An Open Letter to Suhel Seth

Dear Suhel Seth,

The moment I first saw you, I knew you were different. In the midst of a tumultuous chaotic nation, I found, meandering purposelessly, an independent soul. Look at his tousled crop of curly hair! Look at his fierce unwillingness to introspect! My heart skipped a beat, and I whistled under my breath as I whispered, “There goes an indomitable marketing maven.”

I remember the first time I saw you on TV. You did that magical thing with words, where you strung them together into sentences. As I watched you cleanly separate speech and thought with a rapier that passes itself off as your tongue, I knew in my heart that you were the maven of all mavens.

What pains me deeply is that there are many who want you to fail.

Some want you to fail because we Indians do not muster adequate enthusiasm when it comes to witnessing public displays of doltishness, except at cricket, by which of course I mean politics. We are a land of confused puppies. We’ve lost our child-like sense of awe and wonder. We don masks of cynicism, and do not permit ourselves to gaze with joy upon extraordinary marketing mavens.

Others want you to fail because they don’t like Frodo Baggins and the Lord of the Rings, which is preposterous because you don’t look anything like Frodo, although Bilbo might claim more than a passing resemblance to you.

I’m deeply pained. I hate what they are doing to you. I want to stand in front and protect you from an unappreciative mob much as Sachin would tenderly protect a tail ender. But, I’m scared of both the mob and you. So I decided to write this letter instead.

Remember that, after a panel discussion on sports you must not ask, “Who’s that bald guy and what’s he doing on this panel?” For when you do, the bald guy in question might unfairly take offense, even though, in fact, he might merely be a bloke named Viren Rasquinha who captained the Indian hockey team only in the distant and unremembered past. Ordinary people lacking appreciation for the magic that you easily weave with your eloquence will look askance at your own fitness to be on any panel, let alone on one mulling the future of sports in our great nation.

You are a strange man, Suhel. I gaze upon you with intrigue and fascination, as I would a smoldering car wreck.

I know life’s hard for you. I know that there are days when you go home and simply sob your heart out. I feel for you. I pray that you survive this terrible nightmare.

Be strong. Above all, stay silent.

Yours sincerely.

Dr. What Ho!

Managing Director of the Internet.

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