I had promised to write about the pranks we journalists played on each other during the 90s at The Times of India, Mumbai, where I was a chief sub-editor during the entire decade. I can call that a golden period for us as reporters and the desk worked as a family.
PD was a wonderful guy at the sports department (“was” because the great friend is unfortunately no more). When the mood became dull at the general news desk, I was usually prompted by two young Parsi beauties (at that time, dunno now) to play some prank and I invariably fell for the bait. And so it was decided to corner PD.
I picked up the phone, covered the receiver with a paper and called out: “Mr P.”
“Yep.”
“I am calling from the security. There’s a visitor for you. Please come to the reception.”
“Send him up.”
“No sir. There is a new regulation. You have to come down.”
I could clearly hear a murmer and a four-letter word. This was followed by the banging of the phone.
When P reached the third floor lift, I called out: “P, are you going to the security room?”
No.., I cannot pen the words he showered on me.
This was merely a beginning. The pranks reached unbelievable heights.
More on that…We can wait for the next post.
RR/Oct.11, 2008
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