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August 15 was a great day for India, but a far greater day for me. That day I was honoured with a special award from the Rotract Club of Central Mumbai.

However, no one told me what the award was for. My wife guessed it was the award for the most undesirable male in Malabar Hill. Somebody else said it was a special salutation to the incredible feat of not wearing trousers for 43 continuous days. I felt it was certainly given to me as I was the closest resident in Central Mumbai to the awards venue.

Sadly, this continued to remain a grey area along with the badami chicken, which was almost served as lunch, until the chicken objected and quite rightly so about having any association with nuts.

Here, let me specify that by nuts the chicken was only referring to the badams and not to any members of the Rotary or the catering staff at the hotel.

Sitting on the dais without uttering a word for the better part of the three hours, I rank this as one of the three most traumatic experiences I've had—my wedding night, the second night of the wedding, and thereafter my entire married life.
Seated next to me was Bhavna Somaiya, maker and back breaker of careers, who insisted that I looked quite attractive on radio. Prahlad Kakar, who is by state law a mandatory at any awards function, brought up the rear (to use his own least liked phrase).

The chief guest was Madhur Bhandarkar, who I swear I woke up three times in five minutes, by challenging him to touch his forehead with his tongue.

As we all left the hall, after thanking a very classy set of Rotary members, one question remained unanswered, one question that needed to be resolved, one query that needed a closure—what the hell was the award for?