The Hindu Business Line : Roving over mundane matters

"INSIDE my office I believe in price indices like the consumer price index, wholesale price index and the rest put out by the Government. They mean nothing when I go to the market to buy vegetables. Outside my office prices rarely go down." That was S.S. Nadkarni, who they say was a collector of Lord Ganeshas. "Believe me or not I do go to the market once a week to fetch vegetables," he added as we sipped tea in his SEBI office at Nariman Point.

It was a typical Bombay afternoon (those years the city responded to the affectionate call of Bombay) with everyone scampering round and round the city calling to each other, "Sorry, Boss, I have to rush for an appointment." That remark has stuck with me along with the image of portly S.S. Nadkarni who could laugh unlike present-day bankers wearing faces grimmer than that of a strongly protesting Natwar Singh. This writer has always wondered from where the Government gets its prices of vegetables and many other items to keep inflation below the five per cent mark.

After a minor Cabinet reshuffle at home (like that of Dr Manmohan Singh at the behest of Sonia Gandhi), one has been stripped of the cooking portfolio (after a badly made dhal) and given that of buying vegetables in the evening and cutting them every morning. Unlike Natwar Singh, I have been able to hold on to my new portfolio as none thinks I am worth any gifts.

In the evening, one sets out from the office to catch the 5.54 p.m. train to Borivili from Churchgate; rarely missing the train as one is assured of standing space. After an hour of trying to hold one's self erect in Laloo Yadav's local train, one gets down at Borivili to walk the station road to buy vegetables from women vendors coming from Virar and beyond. For them one has become a regular, which means one does not have to haggle; they first offer a high quote, like primary dealers in the debt market, and then follow it up with a discount to shut out any intervention by the buyers. Over the week, one has picked up potatoes for Rs 16 per kg, onions for Rs 15 per kg, bhendi for Rs 24 per kg and cauliflower for over Rs 26 per kg; a month ago, the prices were 50 per cent lower. Most of the vendors use stones as weights in their scales and if one protests have a ready excuse, "Saab, woh policewala le gaya (The policeman took it away)." That is a fact as policemen are particularly cruel even as they collect regular haftas from the vendors whom they drive away when orders come from the top.

Prices in the regular municipal market are higher and one has been instructed by Rama not to step into the area. With plastic bags banned (or is it?) one carries a sheaf of small cotton bags stitched by a friendly tailor for free to bag the purchases.

At home, my wife and the rest of the contingent think one is a failure at bargaining. My daughter Vidya believes I offer a premium to the roadside vendors on "sympathetic grounds" which is a canard. It takes an hour to sew up the deals before starting on the wait at the queue for a BEST bus. Not that any vegetable can be bought; it has to conform to the list handed down by Rama.

By about 7.30 p.m. one is home resting with a hot cup of filter coffee lovingly done by Rama. The sorry part of the evening starts when presenting the financial details to the internal auditor with the usual slips drawing an ill-liquid stare. "I only hope you did not break for a drink," is Rama's response, when the balance sheet does not tally. After the morning walk, comes again a cup of fresh coffee (the only item whose comings and goings delight). Then a pile of vegetables is stacked in front of this writer for washing and slicing preceded by a short discussion on the day's menu. Usually, one is a quiet listener as the demands of the family take precedence.

Between 7 and 8 in the morning, one wields the knife chopping vegetables before taking time out for a glance at a heavy pack of newspapers probing the finer points of the surgery done on Amitabh Bachchan at Lilavati Hospital. Why should Amar Singh brief the press on the surgery instead of the doctors is hard to take.

The public built Amitabh (much before Amar Singh came along) and it is Amitabh's turn to be fair to his admirers. Amitabh's family has been most unfair.

There is one thing about cutting vegetables and that is it gives the mind a chance to joyride freely. Not that the mind roves over the complex oil for food deals of Natwar Singh or thinks up prayers to various gods and goddesses; generally, it is mundane matters like when (if at all) Sachin will score his 35th century or whether Vivek Oberoi has surely and finally split with Aishwarya Rai, both being my favourites. They do make a good pair and one cannot understand why they should break up — that is if the news is true.

By 8.30 the morning duty is over with none to disturb a quick 30-minute snooze. It is time to prepare and catch the 10.23 fast local to Churchgate and be at the office before the bosses call up to make life a bit more dicey.

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