Kishore Singh: My own secretary

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may be history, SMS and email may have killed hierarchies more definitely than reservations in offices, but the cult of the secretary has lived on long after nudge-wink jokes about working late in office were deemed politically incorrect.

And yet, the secretary "" or the absence of one "" is one reason why I haven't met up with a number of friends and acquaintances in a long while.

"Get your secretary to call my secretary and schedule a meeting," you're likely to be told by someone you've run into at a party, after being stonewalled by his office for over a week. "Er, why don't I call you directly," I might suggest, only to be informed: "Got to keep the slaves busy; let them fix it all up. See you later."

To be fair, some offices "" or at least their secretaries "" do call, asking to speak to my, ahem, secretary. The telephone operator, all efficiency, puts them right through, where they might repeat their request. "Why don't you tell me what this is about?" I'll venture.

"Oh that's all right, Sir," they'll say, "don't want to bother you a bit." "No," I'll suggest, "no bother at all, just tell me what it is." "Just wanted to set up a meeting with my managing director," they could say, "but your secretary probably has your diary, so I'll call back, so sorry for disturbing you."

Maybe they do call back, maybe they just smirk, but the appointments don't often happen. So, I've found a way of getting around that bit of problem too. I simply pretend to be my own secretary. "Yes," I'll say, "he (that's me!) isn't free on Monday, so why don't we try Tuesday afternoon?" Or: "I'd suggest Tuesday lunch, provided your boss isn't fasting."

The secretary, one must remember, is an endangered species, soon likely to go extinct. This makes the breed hyper-sensitive. It makes them want to reach out to their own kind. It's one reason secretaries will want to speak with other secretaries, a kind of bonding exercise that excludes most other colleagues, and certainly their bosses.

After all, when you can simply call someone on their mobile phones to speak with them, the traditional role of the secretary as a barrier between The Boss and the world at large has considerably diminished. Not, unfortunately, their zeal. "He's in a meeting," or, "He isn't in his cabin," are standard secretary-speak, aimed at diverting attention for why you had called in the first place.

So, the other day, when an acquaintance's secretary called asking to speak with my secretary, I laughed: "It's okay, you can talk to me instead." "No, Sir," he insisted, "I need to speak with your secretary." "I don't have one," I couldn't help laughing some more, "so do you want to hang up, or will you tell me why you've called?"

After a moment's silence, the voice at the other end of the line, slightly cold, said: "I needed your mailing address and a few other details, but if you have no one to help you with it, maybe you'll be kind enough to give it to me," "" adding a reluctant "Sir" at the end.

I told him, for the record, my name, my telephone number, my address and my designation, all of which he already knew. But having reconfirmed it all, he was still reluctant to hang up. "Are you in the process of hiring yourself a secretary?" he finally asked.

"No," I scotched any hopes he might have of sending a candidate along, "but why are you so hung up on my having a secretary anyway?" "Because," he coughed politely into the phone, "I have to fill in this slot which asks for your secretary's date of birth."