Jaimon's Mynah

We all sit in a dark corner on the third floor – the six of us from the Content Team. Jaimon sits at the foot of this squiggly table, with his back to the window, in the darkest corner. Jaimon is from Kerala. He has a cheeky grin that stretches from ear to ear. It is nice to see his cheerful face early in the morning. He has just returned after spending a beautiful Easter at Kerala. We demanded Easter eggs, or at the very least, banana chips. “My father sends you his best wishes”, he said. What about the chips? “My neighbours also send you their best wishes”, he said. We digested this in lieu of chips.

The deadlines were drawing near. It is the season of spring. Everything in nature multiplies – “kutti-pottufies”, as we succinctly express in Tamil (I’m sorry to say, at times, English is not half so pithy or expressive as our Indian languages and their special idioms. More’s the pity!) Anyway the whole world was kutty-pottufying. We, in our floor, were surrounded by new fathers and mothers, who seemed fresh even after new babies’ tendencies to bawl and fret all night. Hence, we had our spring blossoms (which looked fresh, dewy, and lovely in their respective parents’ mobile phones, and which all had pink, scrunched-up faces, like little rose blossoms!) and the attendant sweets. Anyway, in the true kutty-pottufying spirit of spring, our daily targets also kutty-pottufied. First, we were told that we should “complete 25 slides per day”. We were just trying to digest this humongous allocation of work, when Harish very kindly informed me that, as a senior ID, I am supposed to “deliver” (in short, kutty-pottufy) 40 slides a day. Over the weekend, the number of slides proliferated (you are right, kutty-pottufied) and became 76 slides to be delivered all clean, new, shiny, scrubbed, and packaged in their baby things. I know babies are cute, adorable, and so on. But so many? Overnight? But you know how it is in corporate circles – the lowly ones cannot argue; they must obey:

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die,

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Tennyson must have been talking about us. The six of us! Of course, we were trying to ride into the valley of Entrepreneurship, not the valley of Death! Besides, from this dark, secluded corner on the third floor, we were disseminating the light of knowledge to unenlightened, earnest, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed, nascent entrepreneurs. I mean, it’s a noble thing to do, right?

Anyway, we weren’t reasoning why. We were trying to package the 76 kuttis into various listener-friendly e-packages. The job demands intense concentration. We were all frowning in concentration, when suddenly cacophony broke out! No, it wasn’t one of the kuttis howling at the idea of being cut, pasted, edited, styled, bulleted, and dressed up. Our poor little kuttis submitted to all these indignities, although Prantika and her team conducted DNA tests, to determine their paternity! This DNA test is called “Plagy Check”. This also requires intense concentration and focus.

Anyway, there was this blighter who went “trrr----keee, trrr----keee, trrr----keee”, continuously, maddeningly. Here we were battling with obdurate slides, and there this fellow trilled merrily without a care in the world! All of us tried to shut our ears; said, “Shut up! Allow us to concentrate!” But the minstrel of spring went on, even more loudly and insistently. He seemed to have perched himself on the window behind Jaimon.

Jaimon gingerly opened the blind. The fellow looked at him. He had a new, shiny, brown coat, with white detailing near the coat-tails! His eyes gleamed out of an orange pirate’s patch. “Trrr----keee’, he said to jaimon, very politely bowing as he did so. “Oh! A crow!” said someone. “No, it’s a mynah, and a very noisy one at that”, someone else said.

This mynah was fascinated by Jaimon. Jaimon was equally fascinated by him. “Yes? What do you want?” he asked the mynah. The mynah looked at him through the implacable glass barrier. He seemed to think that our dark corner held some soft materials with which he could line his nest. His wife must have kutty-pottufied and sent him to scrounge for soft materials. So there he was, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed importuning Jaimon to share of our plenty.

“Go away”, said Jaimon. “We’re working! Don’t disturb!” “Trrr----keee”, said the mynah in a puzzled manner. “What to do with him?” said Jaimon, “He is not going at all”. Now Jaimon is great at making chicken curry. He is a connoisseur of food – particularly, non-veg food. “Shall I make you into Tandoori Mynah?” Jaimon addressed the mynah. “Or, maybe, Mynah Biriyani?” he continued relentlessly. Tarun rudely interpolated, “Thoo Mynah Soup kyon nai banaatha, bey?” But the mynah was determined to think Jaimon was some kind of benign Santa Claus. Finding the window-glass an impediment, he presently flew off muttering imprecations against Jaimon. If Santa should deny a kutty a goodie, that’s how it will shout at Santa.

One day, Jaimon was not at his seat. “Trrr----keee”, said a familiar loud voice. We opened Jaimon’s window blind. There he was, shining like a bright, new, copper penny! “Trrr----keee”, he said, “where is Jaimon?” He looked through the glass with his pirate patch and bright beady eyes. No Jaimon. He peered to the right and peered to the left. No signs of the big, carnivorous, benign Jaimon materialising.

“Trrr----keee”, he said and flew off.

I saw him from the cafeteria. He was busy with his wife and kids on top of a sunshade below an overhead tank. . “Trrr----keee”, he chirped to them very happily, “spring is in the air! Never mind Jaimon. He is a big bully anyway”. His wife cocked her head coyly and repeated his call to him.

The kuttis joined in with their teeny-weeny chirps.

His little world was complete!