I was in an introspective mood when I stared at myself in the mirror asking the following questions. ‘‘What sorts of man are you are you? A loha purush, a vigyan purush, a vikas or a no-purush?’’ Venkaiah Naidu the brightest BJP spokesman — was not there to help me but I had to contend with my chirpy servant Mukul who asked me whether I had any plans of joining the BJP.‘‘Perish the thought,’’ I told him. I have never been pursued by politicians, never been offered a Rajya Sabha seat despite being a turn-coat journalist all my life — praising the powers that be and rubbishing those out of it.But Mukul, whose sharp wit at my expense often obliterates the hierarchical line between employer and employee, was never to give up.‘‘Of late you have become emotionally high strung. Didn’t you say the other day that you will quit your job and named your ambitious and conspiring number two to take your place?’’ was question number one.‘‘Could you please hasten my breakfast?’’ I snapped. Mukul was right. The other day I just lost it in the office. Instigated by friends and aides of my number 2 man my office had become an impossible place to work in. One fine day I did make the announcement that I am fed up but there was nothing political about it as Mukul made out.‘‘That was not all. People are asking questions about you?’’ revealed Mukul. I was pleasantly surprised ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me this before. I’m sure I’m getting a Padma Vibhushan for my contribution to journalism.’’ ‘‘Far from it,’’ retorted Mukul, your neighbour has been talking about you. Is Raju on drugs?, he asked me the other day? One day he says it is Aar par ki ladayee, the second day he says we can talk only if you mend your ways and the following day he tells me you can change your friends but not your neighbours.’’‘‘My breakfast.now,’’ I yelled.My quarrel with my neighbour was legendary. Our families had been fighting each other since 1947. In the early fifties smoke from the choola downstairs would be directed at us, we used to respond by throwing buckets of water down. Later tactics changed. Children were encouraged to burst diwali crackers outside each others door step. At one time my family even accused our servants of being trained spies of our neighbours.Breakfast came promptly after I had ticked off Mukul. I realised that unless I acted like a loha-purush Mukul would not listen to me. Watching Mukul's pale expression I realised that I was perhaps a little too offensive. ‘‘Tell me more about my exploits,’’ I teased.‘‘Isn’t it a fact that you have started writing poetry something which you detest and that you quietly gobble up jalebis.’’ asked Mukul.‘‘Stop it,’’ I yelled extremely upset. ‘‘Didn’t you have an imaginary conversation with Bush as you sat next to him on the High table? Weren’t you humming the song Kaanta Laga when Advani suddenly decided to go to the US immediately after Vajpayee’s visit?,’’ Mukul thundered.‘‘I am a great admirer of Advani and don’t read any meaning into all this.’’ I implored: ‘‘I am so fed up with all this and if this kind of thing continues, Mukul I will.’’‘‘Will you sack me,’’ wondered Mukul.‘‘No. This is my last effort to reform you if I fail I will retire from public life,’’ was my straight reply.
