The three gentlemen 275

 

Mr. Money keeps count

 Let us meet my neighbour Mr. Money. Of course this is not his given name, but due to his excessive obsession on money matters, everyone knows him by this moniker. A word about his obsession, he is not money minded but minds how people handle money. Like a fistful of loose change jingling in your pants pocket, he goes on and on about his observations logged in his memory. He has this knack of taking the listener two or three decades back in time. In the same breath, he could switch to the present as easily as a knife cutting through a block of butter. 

 His blockbuster narrations are anchored in busy railways, bus and airport terminals or supermarkets or malls. After choosing the space, he goes about bending timelines - backward and forward. Closely questioned, his answer sweet talks the listener with currency or plastic cards they still represent money. 

 How he became interested, according to him, in watching money transactions is noteworthy.

Born in an agricultural, rural family, he had watched people transacting in cash. For background, he never failed to point out that those were the days when banking cash and then transact, was a lightyear away from villages. 

 Agricultural loans and domestic expenses are settled on the day of selling off the produce and this leaves nothing much to bank. Then what about the cash transactions he is talking about? What else, the counting of money being taken as loan for the next cycle. Like crops, these cash transactions are also cyclic.

Keen observer that he is, his narration of the process of counting the cash is noteworthy, for an avid listener. In one method, the currency notes are held tightly, like a pack of cards, in one hand. Then the top note is slid out, using the thumb, and followed by a sweep-pull by the fingers of the other hand.  

He has noticed subtle variations employed in swipe-pulling - at hip level or chest level or face level. He has this explanation - hip level sweep-pulling means reluctant to part with the cash but inevitable; chest level signifies getting it over with; face level sweep-pulling is the gesture of the lender to the less fortunate. He poses the question why not cricketers, who play sweep shot, do not try this swipe-pull shot?

Once, a curious listener asked him, whether he had left out any other sundry detail? After a brief pause, like the ATM processing a  cash transaction, and out came his reply – “Yes, I did not narrate how some people constantly moist the swiping fingers over a wet sponge or on outdoor locations, simply touch the tongue with either index or thumb finger, to carry on!

The narrative jumps to the pre-plastic money era. By design or happens, he is in the right place - bus, rail or airport terminals - at the right time - when cash transactions take place. Welcome to the world of wallet exhibitionism. A well-stocked wallet comes out, the owner flips it open, and like an archaeologist shifts through the currency notes, and finally takes out a single low value note. The vendor demands exact change. 

The wallet exhibitionist then pulls open the coin storage pocket, mimics the action of a bus conductor searching for coins, settles with the vendor and moves away. Closing the coin pouch and inserting the wallet into the back pocket of the trouser or side pocket of the kurta is a class act in itself. At the end of this audio show, Mr. Money adds that this is a common sight. If you happen to be in time and at the right place, definitely you can catch such a wallet exhibition by yourself.

None can allege that Mr. Money is partial toward counting printed currency notes. In equal measure, to project his unbiased views, he has observations on the in-use plastic money handlers. Having graphically dwelled upon the actions of a wallet exhibitionist, he requests the listener to revisit the description and apply the same procedure substituting credit/debit cards in place of currency notes. This, he feels will avoid him the trouble of describing, afresh, the cards- trick-in-wallet act.

Though nearing exhaustion, Mr. Money finds sufficient energy to draw a parallel between card flashers and digital payment makers. Though poorer in number of smartphones the person holds, he/she makes it up with four or five payment Apps. Frantic or deliberate searching ensues to locate and select the icon, then go through the steps with PIN and ending in payment received announcement.

In sheer exasperation, Mr. Money says, "It is like standing in a railway station, hearing the announcements of train and platform numbers!"  The hapless, though started to listen eagerly, heaves a huge sigh of relief when Mr. Money takes leave.

The listener is left wondering, why on earth Mr. Money should worry about different forms of exhibitionism!

Is he not intrusively spying on others? Is he doing it for fun or sending out a message with a tinge of regret that he never got to practice such methods? Why at all I listened to him, is it because I too had a similar secretive yearning?

Mr. Sound, sounds the bugle

Mr. Sound is dead against anything, living or non-living, producing high decibel sound bytes when sound in lower scales could as effectively be used.

Here, a word about the name - actually it is a moniker that got attached due to his popularity, among friends, in coning the slogan "less noise the others make, more the peace to you." Being his friends, they overlooked the selfishness of me first.

His friends did not anticipate, the cacophony it will raise, when they started to streamline the production of sound bytes, by specifying the decibel levels, at home to start with. They invariably quoted this borrowed example of an EV (Electric Vehicle) two, three, four or multi-axle vehicles, speeding around noiselessly, to drive home their point (courtesy Mr. Sound). 

The first one tried to gently ease the slogan into practice. But he made a wrong choice, in selecting the grandchildren for the trial. As children do, they happily screeched and scooted all day long, shooting the decibel levels skyward. To be heard over this din, the friend raised his voice a little. This triggered the parents' protective instinct, mistaking the grandfather being harsh on them, and in turn they too joined in an audio-skirmish. The crowd dwelled with the arrival of the grandmother and for her part she too added some high-pitched admonishments. The friend, after taking a sound beating retreated. He regretted the choice and as well as the slogan coined by Mr. Sound.

The second friend encountered a storm in the house, when he just started to explain how all can bring a little relief from reducing sound level. For making this speech, he reduced the volume in the music system. This act was replied with angry shouts from the teenage grandchildren. They were crooning, along with shrieking soprano voice trying to compete with shrill metallic background score.  To quieten them, the other members of the family raised their collective voices, forcing the friend to reset the volume to the original level, to restore peace. Unable to bear the reverberations in his eardrums, he silently left the sound chamber.

A "wrong place at the wrong time" type of person, he chose to highlight the benefit of less noise and more peace, to none other than his wife.  She has ‘the ripple in the pond like’ acquaintances, partially gone deaf while pushing their age to the upper circuits of seventies. Cell phonic conversations usually end up in almost shattering the window panes. Subtle, gentle and serious gestures to tone down the volume only had the opposite effect. It usually ended in a verbal duel between them, of course after spending an hour to complete the call. The story of this friend of Mr. Sound ends like the Greek tragedy – he is shedding tears in frustration.

After a few days, the friends gathered to compare notes on their attempts to implement Mr. Sound’s slogan. Lengthy discussion, carried out in hushed tones, resulted in a broad consensus to Confront Mr. Sound.

To ask him why he hit upon this slogan?

To Find out if he has successfully implemented his idea at home?

To know if he or his family members suffering with tinnitus (ringing in ears)?

Soon the noise of complaints, from his close friends, filled Mr. Sound’s ears. He started to hear ringing in ears. It was like a sound track from a sour throat!

Mr. Q. P   questions:                         

 

His friends, having no other go but to be known as such, had nick named him Q.P. To foster the friendship, they kept him in the dark about it. Unaware of this, Mr. Q P carried on, as usual to the discomfort of his friends.

 

From sink hole to black holes, gentle breeze to cyclone and pipelines to Panama Canal, he gets worked up just like that. This in itself is not a worry factor but as actions have consequences, the domino effect resulted in a train load of questions.

 

This aspect of Mr QP had his friends wondering, why at all this deluge and why only on to them? A few of them secretly acknowledged the inductive effect it had, as they too got the urge to pose questions to others!

 

QP was a silent spectator in class rooms and every period got inoculated with a dose of "Ask questions, when in doubt" exhortation. Slow learner that he was, though with an active mind full of wandering thoughts, he got the message much later.

 

These prolonged exhortations of his teachers, led to an undesirable side effect - anything and everything needed to be questioned, to get an answer. Some of his classmates are his current friends, on whom he has chosen to exercise the teacher's exhortations. In his regimented approach, he decided to leave the answering part to his close friends, though they would like to keep a considerable distance away from him at these sessions.

While watching the telecast of Olympic Games, he suddenly asked, “Why tightrope walk on egg shells is not in Olympic games?" His friend busy passing around the popcorn, was taken aback and almost dropped the tub. 

By this time, QP had changed the channel to weather forecast.

It was no let up for the friends.  Why cyclones are named but tsunamis and earth quakes do not get that privilege? Friends kept mum as they knew Q.P will find something else for posing questions.

Q.P has the habit of channel surfing, that too when in the company of friends. On display was a heavy subject – gravitational lensing. They discussed on light getting reflected and refracted., a simple form of bending, without much complication. His friends were happy to be on the same chapter. But every chapter has a bank of questions at the end, is it not?  This triggered Q.P to ask, “Bending one's or another’s will, is it like bending of light? Is there a mathematical equation to estimate the bending of mind?”

What are the contributions of persons, with IQ higher than famous scientists like Albert Einstein and Stefan Hawkins, in the field of science or medicines? 

The child prodigies, who show cased their musical talent, have they produced original music like that of Beethoven, Bach or Chopin?

Why cherry pick on IQ and child prodigies, out of timeframe, to strike a comparison, forgetting that the current level of electronic universities was a futuristic concept at that time?

 Obviously, the friends had no answer for the simple reasons – not interested in such subjects and even if had some interest they did not spend energy to get the doubts cleared. On their own they decided to give their regular get-togethers, a miss to avail breathing space. Missing his captive audience, Q.P decided to host a dinner and make a plain-speak. The friends reluctantly agreed to attend and were taken aback by delicious feast being arranged on the table. Except for the sound of cutlery, a studied silence enveloped the dining table. Some of his friends likened it to ‘calm before storm’ phenomenon. Q.P did not disappoint them but with a twist.

The first answer - tightrope walking on eggshells is not feasible as the shells will crumble, and so not included. The supplementary answer would be if sturdy eggshells are available, there is a chance!

The second answer- earthquake and tsunamis get tagged not by name but by date and geographical location.  In the case of cyclones, it is a multiple choice - more than one system might develop, in the same period, that is why distinguished with a name!

The third answer- bending of light follows certain physical laws and equations have been derived and proved. Human reaction is in the meta-physical realm and unique to an individual. Consequently, the forces that help to bend the will of a person is inexplicable. So, no satisfactory mathematical equation could be derived or proved!

The fourth answer- The I Q comparison, otherwise will lack a perspective. As Einstein said, “It is true for a particular frame of reference.” No disrespect is to be assumed. Coming to child prodigies, it is nothing but referring to a super-fast assimilation faculty of minds involved. A compilation of historical achievements of such prodigies, in our times, might settle the issue, if similar, original music works have been produced.

The last explanation-. Forgetting that the current level of electronic universities, was a futuristic concept at that time, is poetic license for the out of timeframe cherry picking!

Q.P decided, it was time drop the bombshell. He looked at his friends with a knowing smile and remained silent. In that silence, he could hear the meshing of gears in their minds. In turn they looked at each other for a clue. It was a difficult task as the heavy dinner weighing down in their stomach, has made them drowsy. Sensing disquiet, Q.P said in a bold voice, “You all think that I don’t know the secret. Behind my back and in a hushed tone, call me Q.P. I know it stands for question paper! Don’t you know, there would be answers in the textbook itself?”

P.S:

If you happen to meet any one of them, by chance of course, do not share my identity please!

Imaginch's doubts - part1

All of a sudden, clouds of doubts assembled in Imaginch’s mind. They had a mind of their own and started to torment him in sleep, by parading horrific dreams of demons demanding a resolution. No amount of squirming in the bed or cursing his stars could check the free runs these doubts. In frustration he decided to take leave of absence, doubting whether this move would help him to find answers. But before that could happen, he had to prepare a list of doubts which would guide him in this great endeavour. Imaginch was well aware of his ‘Mensa’ score and had great trouble in convincing himself to embark on this journey.

When the first man landed on the lunar surface, which phase of moon was visible to him?
He calculated it to be nearing the full moon phase, for us, and more closely between 10th and 12th day after new moon day! To arrive at this guess he struggled with an ephemeris for that year and month of landing. Having done so much of work he was excited to get in to an astronaut’s space suit and steal a look at mother earth, hoping to see almost half of it in day light.

He wondered,“How many people might have seen the dark or hidden side of the moon”?
This doubt came to his mind as an afterthought of the earlier one. It took him some time to realise that the visible face of the moon has never changed since his childhood! He was neither a keen observer nor knowledgeable in orbital mechanics between earth and moon. So he had decided to take the moon’s appearance at its face value, mainly to avoid finding an answer to this doubt. Now things started to look different. It became clear to him that the answer lay in guessing the number of persons who had that opportunity to see the hidden side of moon, except aliens. About two dozen astronauts fell in to the slot. What human eyes could see, a camera lens also could see! The total went up another dozen to account for the unmanned probes that had orbited around moon. The moon on its part went on showing the same profile with fascinating phases. Full moon to new moon it inspired poets and hung on as a lamp in the garden of love.

Like a meteorite falling from the sky, Imaginch’s doubts took a nose dive and crash landed on earth – “Is there a connection between the geographical features – the Marianna trench and Mount Everest? Is it by coincidence or design that both the landmark and watermark happen to be in Asian continent”?
He knew for sure - the only time he was sure about anything, that this doubt had no definite answer. Undeterred he went about collecting information about the Everest and the Marianna Trench.

The squabbles surrounding the actual height did

not lower its grandness or his esteem for Mount Everest in his mind. The fact that Mariana Trench lay on the ocean floor did not raise a doubt about its capacity to hold several thousand million tons of sea water. He was only trying to find out if by any chance the land mass excavated from the trench could have contributed the working mass for the Everest? Will it be with or without the snow cover?

The hitch was that he was unable get accurate of length and breadth details for Mount Everest alone.Having started the game, he did not like to call it quits at this stage. Instead, he assumed his own averaged numbers for the height of the Himalayan mountain chain and the depth of the Trench to carry on with the calculations:
The Marianna trench has the volume capacity of 6, 15,825 cu.km, the volume occupied by Himalayan mountains stood at 26, 40,000 cu.km . According to calculation 1 cu.km volume can hold 100, 00, 00,000 tons of water.

The volume capacity of Himalayan mountain chain worked out to be has 4.29 times greater than that of the Marianna Trench. He was too terrified to find out the tons of water that was needed to fill the Trench.He was sure the answer will have many zeroes and did not want to be reminded of his dismal academic record. He became exasperated at the moment when his old pocket calculator refused to oblige.

Nobody has really counted the number sand particles on earth or nobody has really counted the number of nebulae and number of stars in each nebula. Yet, everybody came up with a mind boggling number of 10 raised to the power(20 to 40) for a starter. There was always room for revision. Disliking this wisdom, Imaginch decided to call it quits and scooted from the scene faster than a scared rabbit , deciding to live with a doubt rather than grappling with a ghost from the school days.  Neither he was strong in mathematics nor it had been kind to him!

However, his chest swelled with pride even after this mathematical misadventure. This swelling of chest and size measurements have been doing the rounds in the last 2 ½ years and he also wanted to  personally experience it  ,if at all there was anything attached with this human element.

The Reader's Newspaper

         

From the paper mills to the hands of a reader, the tabloid travels a lot – a journey starting from the forests and ending up in concrete jungles of a city.  Villages and small towns are a rare exception dotted with tress and a stream or pond lending it a more comfortable environment.

But its last meter journey is a physical torture – the delivery boys practice javelin & discus throws with tightly rolled newspaper. At least they can choose soft targets instead of concrete parapets or iron grills.

The eight column printed papyrus object, folded back to back, holds riveting attention in the morning, noon or evening, depending on the edition. The newspaper also suffers from the menace of window shopping – people gaze at the posters displayed at the vending stalls and move away – a circulation manager’s nightmare.

From the primordial era, to the present day modern setting and printing techniques, it had seen them all. It had high readership value when the collection of news was by wire services, and news travelled faster than those of the fastest means of travel at that time. 

The tag Foreign correspondent, Special correspondent & War correspondent enhanced the standing of these reporters in the society. The war correspondent was held in high esteem – his out put came from the very noses of flying bullets, arcing grenades, crashing bombs and ,of course ,from the teeth of landmines. It had space for all of them.

The newspaper enjoyed an uncontested reign for many decades and during the time of instant transmission of happenings around the world, going truly international but printed at home. These all were set to change – the climate changes came in the form of cost and competition in the form of Television News Channels.

The arrival of non-stop news channels tolled the bell louder on those newspapers that were not part of an electronic media houses. The channel owned news papers shared information available with the master and slowly entered the slave market.

The newspaper is neither intelligent nor enterprising to go “live” preferring to keep aloof to watch the TV channels scrolling and crawling with the ‘breaking news’, even though it remains the same throughout the day. It has no such freedom, once printed the news is history.

It still remains content to publish ‘panel discussions’ – substance without vocals and visuals, after walking the tight rope of editing process and calling it an excerpt. In this aspect it has failed miserably to understand that vocals and visuals add depth and dimensions to the discussion, even on a trivia. The ‘live’ news comes literally alive with sparks and charged up emotional display perilously edging towards a free-for-all, nationwide!

Some of the print houses put up a stiff fight and at the end threw in the towel. Some survived by metamorphing – changing hands or diversifying in to other activities of publishing by willingly letting The Newspaper o also to run.

Gazette and election result notifications, international, national and regional coverage, business, politics, matrimony and of course the obituary column. These are the spheres where the newspaper has some  influence, so far!

Do we have one TV channel with an obituary hour every day? The TV channels might make an exception to carry an obituary of a high & mighty or a celebrity – all in public interest!

Will it dare to broadcast that such and such persons are likely to be forced to forego   their ancestral lands in the name of nation building or a local satrap trying to hoist his image by bringing in a JV with a foreign company, claiming to unleash the non-existent employment potential in his constituency. Will they resist from ‘running campaigns’ if they cannot get any free mileage out of the whole show?

Yes, newspaper is very naïve!

In its heydays, the newspaper had multiple roles to play – as wrapper for school books, as kite material and as an important element in packing. The old newspaper found its way in to grocery shops.

The way it got neatly torn and folded in to cone shapes in packing kilograms of rice, wheat, sugar and other house- hold items or the compact packet version used in packaging of dry grapes and condiments , left the onlooker mesmerized by  the exponent of origami –though working  for a pittance.

Slowly, brown paper bags started to fight for a market share, leaving the old newspaper bewildered. Then, the plastic carry bags appeared in the market, in appealing designs. Whatever was its pristine worth, the old newspaper could not compete, sporting a villainy look, with printing scars. Pitted against attraction & reusability, it lost yet another battle in its survival.

At the end of its life time, it is unceremoniously bundled out to a vendor for cash, onions or plastic articles - it has failed to ask its beloved reader - “why”! Yet the satisfaction, that it could still play a role in these barter deals softened the fall from its perceived exalted position.

Battle weary, it is still making the rounds, in the hands of ardent fans – the habitual subscribers and vendor s alike. The newspaper continues to bring headlines to horrors, editorials to engineering feats, sports & science, discoveries and dissidence, opportunities to obituaries.

Will it survive another day to carry its own obituary??

What will be the use; it can’t even read what is printed on it!

Yes, newspaper continues to be naïve!

The Cold War of a different kind

The aftermath of the World War II gave birth to a different kind of war- the cold war. The wind of the war was ready to flow from the East to West or vice versa. Stockpiling of nuclear war heads and space race tried to seize control of the world population. In a nuclear warfare, the spectators were guaranteed to suffer more than the initiators.

Menacing   rhetoric and aggressive posturing kept the world body - the UN, under tension and on its collective toes.  That was not definitely as easy as scurrying for muffler, when a cold wave front funded by a low pressure trough or bucket whatever, chills the atmosphere.

In day today life, a set of perceived notions or transgressions are only needed to trigger this cold war.  This war germinates in the mind and ends up consuming the peace of mind. This war can come with a bang like a tsunami or whimper now and then like a benign volcano.

The compartment Type

A heightened sense of urgency is visible on the platform, as the train pulls in. Waiting passengers pick up their way to the coaches, glancing at the reservation chart. Agile porters, hefting heavy luggage pieces, jostle their way through the crowd and the push-cart men playing ‘shall-I-run–a-wheel- over- your- foot- game’ bulldoze their way to the luggage van. The public address system discharging a non-stop stream of incomprehensible sentences, from the roof top - a train journey is about to begin.

A tall man, aged about 65, entered the compartment with some pieces of luggage, madam and two grand children in tow. Another family of a husband and wife completed the seating order, one of the grand children getting the window seat leaving the couple with the middle and aisle seats. The grandchildren, still remaining the cynosure in eyes of the elderly people and using this trump card, earnestly resumed their remnant fight in the compartment – this time to occupy a particular window seat.

The senior citizen started stowing the luggage under the seat recess. He diligently completed the task and to his dismay found that still some more bags were waiting for attention. He slightly turned and started pushing them one by one under the opposite seat recess. In between, he had to find a hooking space for carry bags. All through these activities- the grandchildren were busy raising a ruckus for the particular window seat, each vying to beat the other to claim it. Oblivious to all these happenings, the grandma was busy rummaging for her reading glass and cell phone. 

The husband and wife, found to their dismay that all the available luggage space had been already been commandeered. The wife nudged the husband silently, cursing him for not showing the needed agility to beat the senior citizen in the game of filling the available spaces with luggage. The husband sensed that a cold war has started brewing and it will keep on showing him in a poor light unless he settles the dispute then and there.

Overcoming his hesitation, the husband pointed it out to the senior citizen that he has taken up all the available luggage spaces and would he be kind enough to leave some space for other’s luggage? Through his sliding bifocals, the senior citizen stared at the talker. Then to no one in particular he said, “Where else I can keep them?” The tone suggested that the request itself was unwelcome.

From this point onwards till one of them got down on reaching the intended destination, any small inconvenience will be put under a microscope and magnified. Sometime later, it might lead to a verbal duel graduating up to a shouting match. Co-passengers might intervene and diffuse it from escalating in to an untoward incident. Outwardly, calm and peace prevails, in the compartment, but a few individuals will be left fuming and fretting for a long time – their agitated minds rivalling the huffs and puffs of the engine hauling the train.

The genesis for this cold war is the senior citizen syndrome – feeling, by and large, others have to respect the age and try to make his travel comfortable; he is proud that his ticket and the name in the reservation chart carries ‘senior citizen’ tag and all the co-passengers should remember it to avoid any ungentle manly or aggressive conduct.

The Apartment Type

  

A bustling crowd has gathered for house warming ceremonies, trucks waiting with house hold articles, the hammer and drill routine happily marching in to the brick walls and echoing down the stairwell – the sign of  new flat owners moving in .Warm hand shakes and smiles do not last long.

Some one else occupying your parking space or the difference of opinion about the usage of common area, common services and the likely feeling that a tribunal would be needed to ration water usage are the potential seeds for a cold war to sprout. Growing children or grown up children, add to the maladjustment quotient, giving opportunities for accusing fingers to be raised.

 Co-operation, among apartment dwellers, is left to the choice of the others by every one of the resident. Some feel that they have only shelled out hard earned money and act with aggressive body language. A few residents might have seen a little of life and difficulties to show a certain amount of tolerance. Even among these tolerant families, one or two disciplined individuals do not digest the aggressive body language and start to see the inside. Their anger wells up like a geyser and waits to shower and scald.

Unfortunately, a retiree and his family, become the eye of the storm- start advising the kids to keep the gate closed or not to practice graffiti writing on the newly painted walls or hint to the vehicle users to park them in allotted spaces or to use the common area lights as and when required and so on. What a way to stir the hornet’s nest and fuel a cold war!

The perked up father and mother, of the graffiti artist, storm in and deny the allegation and vent their anger, alleging that they are casting aspersions on an innocent and docile boy. Corroboration by the neighbourly witnesses does not help the situation any, as already the witnesses have already had a round of their own disagreements with the graffiti boy’s parents.

Another gentleman is annoyed as the neighbours are constantly complaining about the junk materials he had chosen to dump in the common area. Thinking that his currency notes are more valuable than the others, he exhibit unwarranted haughtiness. After voicing their objections, the neighbours went to the extent of advising him, “Keep them inside your flat, if it is a souvenir from your failed enterprise.” This adds another dimension to the saga of apartment war.

The cold war in the apartment is the manifestation of Flat owner’s syndrome – to see that no one got a free hold on anything for which everybody had paid equally; common utilities like water, electricity must be equitably shared; common space such as stairwell and terrace is to be kept out of bounds from gentlemanly or aggressive encroachment; car or no car, the parking lot space remains inviolable!

The Departmental Type

 

  

 In any office/department there is a melee of people ready to contribute - to this cold war . It is fought on two fronts, namely, between backroom boys and field army. The backroom boys feel that their efforts in running the department, from behind the scenes, are not recognized on par with the field army. The foot soldiers feel that the limelight always falls on the captains, colonels and the generals.

In this internecine war, the chosen target will be a keen and sincere colleague, who in their opinion is trying to create avenues for his/her own promotions. The trigger for  this war of nerves  could be, as simple as, an appreciation of  good efforts or coming out with a solution in a crisis or alerting the top brass on likely difficulties in executing a work or  assuming unasked for responsibilities.

A chance moment where a superior officer is seen talking to the target and as a coincidence if the target gets mentioned in some dispatches – the grapevine starts whining away, in earnest. The backroom boys, handling official papers, never fail to stoke the fire. The war front opens up with minor verbal duels, over insignificant matters or conceited actions initiated by colleagues. The passed-by-the hierarchy bosses also lend a helping hand to get even with a captain, a colonel or a general.

Multi-pronged strategies are worked out, colluding with the backroom boys to make use of their axes kept ready for a grind. Age has no consideration in this type of cold war waged to capture a few wooden seats, in the department. The target individual should happen to be five years shy of a half century by age or a fresh recruit in the twenties. This orchestrated disruption blows hot or cold to push the targeted individual towards a mid life identity crisis or in to the realms of self-doubt.

A seat warmer’s syndrome – feels the middle aged man or the young entrant are trying to diminish their importance and snatch away the standing seniority in the department.  He expects such active colleagues will soon become a bench mark for loyalty, usefulness and responsibility- if allowed to go unhindered.