The Spencer plaza junction is world famous in Madras (I do not like the word Chennai.).

Why world famous? You can meet a person of any nationality here in a particular period of time. The time period is your decision. It is akin to the Times Square. It lacks only the huge neon advertising lights that the latter has.

            The sun was beating down and the traffic was pouring in from the north side and the east side. The north side has a lot of buses and the other side has the more expensive cars, a clear indication of the divide in the society in those directions. Added to the noise and clamor was the non stop wailing of the siren atop the white ambassador car. Some one high and mighty was traveling in that. How I wished I could drag him out of the car and give him a whack. Ah Poetic justice!

            This was my work time. My father left a decent enough legacy so that I could pursue something that was mentally stimulating, ignoring the economics of the activity. I love the phrase mentally stimulating. It brings out the do Vinci’s, the Van Gogh’s and the Mozart’s of the world in your (the reader) small brain.

            Like the quarry (prey) that I have been observing for the past ten days. My job is pretty simple. Spot your target market, develop skills to address them and then sell them their ultimate product. You can make a killing. Not like the Indian stock market though.

Even the C.KPrahlad’s of the world dare not disagree with my strategy. I have no respect for the business school professors. Why somebody must be paid an obscene amount to tell me that 1+1 = 2. Food for thought eh.

            My target was the educated youth of today. They seem to have an understanding for everything, a reason and logic for every f***ing thing. They sounded like deep purple and Kurt cobain lecturing a novice on drugs.

                        We know what happens

                        We know why it happens

                        We know how it happens

                        Because we make it happen

That was their song. Idiots. I belonged to a generation older than theirs. The generation of revolution, the generation of struggle.

            Coming back, my target studied in a college and attended some MBA coaching class. He was a typical college kid, crew cut, Armstrong band on his hand and a funky mobile phone in his hand. His fingers were all over the phone, as if he was moving his hands over something that was living and belonged to the other sex. I was ten feet behind him. The man in the traffic signal turned read with anger. Stop, he said to everyone. But they disapproved and stared crossing. He crossed too. Strike one!

 A car crossed with the wailing siren crossed at the same time. It was the additional judge, the man of law.Hmm my next quarry. I waited for the man in the signal to turn happy and green He took his own time but he did become happy. I crossed the pedestrian crossing and searched frantically for my target market.

            I ran, I moved like Jason Bourne, I swayed like bond and I found him finally. He was at the vendor nearby. I went close enough to hear him talk. I loved people talking. ‘One Kings and one chlormint’, he said, thrusting the exact amount into the vendor’s hands. Damn you cigarette companies. Another rupee to your bottom-line and the topline.

I fidgeted with the pay phone nearby. He smoked and dropped the butt on the ground, stamping it with his feet. Strike two!

            One of the most similar things bout public places in India is that they inevitably turn into public pissing corners. Yes P-I-S-S-I-N-G corner. The thing that you do in your toilet. They smelled of piss and tobacco. All the perfume makers together cannot come out with a perfume that smells worse.

            He moved to the pissing point, not the tipping point. Most of you readers think only about the tipping point. Add this to your jargon (P-I-S-S-I-N-G P-O-I-N-T) and go take a hike. He unzipped his fly and took his organ out. The trickle turned into a stream. Strike three.

            I moved near him deftly and asked him if he knew what he was doing. He continued unabashed. I took out the hallucinating agent and sprayed a oh so little on his face. The stream turned into a trickle and it stopped. He fell on the ground. Limp. Passer by’s never notice anything other than what is in front of them. I lifted him, placed one hand on his shoulder and crossed the road. Only when the man in the signal was happy and green. Principles, mine.

            My laboratory was a mobile one. A maruti van fitted with CNG fuel kit so that it did not pollute. The van is a highly customizable vehicle. I had modified the interiors to make them soundproof. Nothing came in and nothing went out.  I removed him from my shoulders and placed him on the rear seat and closed the door.

            A splash of water on his face and he was awake. He mumbled-‘Where am I? Who are you?’. My batman mask covered my face and left no clue to on lookers. That was my laboratory costume. I replied – ‘I am a representative of the Institute of Public behavior.’

He was hallucinating and asked-‘I have not heard of that. I know IIT, IIM.Is it a government institute?’

            I laughed. The current generation and their fascination with anything starting with ‘I’. I gave him a pamphlet of my institute. I asked him to read the motto aloud. He read- ‘To save the country from filth and muck.’ He turned to the next page. To his horror, he discovered his photos, one at the t-nagar junction spitting pan masala, the other at adyar bus depot smoking, at Broadway bus stand, pissing in all his glory. His face went white and he probably wet his pants. He pissed.

            I was reading from my lab manual aloud.

Aim: To clean the filth from the road

Apparatus required: A cactus, few leeches and the specimen.

Procedure: You know it.

I took the cacti and the leeches from the box and placed it next to the specimen. He was tied all over, leaving an opening near his eyes and mouth. I slowly rolled the cacti on his bare arms. He kept shouting. ‘No point mate! This is sound proof. No one can hear you.’ The leeches went on his face and started their job. They became fat with every passing second; I loved their sense of time and their efficiency.

Blood started trickling and then flowed like the river flowing from the glacier. I spoke-‘Do you know Baseball? You must. What I am playing is very similar. If you miss three pitches, strike three and you are out. Here, you break my rules thrice and you are out. But there you end up in the team locker. Here you end up in the gutter. Three strikes and you are out. Out! Out! Out!. He was on the way to meet the maker.

I started the engine and drove to my home in the suburbs. My pets were waiting for their share of the prey.

P.S: You can see a white maruti van going around the city masked as a call taxi. One of them is mine and I hope you are not my next prey. So be careful, very careful when you do something that I do not like.