I cut my teeth (it is very difficult to cut teeth. Lips and tongues are easier. Paper seems easy. Is not, all the time. And one can get cut by paper. I don’t get this lingo. Bloody) at Enterprise Solar Plexus. Where the Great Mercurial Khan reigned supreme. Over all things long (like copy). And, short (like temper, rope and platitude).

The Great Mercurial Khan or GMK, as he was lovingly called by no one, was an ulcer on three legs. Beautiful, polished, painful and a perfectionist. He was also a word sleuth and a wordshipper. Performing ancient rituals of utmost complexity and homage with words. Lovingly. Lovestakingly. Beautifully dutifully. And may the Pagan god help that Copy Whatever who did not show enough respect for the Word. He would attempt to portend what lay in the future for that hapless soul by inspecting his or her own entrails. GMK had guts.

The purr of a powerfectionist is not the same as the roar of a roadroller. GMK was a cocktail of both archetypes. He could mew your heart out. Or, yell your fart out. Chew your self esteem to emaciated third world reject fibre drumsticks. Or, shout in your face till your scalded eyeballs shrivelled to mosquito testicles. Janus faced, imbalanced, bloodybest there was.

The world changes everything. Including the world itself, supposedly. GMK, some people like to think, became the Mediocre Mercurial Khan (MMK). But I would like to not dwell on the MMK school of rumours. If our existence is eventually reduced to the murmurs and rumours of other people, I may as well listen to the murmurs of the good rumours.

GMK was a ball of bald sun. Rays and all. Seriously. At one point, in near history, there used to be people who were suns. They showed light. They burned you at times. They were bright on some days and dim on others. And, they were far away but somehow seemed near at hand always. But whatever happened, whatEVER, you always knew where to look if you had to find them. Just like a sun. The surety of the rock solid sun. Bald sun. But sun.

Some people today would not know the gunpowder that leaders were made of earlier. 9 parts Sivakasi. 1 part wick. And all flaming heart. GMK. The Deadly Living. The Rotund Ruffian.

(I was at Enterprise Nexus a billion years ago, which was located at one point in Bombay time at 367, Sane Guruji Marg, Agripada, Bombay Eleven. This is all fictional material, with zilch intent to cause harm to anyone. No chalice full of malice. Any resemblance to any character, living, long living or legendary, is purely devotional).