To Hang Boots

In Cricket, the decision to hang one’s boots is even more difficult to play 180 overs in 4th innings of Galle pitch, to survive and draw the match. Whether it is IV Richards, Border, or Waugh the only rule is performance on the field. Sports are not films where Amitabh can make a comeback after ten years. Once boots hanged, it is done forever, the whites are gone forever.

My first memory of SR Tendulkar playing is watching the Perth ODI in December 1991 where he famously took the last WI in his first over to tie the match at 126. Since then, it was always awe. To count the milestones is left for the experts; the fact is that it is time for him to let Indian cricket move.

Let us have a look at the how the modern greats scored in their last TEN matches before they decided to call it a day.

Modern greats in their last 10 test matches

From these statistics of last 10 test matches of modern greats:

• IV Richards and Tendulkar are the only players who did not score a single 100
• Waugh’s average is boosted by not-outs and he had four test matches against ZIM/BD
• Lara’s last series was in PAK and he was exceptional
• Gavaskar’s last innings was a masterpiece
• Only Lara and Dravid scored three 100s (ignoring Waugh’s because his run was against BD/ZIM)
• Tendulkar’s average is the lowest

Considering all these, I guess this is the time that India play Australia in Feb-March without SRT so that the core prepares for harder assignments that begin late next year. Time for Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar to call it a day. For my tributes to this legend, I need far more space and hence next post!

Drenched. Soaked. An Awesome Life.

Saturday, 06 October: 2035

 

As I wrapped a few apple peels in a wastebin, I saw an old and muffled newspaper already lying in it. Ah, the world of sportspersons, celebrities, politicians, insurance advisors, estate agents, slum, artists and everyone. And HJS’s.

 

What a commodity to have first early morning to read, and then to use it to wrap peels of fruits. I hated it.

 

It was an evening walk. I quickly revisited the task list for next day as (a) deposit term payment to LTA (b) download notes (c) call bank. The thoughts of court meeting next day brought spring in my stride, and then I slowed down. Walks after evening meals are meant to be slow, ahesta-ahesta.

 

I sensed some complexity in my walks. As if it was not simple enough. Something as *HJS* flashed across my eyes. That should not have been there. It was unfortunate. I wish I could take it out of that wastebin but it was too rubbished by then. Disrespected. I recalled all those newspapers I had with the editorials in The Tribune by Hari Jai Singh. A few pieces were absolutely marvelous, a lifetime treasure. Like a 281 by VVS Laxman. No technology had the DNA to match that, ever. I noted it on a paper, in CAPS. I thanked the Inheritance, and cherished it forever with me.

 

When I picked the current newspaper, it looked like borrowed. Like a preoccupied mind. Or as if an over-crowded bus. The thoughts were there but were not meant to be. News are NOT meant to be that way. Newspapers are not planned like transport. The accountability is similar but repercussions are different. And the scale is different. I feel it almost daily, the absence of HJS. The constant of his absence.

 

And it started pouring outside. How much I love this smell. Perhaps the power goes off though I am not sure. The doctors have evolved. They are more sure now. Life is more predictable. This too is Indian summer.

 

It is 24 years. But I will not be sad today. I am feeling like that key. Safe because I have been successfull to cherish HJS, CAPS, and Indian summer. Vulnerable because I am the CEO. I checked the *skillset* on my LinkedIn profile and realized that I am endorsed by my owner as *not sure*. Could the keys unlock only cars? or fear also? She broke down that day, same day it was. Saturday, 06 October 2012. I dint.

 

Twenty three years later today, I could not comprehend what I was thinking. The writer in me had paused. It went for a toss. As if a double space after a period. The longest key was in action for longer than it was required.

 

—————————- 

 

Life today had been the *awe* in *awesome*, again. The slow walk downstairs, the newspaper and the absence of HJS, the summer rain. The CAPS. The space.  I am soaked like never before. Drenched.

 

As I gathered my thoughts, I felt that it was an awesome life. India completes 100 years of independence in 12 years, but this life started like a theatre 88 years back. It was no more a trial room for me. It is like a stage.

 

And amazingly for that moment, I felt as if the steel is accommodated in the periodic table.

 

I am no writer but his writerhood that I inherited brings this recap after 24 years. I hope to add to it some day.

 

– Naman

 

Peacock. Asrani. BSNL Engineer

Till many years back when I used to travel to my parents (from my grandparents or from parents to grandparents) we would get to see a few peacocks on the way when bus would pass from around Patiala. That was the only place I ever saw peacock in real life, and it was almost an annual affair. However, I have not seen them in last few years. Either they are shifted, or wiped off in the wave of extinction. The two-second snapshot of watching a real peacock (sometimes in bloom) was a joy.

It was almost during those years that one of my uncles happened to visit Mumbai. I lived in a small town and anybody going to Mumbai would become talk of the neighbourhood. He told me that he got to see Asrani (a famous comedian and character actor of yesteryears) there. Kids including me wondered for many days, “God, you saw a film actor? How did he look like?” That was the time (age?) before internet or KBC, and to see an actor in real life was a privilege for the few.

Today, my BSNL phone rang and a male voice (coarse though it was) was from BSNL. An engineer expressed his interest to visit my office (after my 10^th complaint and 2 emails to their nodal officers, over last 8 days). In last 28 months of using this connection, I have registered similar complaint at least 60 times and an engineer has visited only twice. My fingers are crossed today, I may get to see the peacock today. Or Asrani?

The Periodic Table

It was in June 2011 that I published a series of memoirs. There were ten posts and six were available for public. That time, I had planned to sell it, by making the last four posts as paid. The details are at: https://vinishgrg.wordpress.com/memoirs/.

I plan to make more posts from that series as public. Here is one of them.

————————————————————————————–

We have Iron at 26 and Gold at 79, but why not Steel? I asked Him when I studied periodic table when I was in IX standard. He made me learn the elements in the order of placement as Hydrogen, Helium, Beryllium… up to Calcium. As I glanced quickly at the list, I wondered where was Steel (I studied alloys also). He told me that steel was missing.

Same year, I was studying literature and in one story, the protagonist ought to have nerves of steel, an iron will and a heart of gold. I tried to reconcile it with periodic table and agreed to Him that yes, steel was missing. It was missing from periodic table as well.

Is Steel that important? When in cricket, India loses to England or Australia loses to South Africa, does it necessarily mean that India or Australia were missing steel? After all, there can be only one winner. Why is winning everything? Why playing well is not everything?

I noticed that He often played to play, not to win. He drove his scooter more to drive it and less to reach the destination. He advertised for real estate property in newspapers more to advertise and less to sell it. He told a joke more to tell the joke and less to laugh at it.

Ever since I can remember, He had a table with his bedside. Earlier it was for a glass of water, spectacles, and a newspaper. Later I saw medicines, hand towel, water jug, some documents or files/folders. And for last few years, He had a steamer, two jugs of water, 2-3 hankies, 1-2 diaries, a small salt-bottle, some sugar, old newspapers, car key and another bunch of keys, and a hand towel. Only He could organize that stuff on his table.

He was The Mendeleev for His table.

Yes, this too was a periodic table. There was space to accommodate unknown elements. I had seen Him growing as somebody too defensive. I had seen Him struggling to enjoy the privileges He had.

I wished if I could reshuffle the periodic table, to accommodate Steel.

He would spend His Diwali nights in a temple located at a far off secluded place, because He was scared of firecrackers. He would often scream while in sleep at night. He would not use elevator for the fear of getting stuck. He could not speak when the other person was aggressive in speech or in behavior. He would start counting on Tuesday or Wednesday that 3 days were left for the weekend, so that He could have my mother around Him on weekends. He had a weak immune system. And how easily some *undesired* cells could grow in Him, uncontrollably.

The Steel was missing.

Now that Periodic Table is history.

The CEO Key

It was in June 2011 that I published a series of memoirs. There were ten posts and six were available for public. That time, I had planned to sell it, by making the last four posts as paid. The details are at: https://vinishgrg.wordpress.com/memoirs/.

Now I plan to make more posts from that series as public. Here is one of them.

——————

As a key, I lock and unlock. When I was ready, my fate was sealed with the car, forever. And I used to travel a lot. Like a CEO of a world leading soft drink company, From one hook to another, to one pocket and to another, to a bag, to hand fist, to fingers, to car seat, to table top, to the car dashboard, to a handbag, to a chair, on to the boundary wall of house, and then back to hook.

My LinkedIn profile would show me the most travelled CEO in the world. I was on job.

The hand that held me, held me as if I could seal His fate. His fate. The grip was as if I could unlock a safe and not only a car. His hand was like my second home. The ignition point was of course first. Within few weeks of my first job, I felt the grip loosening occasionally. The hand would forget me sometimes, on table or on the boundary wall of house.

I panicked. The man too. He would either clutch me very tight, or leave me alone.

I felt safe and vulnerable at the same time.

One day, I felt His hand blood vessels raised. As if there are last-minute ISO audits due that day. Audits happened. The process was being followed and documented well. But some eyebrows were raised. As if some transparency was missing. As if some uncontrolled growth of cells. I felt a direct correspondence with His life span and my life span.

I felt more vulnerable and my worst fears came true. When in His hand, I saw hand bags, towels, woollens, bottles, medicines, toffees, lunch box, and so many things in his hands. That fine evening, I fell from His hand at a juice corner. As He was sipping in sugarcane juice, I saw Him while I was lying on ground hoping to see me. He did not. As He sat in car and as His driver drove with my TWIN sister, another key, I felt as if my soul departed.

My body stayed there on road, and was dragged in a pile of garbage next morning. I was breathing last. Over next three months, I struggled from one garbage pile to another, hoping to meet Him one day. Being a fine gentleman, He applied for a duplicate key. And my hope fainted.

My body started aching more and one day, my soul departed. I landed in a new body and was termed as a *Duplicate key*. I did not like it.

Will my owner be called *Duplicate man* when His soul would take place in another body?

As history would take it, the man also quit same day. 23 February 2011.

After months of lull, I got to know that I will be handed over to His son. I was sceptical. Like any CEO would feel in a new company. New body and now new owner. Will I be as vulnerable again? Will the son also leave me at a juice corner?

And will I be travelling same again? Like CEO?

I expected to travel, in pocket, hand, fingers, hook, table, or in drawer. One evening, the son (my new owner) placed me in the drawer on a book titled *Leaders without Title*. The protagonist in the book had inscribed LWT (Leaders without Titles) and used it as a locket in his neck. This Robin Sharma masterpiece might have changed the life of many entrepreneurs? And as I dived in, I loved it.

Now I travelled not like a CEO but as a mere key as I got a job to do. The new owner helped me in that as He rarely clutched me tight. While having juice, He ensured that I was in his pocket. I liked the peace and assurance with which He carried me. I would lie for hours on same table. I was doing a better job, as a leader without title, though as CEO. The travel reduced as was reflected on my LinkedIn profile as well. My workload decreased. And I was at greater peace.

But there was an undefined, unleashed, and uncomfortable anxiety. As I started losing the thrill of, or anxiety of reaching a juice corner, I felt the old owner’s intrusion one day. The Son forgot me there for a moment, only to take me back within moments. “CEOs’ cannot afford to take things for granted”.

The CEO in me told me, “But what is this life if it not at all vulnerable?”

After all, the old owner is the father of new owner.

The Perth Moment

We would often open together. And would close together. Not always exactly at the same time, but one immediately following the other. That was the practice, as well as the requirement.

And we shall always LOCK together. Unlocking one would invariably unlock the other. 

Nothing special by the carpenter; just an order of the day for HIM.

The first cricket match that I recall watching together was in Perth 1991, the famous 126-run tie when Azhar leaped on a catch in slip, off SRT. 20 years. The Calcutta-ed Hero Cup. The centenary cup in New Zealand 1995 (The joy of beating Australia in a match was altogether different those days). Bangalore 1996 was electric. Calcutta again, 1998-mauled and 2001-mesmerized.

Kids used to practice by giving Warne-air to the ball and dealing like Azhar-flick or Waugh-blocked.

One day in early decade, I pointed to a possible tube. Wings? Pellets? Was it a sign of swarmers?

We looked at each other and shrugged off the thought. It could not be.

The lock still needed both of us to be together.

A Crowe or a Robertson can have perfectly bonafide intentions. Nothing to worry. It was meant to *evolve*. So we did not trust IPL-2008 to rock *this way*, there are swarmers in cricket also. And we forgot it for a minute. And just a minute it takes.

Although there was again a Perth moment to rejoice (January 2008), it was destined to be last.

Swarmers had intruded. The game has lost its soul since then. The ecstasy and passion for *the next ball* is more out of *curiousity-satiating-and-knowledgebased-satisfying-feeling that I knew he would drive* and less for *the sport*.

The Kids now plan more for teesrah than length. A 75 off 43 is a huge success even if followed by 4 single-digit pokes behind the wicket.

Old order changes yielding place to the new.

We are no more together. One can work alone. Without any role of other.

The LOCK still works successfully though. However, locking one never guarantees that the other is also locked. And no glances exchanged. No giggles. Not even *that* silence.

And so Perth is never same again. The Australian was summer was different this year. We were not together. The whitewash (drubbing?) was on the cards.

But the cycle changes. It always has. And so the door too.

We can hope for another *Perth moment*. Why not?

CAT 2011: IIMs Give Me Peace of Mind

This is a guest post. My associate Shena shares how she is at more peace now, post CAT 2011 .

CAT is as hyped as F1, Ra.1, Mayawati, or the Chinese camps in Ladhakh. The hype is not misplaced because IIMs create entrepreneurs. Professional aspirants from all over INDIA dream of a great learning experience at IIMs, and then a *paying* corporate life.

I too applied for CAT 2011. I got the admit card, followed the instructions, took my PAN card as ID proof, and reached the exam centre in time, on 06 November 2011 (Sunday this week).

My exam centre was handled by Prometric, at the location: Everonn Education Limited, SCO 217, Sector 14, Panchkula (Haryana). The coordinators there told me that my picture on my PAN card was not clear, and stopped me at the gate. I thought they were kidding since I had given the same exam CAT 2009 and CAT 2010, using the same PAN Card as ID proof, in last two years. So, I know the process inside out. And a PAN card is one of the most valid ID support card in India.

I know that the exam centre takes finger prints, and clicks a picture of candidates in real time just before the exam. I had all other relevant details/documents to support my identity.

It was a momentarily heartbreak, not because I missed a chance for IIM but for the *process* and the *attitude* of those representatives.

• It was clearly mentioned on *Admit Card* that the PAN Card is an acceptable ID proof. My picture may not be very clear on the card but I had used the same card for same exam in last two years, without any issue. And I use this card for dealing with banks, telecom companies and other departments/agencies, successfully.
• When I asked for an alternative or solution, Prometric coordinators kept saying that picture is not clear and they can’t help it. I told them I know the problem but I am asking about solution. So, I got to know that CAT is conducted by such people whose focus is not on providing the solution; because *there are some rules* and *humans are for rules*. Even if a potential IIM graduate misses the exam. Their loss nonetheless.
• I called up customer care at 1800 103 7383. I gave my phone number to confirm the identity and the CC executive asked me for another ID proof. I told them that I did not have any other proof with me since PAN card was sufficient. I had a voter card but my name was spelt differently on that card. The executive asked me for that incorrectly-spelt-named card and I was shocked. My PAN card that had my name, my father’s name, and DOB was not sufficient to confirm my identity due to unclear photo, but the Voter ID card with an incorrectly-spelt name could have worked.
• An instruction on Admit Card said *candidates can use the employee ID card as an ID proof*. By stroke of good-luck, I was carrying a company letter head (signed and stamped by Director) that confirmed my identity. The representative said that it was *not sufficient*. When asked (I had lost the respect for Promteric coordinators and for IIMs by that time), the executive nodded that *employee ID card* WORKS but * stamped-and-signed company letterhead* DOES NOT WORK. (Is it a rule, a policy, or an IIMs attitude?).

Further, sometimes it is not possible to recognize a person by having a look at someone’s picture that was captured 8 years back.

 BY that time, the exam was about to start.

I had a quick reflection of what was happening. I had scores of 99.15 and 98.96 in my last two attempts; there was no call which is fine. At the attitude of IIMs and CAT 2011 Centre coordinators, I am rather happy at what happened yesterday.

I do not want to WASTE my time at such a place, where *humans are for rules* rather than *rules are for humans*. Unfortunate for them that such *policies* at such *centres (Prometric)* detached me from IIMs; it surely is their loss.

And coming back to the hype, media needs stars and stars need media. Unfortunately, media hype is misplaced many a times. Same way, candidates aspire for IIMs but IIMs too need candidates and by same token, the hype over IIMs is also misplaced, by same proportion.

I am at more peace now. Reading reviews of Ra.1 and the success of first F1 in India. And the world suddenly looks more beautiful now.

Consumer. Process. Food chain. Consumed? Processed? Chained?

We are all part of food chain as I read 22 years back. And now when we talk about products and consumers, I can understand it better than merely that *lions eat dogs and dogs eat rats*.

IFB: For Washing Machine

I purchased IFB Washing Machine and was told to call Customer Care(less) to request for a demo. I called up and opted for *Hindi* language from IVR. It went on like this:

Call 1 (Executive name: Nikhil Vishwas):

NV: Sir, what is your name?
VG: Vinish Garg (spelt and explained each letter independently)
NV: Sir, phone number?
VG: 98550 63643 (nine eight double five zero six three four six three)
Address: Flat no 40 (four zero, forty), fourth floor, Tower B, Spangle Heights…
NV: PIN code sir?
[Vinish]: He did not ask for city and whatever address he was interested in, I had to say it 3-4 times
NV: Sir, PIN code?
VG: 1 (one) 4 (four) 0 (zero) 6 (six) 0 (zero) 3 (three)
NV: 203?
VG: [repeats]
NV: Ok, what is the model number?
VG: Can you tell me what PIN number you noted?
NV: 203401
VG:  Are you not able to understand me?
NV: Tell me sir, are you talking about washing machine or a microwave?
VG: Washing machine, as I already told you
NV: Sir, what is your name?
VG: Vinish Garg (spelt again)
NV: Sir, phone number?
VG: 98550 63643 (nine eight double five zero six three four six three)
Before NV could speak, VG: Why are you asking these details again?

NV: Sorry, system down, I lost the details so I am asking again
VG: (  )
NV: Sir, is it with warranty or without warranty?
VG: As I said I purchased it today, of course within warranty.
NV: Sir, it is in our process to ask.

VG: Ok, what all details that you need?
NV: Sir, what is the PIN code?
VG: Grrrr, 140603 (one four zero six zero three). Which place are you calling from?
NV: IFB Global
VG: Which city?
NV: Kolkata
VG: Ok, what is the PIN code that you noted?
NV: 140663
NV: Sir, what is the model number
VG: Grrrrr….I am 1976 borne and I am within warranty period.
NV: Sorry sir, our system is down, please call later…

———call over———–

Call 2 (Executive name: Sudeep)

If the above conversation was an act enacted on stage for a HIT TV program, the second call was almost a *copy*. The most hilarious part:
Sudeep (in the middle of call): Is it within warranty or without?
VG: I told you that I purchased a new one today.
Sudeep: Sir, it is part of our process to confirm it.

I called up 3rd time and opted for the language *English* in IVR. The call went reasonably well.

PS: I understand that both executives could have handled the *warranty question/response* like *Sir, we understand that you have got a new product, however, sometimes a few new models are sold under special promotional packages and hence without warranty*. I spent total of 50 minutes on three calls which should not have taken more than 10 minutes.

Airtel Dish TV

I respect Airtel products and services by heart, be it cell phone service or internet broadband. Yesterday, I thought of purchasing Airtel dish TV for my home and visited the site. Before I could locate the contact details for *new connections*, I landed at *customer support* and just dialled the number by mistake. It went on like this:

Executive (As far as I recall, it was Mandeep): *…..how may I help you..”
VG (Not sure how he started the call): I want to purchase the Airtel dish TV product and to subscribe to its services…
Exe: What is your customer ID?
VG: I don’t have any, I am calling for first time.
Exe: Sorry sir, I cannot help you. You need a customer ID to seek any information from me.
VG: How do new customers interact with customer support? Can you give me some number where I can call? (by now, I realised that I called up at wrong number.)
Exe: Ok, What exactly you want to know?
VG (surprised): I want to purchase a new Airtel dish tv connection…
Exe: hmmm
VG (continued)
Exe: hmmm
VG (continued)
Exe: hmmm

VG (the hmmm was really irritating. This is not the way to listen to customers.)
.
And the executive winded up the call as if an Indian (who is over-trained may be? Arrogant?) sitting in New York. American accent. Fast. I don’t care. It was not his business.

PS: I completed the online form for requesting a new connection and next morning, I got a call from Manoj. He was polite, patient and professional. Manoj guided me through the process well. I was happy more because at least I got a call for completing on online form unlike some other *players* (see next section for details).

Water Purifier

I wanted a water purifier for my home and while doing some research on some leading brands, I landed on the websites.
I landed on eurokefobes for Aquaguard and tried to locate a franchise in Chandigarh (or in Panchkula/Mohali) but could not. There is no option to select city of Chandigarh (neither in Punjab or Haryana though Chandigarh is capital of both these states), see at: http://www.eurekaforbes.com/franchiseelocator.aspx.

I completed an online form at: http://www.eurekaforbes.com///Demo_Request.aspx few days back. I have not received any email or text or call till date. (Airtel is miles ahead and the best in this regard.)

I landed at pureit website and requested a demo at: http://www.pureitwater.com/IN/home-demo. No text, email or call till date. (Again airtel is miles ahead and the best in this regard.)

Consumer Consumed. Process Processed. Food Chain?

Try Room. Or Stage?

While purchasing a jeans last month, I tried one and then another one before I could purchase it. The Try Room was busy as I saw two gracious ladies having piles of skirts and jeans to try. I tried one more before I finally purchased the traditional light-blue boot-cut jeans. Of those I tried, the unfit or struck-out jeans were left on the counter. Probably someone else would try them.

I purchased an apartment few days back and plan to leave the present house, where I have stayed for last 6 years now. Moving to a new house is not new to me; I have lived in about 7-8 houses in last 20 years.

But today, I felt as if I was in a Try Room for six years.

The life cycle of a Jeans is that few persons try it and someone picks it. Like I did. The jeans that I tried were like one of my possible relationships. I picked one. The life cycle of Try Room is that some relations begin there, others do not, and a few end there. As if in the house.

What we shall leave behind in the current house is too internalized. The way I move from one room to another, the car is parked, the door is closed, the TV remote is fondled, the laptop is put to battery charge, the guests are served water, the newspaper is picked from gate, the courier is received, the cricket match is enjoyed, the bath is taken, and the JEANS is put on. Even when it is dark and I cannot see, I know that I need to move five steps straight from my bedroom door and then two steps to right, to enter the kitchen. And the way we celebrate. And mourn.

What shall I take along to new house? Anything that occupies space and has mass (matter). But we leave behind a lot. Anything that occupies mind and has weight (it also matters).

The bags will be packed for new jeans and old jeans. Some jeans are difficult to get rid of, forever. Like an old relationship. Like Him. Who quit on 23 February.

During my final try for jeans that day, I did what the Try Room expected me to. It knew that I will first lock the door from inside, take off my old jeans, put on new jeans, see myself in mirror, change posture, look from behind, and then make my mind whether to shortlist it or not. It knew that I would take 20 seconds and I did. As I moved out, I heard it whispering to me, “If you won’t, someone else will.” Like my current house.

Yes, the current house is like a Try Room.

As His car would stop at the gate, the current House (like that Try Room) knew how many seconds He will take to reach His room. Which way? What will He do first? What will He say first? What will He want first? But for Him, the house was not a Try Room. He lived in this house like artists live on Stage.

For theatre.

He knew that it is not a permanent house; that He would have to get down from Stage. For another Stage. He tried but could not. He walked, laughed, talked, sat, slept as if it is Stage. The spotlight was automated. He did not shy. No second thoughts. He never needed a Try Room. It was always Live on Stage.

Quite fittingly, I never saw him in jeans.

But the Act is over now. The Curtains fell. He left the stage 2 months back.

While trying the jeans, a part of my old jeans got stuck in a hook in the Try Room. I need to re-learn the way I put on the new jeans and take it off. Fold and unfold. Hang it. Get it washed. Rinse it. Dry it. And use my belt on it.

For old jeans, I will have to leave HIM here only, the way He sat and looked at me, and expected from me. How He insisted for space for sun and walk in car porch. The way He insisted for taking medicine and for not taking medicine. The way He came to my room, sat quietly and went off. And how I went to His room, stayed quiet, and came back. The way He wanted alone to be in kitchen and the way He was scared to be left alone. The way He was courgeous (as if He was the director) and the way He was weak (as if He was a spot boy). On Stage.

The way He lived. Not for any audience, but for Himself. As if on Stage. And on 23 February, the curtains fell.

Now someone else might be trying the same jeans that I discarded, in same Try Room. And someone else might be living (not performing) on same Stage.

PS: For the complete series of memoirs, please see: https://vinishgrg.wordpress.com/memoirs/. Thank you.

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