My killer instincts

Although I always try and convey a 'rough, tough, hard-hitting' image, sometimes I get these sneaking suspicions that it may not be true. Anyone who goes roadside-shopping with me will know that in a minute or so. Stories of how I have been duped by sorry-looking salesmen have been doing the rounds for years now. But what happened last month was really incredible.

You see, it was a typical hot Delhi summer afternoon and I was watching TV with a cold beer in my air-conditioned room. The bell rings and I open it to see two men waiting outside, sweating oceans and looking on the verge of collapse. In a croaking voice they ask me if I can spare them a large container. I asked why (see how smart I am?) and they say that they have brought down a beehive and want to drain the honey out of it and sell it. I weigh this over and decide that in response to this the least I can do is lend them a container.

So the container changes hands (a 10 kg jar I thought I would keep rice in) and the transfer process starts.

Within no time the jar is almost full and it must have been a big load on their minds, because no sooner was their work done that their backs straightened, their glazed eyes took on a sharpish look and they took out their weighing scales and pronounced that I owed them 800 bucks. I feebly told them that I hate honey, have consumed a total of 10ml in my entire adult life and that it would take me about 83 years to consume the 8 litres that they had poured out. They looked hurt, maybe shocked at my insensitivity, at my disrespect for the hard labor they had put in, at my total ignorance in not being able to appreciate the health and culinary benefits of pure raw honey.

I decided that it was time I produced the ace from my sleeve. Triumphantly I told them that I had only 500 bucks in the house. They thought his over for about 3.5 milliseconds, and the deal was done. A Gandhi changed hands, they packed their stuff, I carried the jar to the kitchen, lit a cigerette in self-congratulations (i HAD saved 300 bucks you see), and started preparing a list of lucky people I would distribute the honey to.

A few cigerettes and beer bottles later, when I could account for about 500ml of the stuff, I finally realised that I had a problem in my hands. The brainwave came when my bai came. Magnanimously I told her that she can take the honey home when she leaves. Surprisingly she wasnt too thrilled (it would pose a serious storage problem it seemed) but I was not in a mood to take no for an answer (my aggression and people handling skills come from years of Project Management experience) and when she left with the jar I closed the door a happy man, reflecting on all the victories I had achieved that afternoon.

I reminded her to bring back the jar when she came the next day..and then reminded her every day for the next 4 days. She hasnt brought it back yet.

I think that it was the jar she needed all along.