Lecturing Around In Shimla

The children were green with envy. This is not fair, you can't go to Shimla on `work' while we stew in Delhi in this heat, they said. I purred with self-satisfaction at how I could will a conjunction of professional duty and lucky stars.

Unable to make me feel guilty, they changed track and started a round of rigorous questioning in the hope that it might yield something. So who will you interview, what will you report on, they persisted. I won't, I said, pouring intrigue over their irritation. So what will you do, they asked in exasperation.

I will lecture, I declared with the aplomb of somebody just crowned a petty monarch. What, they interjected with total disbelief. Someone is taking you to Shimla and putting you up at the Cecil to listen to you, asked the wife with deep suspicion written all over her face. Things seemed to be getting out of hand and I hastened to add, not just me but a group of other senior journalists too; we will discuss whether north India is getting left behind. We are, they all cried in unison.

 

So how will all of you meet up, my daughter asked. There is a young girl Sheena organising it and all I got to do is locate her at the airport. My daughter was in splits of laughter: You mean just like a group of kids on an outing being shepherded by a young teacher? It was my turn to bristle. What do you mean young teacher, I am not all that old. No you are not, but don't go and behave like one, cautioned the wife. I won't and immediately started brushing up my stock of jokes to keep everybody happy on the trip.

When it was all over back at home I was subjected to another grilling by the family. How did the speech go, they asked. Fine, I replied, not sounding convincing at all. Well, how did they take it, demanded the wife with a trace of worry. It went quite well until I made a critical remark about Punjab and the sturdy businessmen from the province nearly beat me up, I confessed. But you are strong enough, reassured my daughter with her usual sense of loyalty. Idiot, you don't physically fight at conferences, papa was speaking figuratively, butted in my son with a superior air. You think you know a lot, snorted my daughter at the usual putdown by her brother.

How was it really, commiserated the wife. Not so bad, I confessed. Sheena was nodding encouragement from the back. Her face darkened again: How was she?, she asked warily. Wonderful, wonderful, I replied, except that I could not dance with her in the evening's party. Her face cleared and she was back to being her commiserating self: Never mind, there must have been a lot of young men ahead of you. There were but she wasn't there, she was so tired that she crashed out and missed the party. My wife's face clearly said, when will these men ever learn. You should have rung her up and persuaded her to come down. I did, but she said she was too sleepy and added... Added what, the family asked. I looked at the carpet and said, ... and added, I am going to sleep but you people make sure you don't get lost.

The family headed towards the dinner table doubling with laughter over how a group of `senior' journalists were taken around Shimla by a proprietorial school teacher.