For the most part of my life, I have responded to the phone ringing off the hook only to be asked: "Mr Kishore?" "Kishore Singh, yes," I respond, careful to identify myself fully to the caller. "Right, Mr Kishore..." squawks the voice, proving the besieged Delhi lieutenant governor's submission that the north Indian is, indeed, a lout not just where rules but also social manners are concerned. |
Over the years, one has got used to being called many things "" "Kishore" by strangers affecting American-style bonhomie over the phone, "Kai-shaur" by foreigners (the Microsoft Thesaurus wonders whether by "Kishore" I mean "Kosher" or, more interestingly "Cheshire", though my own favourite, "Kisser", has been omitted from MS Office 2007); a "lessee", when you rent an apartment; or "hereinafter referred to as the author" in a publishing contract. There's the pedestrian stuff that everyone gets called all the time, the banal "son", "dad", "bro" "" and often, alas, several unprintable names by one's wife. And I have once received snail mail in office addressed to "Sugar Lips" that turned out to be "" mirthfully for the rest of the office "" actually intended for me: that one I still haven't forgiven the perpetrator for. |
One became "uncle" pretty much the day one got married, and the first streaks of grey (early "" too early!) had the beggars at red lights start wheedling with "uncleji" till I stopped looking around for the ghost that constantly seemed to be travelling with me and gracefully admit that it was me they were referring to, and it's been pretty much downhill thereafter. While being "uncle" to the neighbourhood kids was fine so long as they were young and didn't inflict it upon one's professional life, when friends' children's friends, who have also called you "uncle" at various birthday parties, start to join the office workforce, drastic measures are required. They can't call you "uncle", "Kishore" seems to them too familiar, "Mr Singh" ridiculously formal. The compromise? A cough, and being referred to in the third person "him" behind your back, and "you" to your face. (Memo to self: Do not hire youngsters who have ever called you "uncle" to your face.) |
In today's lax society, when middle-aged married couples refer to each other in public as "Honey", or "Cherie" (no, not Blair), you almost long for the genteel respectability of "Darlingji". Sitting down for dinner the other night, the mobile beeped with a message. "Who's that from?" asked my wife. "Nina Pillai," I scrolled down the message to read. "What does she mean "xs"? asked my wife, peeping over my shoulder at the SMS. "Kisses, silly," I explained. Why is she sending you kisses?" my wife demanded to know. "I couldn't say," I admitted, "but right here, on top, she calls me "Babe". My wife looked me up and down critically, then said, "She's wrong, you're no 'Babe'." |
The following morning, another mail popped in "" this time from the office HR department. It seemed that as part of the organisation's "people efficiency" programme, I had been deemed to show the potential to further "significantly" contribute to the growth and development of this newspaper. But before I could assume this glorious task, a little problem remained: some "guidance/coaching" was in order, the mail suggested. And so, by the power vested in it by the organisation, I had been inducted into the programme and HR provided that henceforth I be addressed as "coachee". |
But what does a "coachee" do? I have been assured that there is no room for alarm on the score, and all will be clear next week. Till then, I live in hope. Does that make me a "hopee"? How I wish the Thesaurus would bring "Kisser" back on its roster. |
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