The Gaurav-Pankaj alter-ego had been joined by golf's own Quisling Nikhil and subsequently the most harmless of the lot, yours truly.
If Argus had eyes all over his body in Greek mythology, Gaurav had hands all over his. It seemed hundreds of spooky fielders were running around to catch a skier with only their raised arms visible to the eyes.
It was somewhere in between unreal and surreal, man!
Pankaj sat in a snug black shirt, modelling his own product, I reckoned. He confided that he has already emotionally blackmailed his toddling daughter and armtwisted the office oddjobber to contribute to his blog. He said he has plans to widen the dragnet, which basically means no one is safe anymore in Delhi.
Nikhil sat across, in a white T-shirt, all along trying to convince us that the caricature in his chest was MS Dhoni. To our credit, we eventually relented.
Like tradition-bound Bollywood heroes, John's was a delayed entry. But then you have to make concessions for someone who lent his name to John Abraham. Soon the spirit of the other John – Lenon -- possessed him for a while and he hummed a few lines, which unfortunately sunk in the surrounding din before reaching out ears. John dazzled in a shirt with bold stripes, apparently the same ones he has earned as a legal eagle.
In between, John and Pankaj vanished, which I initially mistook for a token walk-out to protest a Bored member’s obsession with mango juice. Later it transpired, they had gone out to get Anbumani Ramadoss’ goat, which was grazing outside.
Gaurav made a highly motivating speech, John provided insightful inputs, Pankaj the technical know-how and Nikhil pledged his absolute loyalty.
And all along, I kept nodding my head till it threatened to come off my shoulder. We finally dispersed just when the meeting threatened to spill over to the next day, thoroughly convinced that cricket's biggest revolution was just one post away.