The Executive Editor of New York Times got a call at 11.45 pm, minutes after he finally managed to to sleep, at the end of a day littered with depressing events. "Damn!", he said, "what's it now?" +
"Sir, we need your permission to edit the answers of the live Spelling Bee", said the nervous Head of Puzzles.
"Holy crap, that's what you woke me up for?", he thundered.
"Sir, we've never done something like this. I don't have the authority." +
"I need some context here", he sighed, "You better have a good story. You have a minute. Your time starts now." +
"Sir, I'll try. We just got a distraught call from Mumbai. From the father of a ten year old kid with a terminal condition. She's one point away from hitting Genius. Something she's been trying to achieve for months. And the puzzle will not accept gaol, spelt g..a..o..l." +
"Why not?", asked the Editor, "It's a legit word. I'd be frigging pissed too."
"It's an archaic spelling sir, the puzzle doesn't accept it. And we can't change the list of approved answers while the puzzle is live...." +
"Really?", thought the Editor, "After a day spent grappling with matters of national, nay international importance, is this what I get woken up for? Helping a kid crack a puzzle?" +
The tormentor of his sleep continued, "The girl's dad says, her hitting Genius could save her life. She said this was the last time she was going to try. Making Genius could give her the strength to face another day, then maybe another. Like that O'Henry story, sir. Last leaf." +
"Damn!", said the Editor, "I'm hooked on the bee myself... I've told Sam so many times.... I get mad when it won't take some of my answers. It didn't take Neology yesterday. I was furious. It accepts acacia but rejects yoyo. I never go past Amazing, forget Genius." +
"The kid tried Neology too sir, and Algol, a programing language, but they weren't accepted... but Sir, we don't have time. There's just 10 minutes to go. Give us an okay, and the team is on standby to allow the word." +
The Editor thought hard. 'A rule is a rule, even a bad rule' was a mantra he lived by. It was something that guided him through many a thorny situation. A little tentpole of objectivity to help him ride through raging storms of opinion, perspective and dogma. +
"Dammit, just do it. And don't breathe a word of this to anybody. Ever. Do it with a minute or two to spare, so no other player notices. Today, we change the answer to a puzzle, tomorrow it's a news item.... Let me know how this pans out. Now let me get some sleep." +
Bapat was pacing up and down the balcony of his 1bhk in Malad when his phone rang. A hurried voice said, "Try gaol now, immediately, good night", and hung up. Bapat ran inside, where Shraddha was desperately trying various words, her eyes brimming with tears. +
"Beta, try that word gaol, again. Maybe you typed it wrong", he said.
Too weak to argue, she picked out the letters g..a...o...l through her tears, and hit enter, with not a shred of hope. +
What happened next took less than a second, but seemed to unfold in slow motion. The screen said 'Good' and then went blank. And reemerged with the picture of a bee and the word Genius. +
Bapat grabbed the phone and screen-shotted it just before the puzzle disappeared. And the new one for the day appeared. He hugged his daughter and let out a primal victory cry. +
Shraddha was sobbing with unalloyed happiness. She kept saying, "Baba, Baba... I did it... I did it...". Bapat, choking on his own tears said, "Yes, you did it, Beta! You are a genius!" +
A week later the Executive Editor's phone rang again. "Sir, about that puzzle thing...".
"Yes?", he barked, "Tell me there's no problem."
"Sir, the kid hit Genius five days in a row after that. And yesterday she got all the words, every one of them. She's a Queen Bee." +
The Editor smiled as he sank into his chair. This was the best call he had ever taken in his long career. "Listen, when this pandemic is done and dusted, get that kid and her Dad here on a holiday. At our cost. This is the first time that a gaol has liberated someone."
ANTHE
EPILOGUE
To say the response to this story was overwhelming would be an understatement. The finest compliment I got, however, came in the form of a full fledged backstory of Bapat and Shraddha. Crafted brilliantly by @shekarpancha . Enjoy. docs.google.com/document/d/1KY…
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Fear the worst, the new CEO said, pronouncing both the r's. He spoke with an accent that did not try to mask his roots. He wore an ill fitting jacket and a poorly knotted tie. On his way up to the top tech job in the world, he didn't make any fashion pit stops. +
His face loomed on the giant screen in the auditorium. And on thousands of smaller screens watched live by minions around the globe. His annual speech had become an international media event. Bits of it would trend for weeks on social media. +
The myth of the elusive man, embellished by bits of apocrypha, would go viral. WhatsApp groups would buzz with fervent forwards. Till his sound bytes would be replaced by clips of the latest red carpet sensation, embellished by bits of fabric. +
There was something ineffably graceful about her. Him. Them. I don't know what her preferred pronoun was. Or if she even knew there is some such thing. I'll just use she/her. Because that feels right to me. +
She was almost always there at the SV Road signal when I drove to work. A quiet, dignified presence. There was always a hint of a smile on her powdered face. Just a subtle widening of her brightly lipsticked mouth. But genuine enough to travel to her eyes. Making them look kind.+
Even when she was a few cars away, I felt the tenderness of her expression. Maybe it had something to do with the laws of reflection. Light bounces off differently from a painted surface. She probably used a cheap foundation cream and even cheaper compact. +
I watch people. And study their habits. Like that guy at the next table who taps his cup twice after mixing sugar. Not once, not thrice. Always twice. That Dell kid who gets into his chair from the left and out from the right. +
That woman with the pink iPhone who picks all her calls after three rings. The guy who takes a picture of every coffee he has. The doorman who wipes the handle after every customer walks in. Covid habits die hard. +
Yes, I'm at a coffee shop. Not the famous one. But the nicer one with better food, better coffee, better chairs. But weaker wifi and smaller loo. I come here every Wednesday. At the same time, and follow the same routine. +
Here's a bunch of random pictures. Will try to run a thread through them. And try to hold your attention with trivia, wordplay, and banter while doing so. +
Most of you may have recognised three of the four images. And some geniuses, all four. The logo of Rolling Stones, a Phantom comic, Sacha Baron Cohen, and the toughie - the root of a mandrake plant. Aah! Many of you have probably got the basic connection. +
Lee Falk. The cool dude who created Phantom and Mandrake. He was a writer, director, producer, and cartoonist. He directed over a hundred plays featuring actors including Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, Charlton Heston, Ethel Waters, and Chico Marx. (All wikipedia gyan, not mine.) +
Today is a good day to tell you the story of how my 85 year old grandmother helped us win the IPL. I will not tell you which edition it was. I am sworn to secrecy. +
I was on the bench the entire season. I didn't play a single match. I fielded as a substitute, for a couple of overs in our tenth game. I took a catch and saved 7, maybe 8, runs. I didn't get picked at the auctions ever again. But it was my paati who helped us lift the trophy.+
I should probably go back to where this story starts. My childhood. I was a habitual liar. And a really good one. My amma and appa could never spot my fibs. And I got away with a lot of stuff. +
Everybody hated the old bastard. That he was wheelchair-bound made no difference. He was a cantankerous, foul mouthed, ill tempered, misshapen bundle of vitriol. +
When he was found dead, slumped over his lap, held back only by the belt of his wheelchair, there was a collective unreleased sigh of relief. Even from his own family.+
He used to sit all day in front of his ground floor flat, in the little patch of garden that he usurped from the society. He had an unkind word for everyone - from the watchman to the drivers to the kids who played in the yard to the delivery boys.+