the main city. This is where I came to know how orderly life looks like for the first time in my life. Townships are what we now called a 'gated community. More so in the government sectors, big companies set up townships to extend better quality of life to their employees.  The township where we stayed was like a toy set of children, all neat, tidy, and handy. Houses fell under different categories but we were happy with what we go...

Golden jubilee  I have crossed my life’s golden jubilee a long time back. My wedding golden jubilee is still 6 years away. The golden jubilee I am presently celebrating is of my first gulp of alcoholic drink.  It was in this fine city of Mumbai, (then Bombay) circa 1971 that I imbibed my first drink. The place where a local patron took me for a drink was behind Hindmata cinema in Dadar. The cinema hall, as well as the bar, is extinct now.  The country liquor bar was in a narrow aisle with benches on both sides, but no tables. A dirty curtain hung on the entrance. Fiery spirit in an unwashed glass was drinkable only because I was 20, silly, and excited for an unfamiliar experience. At 20 years old, I thought I own the world.  I spent my youth and college days in prohibition-laden Gujarat. Imbibing alcohol here was a cardinal sin for a Brahmin boy. When I moved to Ahmadabad for my MBA, few rascal friends introduced me to the pleasure of XXX rum smuggled from the Army....

Our food trail  My wife and I are not a foodie conventionally. We do not relish global food, not even some of the Indian food. But we are an avid eating-out couple so we call ourselves foodie, anyway. We are not into exotic food or expensive restaurants. Occasionally, we enjoy a good lounge bar but avoid food there.  Our favored food trail starts at Nariman Point, the Southernmost tip of Mumbai. Status is a well-known eatery in that area. Gujaratis from Worli to Walkeshwar troop in there on weekends to gorge on Status’s Thali and Idli - dosas. One can’t have a quiet conversation here because Gujaratis talk loudly and across the restaurant to each other. It is a well-known trivia that Dhirubhai Ambani ordered idli-vada lunch from here to his Maker III office across the street. My wife is partial to their mini vada pau and mini pau bhaji whereas I stick to fluffy idlis.  Pizza by the Bay on Churchgate Street continues to be a sentinel of this area. I knew it as a Talk of...

Clueless in collage  My college years were a washout. I wondered around in a haze of an uncertain future. There was a sense of purpose briefly when I attempted to get into medical science. I missed admission and felt more miserable because two close friends got through, separating our paths.   I was glad I did not get through. Studying to be a doctor was too much hard work, precision, and patience. I lacked the talent for all of it. Besides, I would have been bored to death doing what doctors do.  When I said farewell to my school, there was a choice of two collages, science and arts in one collage and the commerce stream in another. I wrongly opted for science. I did not realize then that I had in me a sleeping writer and slumbering economist. I missed my calling by a wide margin.  The college was about 4 kilometers from our home. I walked or cycled with a friend. Often I took a bus if it was crowded so as not to have to buy a ticket.  Our college was no C...

Visram Salvi   Had he been alive, Visram Sivram Salvi would have been nearly 100 years old today. My association with him is long and strong enough to write a book. But a blog should do for now.   I grew up with my great aunt until the age of 14. Visram Salvi was her servant, recruited when he was 15 years old. He hailed from the hills of Ratnagiri. In those days, they called them ‘Ghati’, people from ghat or hills. My aunt moved from Bombay (now Mumbai) to our hometown. Visram too followed and became part of our family who never treated him as a servant. He was a troubleshooter for the large extended family that lived in one compound. He lorded over everyone like a master, except me, whom he handled with kid’s gloves.   Visram helped me build my character. He treated me like a cadet in the army. He taught me how to read clock dials, how to tie my shoelaces, tuck my shirt, not talk while eating, read Gujarati and Marathi alphabet, and fight with street b...

Peep into private secretaries No man is an island, they say. I too am not. Scores of people contributed to the moderate success of my life. Amongst them, private secretaries have contributed the most. They have been a colorful lot; some cantankerous, others candid, but all of them caring and courteous. They stood by me, protected me, and made my life more livable. They are the ones who made me gleam and glow. Evelyn D’souza was my first private secretary. She was 19 and far too young to become one. I was 23, young, restless, not knowing how to handle a private secretary. Evelyn spent more time painting her nails and talking to her friends from the office telephone line. She found my heavy Gujarati accented dictation difficult and always made me feel nervous by making faces at my wrong pronunciation. The next one, Alameda, also came from the Catholic heartland of Ahmadabad. She was keen to flirt with me but gave up once she came o know that I already have a girlfriend hidden away 500 km...