Oh Most Noble and Patient Reader, a thousand apologies for my long absence.

I owe you an explanation.

And so I now proceed to explain my absence, briefly, even as I appreciate deeply those agonized whispers and mutters from the back-benchers of “That’s all right, no need to explain!” “But we didn’t even know you’d gone!” “Can we do this next week? Don’t ping me, I’ll ping you!” and so on.

Much sewage hath flow’d down the sacred Yamuna since I last wrote in this space…in November 2024.

Indeed, much less sewage hath flow’d through this sacred Blog-space during the same interval, when I didn’t post anything; but that is of course entirely coincidental.

I’ve written a bit elsewhere, these last six months: mainly on climate-friendly technologies and the like, to earn enough to keep the rice steaming and the sambar spicy and to pay the electricity bills. I’ve read a bit, scribbled here and doodled there a bit more, and stared blankly at nothing in particular a great deal. I’ve also travelled a bit: to attend to a friend who fell ill, and later to recce the lovely town of Mysuru to which I will relocate when the Fruit of Opportunity ripens…which is a damned silly and pretentious way of saying, when I can find a place to rent or buy there and simultaneously find a person to rent or buy my place here in Dilli.

More on all that, and much else, anon. It feels good to be back here.

But for now, realizing that those agonized whispers and mutters have become as loud as an AAP politician’s protestations of innocence in a scam inquiry, I shall content myself with having finally logged in my presence here and greeted you after over six months.

And as I log out, may I leave you to groan and gnash your teeth at an execrable piece of doggerel that I composed over a decade ago in a similar mood. It was written as a tribute to certain edit-page editors that I had the misfortune of encountering during the two decades I contributed articles to print newspapers. Perhaps the freelance writers among you will empathize?

The last rejection slip

Old hacks and reporters tell of an ancient time
Ere iPads and desktops had been found
With pens did folk then craft prose and rhyme…
And pencils and erasers did abound

Imagine! An era sans software to check
One’s grammar, to vet one’s work!
Only Editors there were, to hack and peck
Per their whimsy, individual quirk

One such Ed there was – a newspaper man
Whom legend hath made immortal
His style was lucid, his face dead-pan
And he knew his sans-serif fonts well

Aged freelancers still tell, with awe
Of how Great Ed dealt with their submissions
Most he flung into his dustbin’s maw
As unworthy of the weekday editions

But now and then, some odd article
Would make Great Ed hesitate, pause…
Here to strike out an errant participle
There improve ‘pon some conjugate clause

Indeed, these signs, the ancient hacks knew
Were propitious for the aspirant essay
Which, having decided it merited further review
Great Ed consigned to his ‘Pending’ tray

His arduous duties for that day being done
With the final insertion of two commas
To the Press Club Great Ed did head, for a bit of fun
‘Midst like-minded spirits and spiritual aromas

Many weeks would pass; the article lay
Inside a folder marked ‘See Later’
Old hacks knew ’twas Great Ed’s way
Of teaching Humility to the article’s creator…

Whose gentle reminders, seeking to know the fate thereof
Were dispatched forthwith to the incinerator room
Where, with a glad cry and a bronchial cough
The furnace man piled the waste paper up with a broom

‘Twas with him the work of an instant
To fling the reminders to the flames
Therein, presently, the original too’d be sent
Thus absolving Great Ed of any claims

There things usually ended; and yet
Some die-hards there were, among freelancers

Who’d send countless stamped reminders, seeking to get
Their precious articles back, even after three years

Then indeed was Great Ed’s greatness manifest!
(For he was a being of rare sensitivity)
To writers who made such sustained requests
He responded with remarkable empathy

Each letter Great Ed began with: “Re. your manuscript,
I deeply regret having to say…”
And then, in words of incomparable wit
He would explain the article’s loss away

He couched his reply in a variety of forms
Embellished by choice quote and font
Conform did each letter to Rejection Slip norms
And in creativity and empathy they didn’t want

‘Twas rumoured that Great Ed worked overtime
To give his Rejection Slips deep meanings
He spent hours composing their doleful rhymes
And on occasion, read them out on Press Club evenings

So moving were Great Ed’s missives, old-timers said
That their recipients wept for joy, like children!
All their ire and frustration fled
All their bitterness with Great Ed forgotten!

Alas! Great Ed’s end came in a singular way
At the hands of an occasional writer
One who’d waited twelve years for return of his essay
A mere twelve years…the impatient blighter!

He stormed into Great Ed’s den, this wild-eyed man
Brandishing a razor-sharp inverted comma
One foul stroke…and off he ran!
Leaving a scene of utter trauma

Great Ed lay dead, a smile on his face
Gathered hacks did weep and grieve
For they knew Great Ed was the last of his race
And they mourned the abruptness of his leave

They buried Great Ed with honour; in deep despond
On his grave a smooth stone they did lay
On it they carved, in 16-point Garamond
“Dear Lord, Re. your man’s crypt, we deeply regret having to say…”

P.S.: I actually sent this thing to a few editors I knew. Two responded: one with a chuckle, the other with a Rejection Slip.