been “profoundly” impressed by the Japanese tea ceremony as a means of creating a tranquil, laid back ambience in which vexations and irksome problems between management and their workers could be sorted out in a spirit of mutual goodwill, trust and back slapping buddyism.

Thus, a key resolution emerged the Japanese tea ceremony be introduced in India in a bid to reverse the deteriorating industrial relations.

“Your kneeling on velveteen foam mattress, whereas I’ve to make do with a balled up waste rag. I’m going to call for an indefinite tool down strike followed by a gherao of the management staff!”

Looking nippy, I promptly gave effect to the resolution in my small-scale industry. I cleaned out a ramshackle work shed in my factory backyard that was being used to store empty lubricant barrels, condemned machinery and bound volumes of the minutes of the Board of Directors meetings and I sent out a formal invitation to my most militant, implacably truculent and hostile labour union leader to come and have tea with me at 4 in the evening.

I quickly boned up on a few books on Taoism, Zen and nuances on the Japanese tea ceremony and I was in business as a going concern.

The labour leader arrived on time and even before I could fasten on an ingratiating smile and say a weak “Hello!” he scowled viciously and slammed on the table a list of 20 non-negotiable demands for 50 per cent wage hike, cent per cent neutralization of higher living costs and improved bonuses and perks. Unfazed, the Japanese tea ceremony takes place in an atmosphere of spiritual bonhomie and friendship, we repaired to the work shed. I switched on the psychedelic lights to create the right ambience and I invited the labour leader to kneel gently and close his eyes and meditate deeply on the Zen and the Tao for 5 minutes.

He started visibly as though I was planning to mug him the moment he closed his eyes, lay him out cold and rob him of his wrist watch, wallet and cell phone.
He lodged an immediate protest. “Your kneeling on velveteen foam mattress, whereas I’ve to make do with a balled up waste rag. I’m going to call for an indefinite tool down strike followed by a gherao of the management staff!”

I mollified his ruffled feelings and proceeded to make the tea brew all the while wearing a grave mien. The labour union leader was eyeing me warily like an alley cat watching a rat hole. Eyes off me for a minute and I might slip some little known Asiatic poison into his cup. He was obviously wise to the ways of the devious managements and their anti-working class strategies.

The brew was ready and leaning over I handed the cup to him with extreme function and old world grace. He took one hesitant sip and angrily put down the cup. “You’ve made your tea with Darjeeling orange pekoe, whereas mine is muck made with dust swept off the factory floor. I’m going to walk out pending tripartite adjudication by the industrial tribunal!”

So I ended in fiasco my maiden essay into ‘chai’ ceremony, Indian style.