𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗚-𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗥

(Another Underwear Story from my archives)

Kurup (Name not changed - but not given in full either) was bored stiff. Life as a junior officer in the administrative office of a public sector bank was uneventful. Each day was like any other. It was therefore a welcome change when he was taken off his routine duties one day and assigned the role of the Protocol Officer for a VIP.

The senior officer who was coordinating the two-day visit of a Parliamentary Committee convened at meeting of the fifteen Protocol Officers like Kurup and told them that the bank would be playing host to the high-power delegation. Each dignitary was to have a Protocol Officer. It was their responsibility to see that there was no complaint from any of them.

"Kurup, you have a special responsibility as you have been assigned the charge of the Chairman of the Committee," the boss said. If there was a slip somewhere, heads would roll, they were warned. (The footnote was that any minor discomfort to the VIPs could cost the boss HIS job!)

The entire machinery got into action. All finer details of the visit were planned meticulously. Bouquets and garlands were ordered, stay (Where else but Kovalam?) and transport (Air-conditioned limos, if you please!) arranged. The itinerary (including a visit to Padmanabhasawmy Temple, the mandatory trip to Kanyakumari) and the menu for the lunches and dinners (Five-star, no less) were drawn up. The bill would, of course, be picked up by the host.

Last, but not least, another team collected the data (on the implementation of official languages or the roster system in recruitment of SC/ST or subordinate legislation - whatever that means - or some such high-funfs stuff) required for review by the VIPs and put the papers required in natty folders.

As soon as the team landed, the parliamentarians were whisked off to their posh hotel. Plied with the goodies at the lavish pool-side dinner hosted by the bank and lulled by the ambience of the resort, the VIPs were kept in good humour. The meeting held the next morning went off as smoothly as the peach melba ice-cream that went down their throats the previous evening.

Post lunch, the team was to proceed to Kanyakumari. Over a dozen white ambassador cars stopped in the porch, picked up the VIPs one by one and moved forward. Leading the pack was the car of the Chairman of the Committee. In the front seat beside the driver was Kurup, the Protocol Officer.

The April sun was beating down mercilessly. The corpulent neta found the heat unbearable. He removed his topi, exposing his shining pate with a few silver hairs. For protection, the VIP raised the shaded window glasses. The two engaged in small talk. The VIP found the name Kurup amusing: "𝐴𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎 𝑛𝑎𝑎𝑚 𝐾𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑝 (Ugly) 𝑘𝑦𝑜𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑘ℎ𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑖? (Why do you call yourself 'Ugly'?) 𝐴𝑎𝑝 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑘ℎ𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑜! (You do look handsome)."

The car had barely left the city limits when the VIP shuffled his portly self within the car. Kurup espied through the corner of his right eye: his guest now opened the suitcase, took out a polythene bag and pulled out the contents. It was a light blue garment with broad white, black and grey stripes. Too casual a shirt to be worn by a usually white khadi-clad politico, said Kurup to himself.

The VIP spread the garment open and muttered to himself. Handing it over to Kurup, he said, ‘𝐾𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑝𝑗𝑖, 𝑒𝑘 𝑒ℎ𝑠𝑎𝑛 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑒 (Can you help me with this?) 𝑌𝑒ℎ 𝑎𝑎𝑗 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑎ℎ 𝑘𝑎𝑎 𝑑ℎ𝑜𝑦𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑖, 𝑝𝑎𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑑𝑎 𝑔𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑖, (I washed this in the morning but it is still a little wet." His request was "Please hold it against the wind: by the time we get to Kanyakumari, 𝑦𝑒ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑘ℎ 𝑗𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑔𝑎 (It should dry.)"

The choices before Kurup were two: do as he was told or get out of the car (and put in his papers the next day). Being a pragmatic chap, he opted for the former, hoping that no familiar face would catch a glimpse of him speeding southwards on the NH 47 in a car, a striped blue 𝑘𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑐ℎℎ𝑎 (underwear) flailing from his left hand!

PS Please do not ask me for the full name of Kurup. Suffice it to say that he reached the Senior Management cadre in three years of this even and went up further before retirement.