Tales from a Travelling salesman

California diary     A trip that almost did not begin   Air France strike and resultant lack of communication nearly led to the cancellation of my trip. Thought of unpacking two bags, the disappointment of not seeing girls, and missing on the excitement of 11 hours of trans-Atlantic bliss was too stressful. This stress was finally released when the check-in girl at AF counter said she is checking me in all the way to SFO. It took a glass of Australian Hardy Red to lift my spirit. Sitting in the lounge always reminds me that as in the journey, I am in transit to my life as well, waiting for mystery ahead to be unfolded. I kept smiling at the announcement board looking at my flight. AF 217 that is finally going.      Paris Oh Paris   Landed safely and in time. Air France outdid itself in many ways; newer aircraft, better wines, modern espresso machines, and smiling women. Unlike me, I slept, largely because my systems had crashed after daylong anxiety on...

Diary of an insomniac     It is 1 am in the night. Most FM radio stations are off the air. My eyes are tired of reading. Watching TV is not recommended for insomnia. I am debating in my mind the options of midnight snacks. As of yet, there are no signs of sleep.   I open the window of my bedroom. Sea breeze floods my lungs with the salty air. I watch a long raw of ships anchored on the horizon i n the moonlit white night,  They are lighted like the Christmas trees. Our building is shrouded in silence that pervades the world around us after 1 a.m. A faint laughter waffles in from the railway colony across the street, a family enjoying the late-night movie perhaps.   I step out of my bedroom and stare silently at the turret of the St. Anne’s church in our backyard. The relentlessly punctual chime of the church wakes me up every day at 5.30 am. It’s only a few hours from now.   On impulse, I step out of the flat and take the elevator down. One of the two, nigh...

  Weekend woes Friday   Mumbai weekends bear the character of its own, like everything else. Friday morning is when it begins. Everyone at work drifts in a bit slower than normal. Their gait announces whiff of freedom from the tyranny of the week. The coffee machine whirs slowly and bears witness of the gossip that gets louder.   Friday dressing transforms lobby and corridors into riots of colors as opposed to mournful whites and blacks. Menus of new eateries fly thick and fast over the intranet. By 12 pm, hoards of office goers exit for a liquid lunch that ends at 3 pm.   Bars in and around offices fill up by 6 pm and are three layers thick. Drinks are consumed in rapid-fire rounds as if to drown all trials and tribulations of the week. Married members of the gang have their eyes on the clock to catch 7.30 pm Borivali fast. Home beacons to them. Those adventurous enough to stay back begin to order paneer or chicken tikka masala and cheese naan.  Saturday Saturd...