Short ‘N’ Snappy

When MMM goes to college

The Man from Madras Musings is a sucker for these things – invite him to speak and he will accept at once. His good lady, also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed, believes that this is some kind of an addiction, a complete dependence on the microphone and a large-ish audience looking up at the podium. In all her years of playing Simon Legree to MMM’s Uncle Tom, the good lady has cured him of many things. Making strange noises while eating, not blocking the mouth while yawning, and resisting the urge to sing at all odd hours being are just a few (MMM is certain that the good lady can add several more to the list). But this tendency to accept ­invitations to speak is one that even she, despite her iron hand in the velvet glove, has been unable to rid MMM of. And so we have MMM hurrying from speech to speech, rather like politicians at election time.

What is the point of this extensive preamble you wonder. MMM can also see the Chief gritting his teeth as he, green pen in hand, proceeds to read the above tract. “Get on with it,” is probably what the Chief mutters on such occasions, and so MMM will get on with it. The reason why MMM brought all this up is a prize-giving event at a college that specialises in architecture and planning, that he was invited to. The professor who called MMM was an acquaintance of longstanding and MMM could not refuse. On the appointed day, MMM drove up at the appointed hour and after, as is usual in such places, having explained the reason why he had come to a most sceptical security officer who had never been kept informed of MMM’s visit, he entered the august portals of the institution.

Staggered into the place would be more appropriate. For one, the steps were not of uniform rise and tread, which was rather surprising for a college that specialises in architecture. MMM, having lifted his foot to the extent that the earlier steps had risen, found himself stubbed on the last one which was much taller, and so shot forward as if from a cannon. Having clutched at a potted plant he found that he had fast-forwarded into the Dean’s office where everything was shrouded in darkness. It was as though a solar eclipse was in progress. The good officer was at his desk, thinking dark thoughts no doubt and on seeing MMM bound in with what appeared to be murderous intent he was naturally startled.

MMM introduced himself. The Dean, who had stopped palpitating by then and let go of the marble regulation pen stand that he had clutched as a weapon of defence, was not impressed. Why had MMM come, he asked. Did MMM not know that he the Dean did not meet anyone without an appointment? And if MMM was seeking admission for his ward then he, the Dean, would like to inform him, MMM, that it was rather too late. By then, what MMM in the dim light took to be a potted palm became animated and revealed itself as a peon. MMM turned to him and asked for the professor who had called him to the college in the first place. The peon left to find the person and in the meanwhile, peace of some kind having been restored, MMM explained to the Dean that he was the chief guest for the prize distribution. The man, who clearly had no idea as to who had been invited, immediately turned on a smile that revealed several more teeth than the usual number. He asked MMM to take a seat. Would MMM like to have coffee or tea or coconut water, he enquired. MMM opted for the last named.

In the meanwhile, the inviting professor came rushing in and, in a highly flustered voice, did the formal introductions. Surely the Dean had read what MMM wrote about, said the professor to the Dean, accompanying it with a winning smile and an arch look that indicated that the Dean had better say ‘yes’. The Dean got the cue and nodded his head vigorously, adding that it was a great pleasure to have finally met up with the great LLL.

The long wait

“MMM,” corrected theprof. The dean apologised to The Man from Madras Musings and thereafter referred to him as NNN right through. The power, he said, had just been turned off owing to some technical glitch. It was a good thing, he added, that the prize-giving was fixed at the open courtyard and not inside the auditorium. MMM baulked at this, for what with the temperature being what it was and the fact that he was getting thirstier than the Thanjavur region, this looked like torture of the first water. Anyway, MMM, Dean and professor trooped into the open courtyard. The head table was on a platform and down below, in the well of the open space, the students sat at the far end, no doubt keeping as much distance as possible between themselves and the speakers. The coconut water had not come as yet.

The meeting got to order with the singing of the obligatory song on the glory of the local language. As though ­reminded by that, the Dean leaned across to MMM and said that it would be best if he, MMM spoke in Tamil as that is what the students would understand better. MMM agreed. There was still no sign of the coconut water.

The professor’s speech of welcome was in English. Then came the Dean’s turn. He would be brief, he said, for he was certain that everyone had gathered to hear the great OOO who had come to speak at the college despite his busy schedule. The moment MMM heard that, his heart sank into his shoes. Experience has shown MMM that any speaker who says he/she will be brief means exactly the opposite. This was entirely true of the Dean as well. Speaking at length (in English), he embarked on a long description of the happenings at the institution in the past one year. He spoke of honourable ministers, MPs, MLAs, bureaucrats and others who had paid visits to the institution. He paid the usual encomiums to the power that is, failing which no doubt, as MMM reflected, he the dean, ran the risk of his power being turned off at the main, rather like the college’s electricity. The coconut water was yet to make its appearance.

MMM found his thoughts wandering. He realised vaguely that the Dean was singing his (the Dean’s) glories in the third person. The students were also in a stupor-like state. After several more minutes of the Dean’s speech, the man finally sat down, ­stating that the college student union leader would read out the bio-data of Mr QQQ, who actually needs no introduction. And, by the way, you guessed it, no sign of the coconut water.

If you are still awake at this stage, MMM will let you get on with it by stating briefly (and he means that in the fullest sense), that MMM spoke in Tamil and was well ­received. Just as he began, a miracle took place – a microphone working on battery was delivered to MMM and so he was heard. The coconut ­water, however, never came.

Tailpiece

The speech concluded, it was time for The Man from Madras Musings to flee. But not before wanting to use the toilet. This seemingly innocuous request had the Dean disturbed. With much hesitation he informed MMM that the toilets of the building were pitch dark when the power fails, as they were provided with no windows. Would MMM mind taking a candle along?

-MMM

Please follow and like us: