people I work with: part two

Name of the dude I worked with: Zaki Ansari
Profession: Scientist-In-Waiting, Journalist, Jazz enthusiast, Internet enthusiast, Vodka enthusiast, generally very enthusiastic.
Appearance: Fairly untidy on weekdays. Untidy on weekends.
Identifying features: Faded blue denim jeans, somewhat large stomach, ever-present stubble, loose-fitting checked shirts (possibly to hide aforementioned stomach).
Likes: Ashok Hegde, well-edited copy, Ashok Hegde editing copy.
Most likely to say: “Do you know that every third potato grown in Andhra Pradesh is larger than every second potato grown in Madhya Pradesh?”, “My 1935 white Fiat is the best car ever made”, “Never mind what the IT guys say, let me explain how this algorithm REALLY works.”
Least likely to say: “I’m too tired to talk right now”, “I’m too tired to eat right now”, “I can either eat or talk at the same time”.

Zaki Ansari has a problem. No, I don’t mean the obvious ones -- like his car or laptop-toting habit -- that most people who know him complain about. It’s that problem about information. About how he loves to have so much of it. And how he loves sharing it even more.

It struck me the first time we met. “I’m L.,” I said, as most people do on first meetings. Short, and to the point. “I’m Zaki,” he replied, in what I thought was a short, reciprocal introduction. But he had just paused for breath. “What have you been up to? Are you Internet–savvy? If you’re not, don’t worry; you’ll learn. What sites do you like? Do you have a nose for news? Do you know what the biggest problem faced by the media today is? Have you seen the film, ‘Return of the Jedi’? No, it has nothing to do with the problem faced by the media, but I was curious. Have you?”

That was four years ago. I have yet to recover.

To say that Zaki likes to talk would be a gross understatement. To say he stops talking every once in a while would be an outright lie.

Yes, my account is somewhat exaggerated, but not very highly. When he’s not talking, Zaki does other strange things. Like the time a journalist at his office asked a couple of her friends to drop by. As he happened to be her boss, the friends were duly introduced to Mr Ansari. This is what happened. I quote: “He decided to offer them some sweets. There were three of them, and he had a bag full. So, he spread them out on a table and began dividing them into equal shares. Now, my friends meet me only outside the office.”

See what I mean about other problems?

There’s more. Most people who have worked closely with Zaki will, if they jog their memory a bit, recall the words ‘petri dish’ popping up at some time or another. It may happen while he’s discussing the pros and cons of nanotechnology; or the obvious advantages of human cloning; or similarities between Harry Potter and his creator, J K Rowling. “Just take a Petri dish…” is how these infamous lectures begin. Few have stayed to find out what happens after one takes the dish.

One last mention goes to jazz and jazz musicians. If you want Zaki to like you, my advice is, talk jazz. He will then entice you into long conversations about his favourites, discuss the subtle nuances that differentiate Joe Zawinul’s playing from Wayne Shorter’s on the Weather Report albums, and recount his many mystic experiences with Charles Mingus.

But I’m being mean. There’s a lot more to Zaki than the ability to mouth off a couple of thousand words per minute. Like his consistent generosity. I have yet to see him refuse someone a lift. 6 am, 7 pm, 10 pm, 2 am – anywhere, anytime. Ask Zaki nicely, and he’ll be there. What I also admire him for is the relationship he shares with his wife, Sharmila. They have known each other for 24 years (as the two of them tell me and other friends and relatives often), but still manage to annoy and please each other regularly, like a couple of schoolchildren. If Zaki insists on being petulant, Sharmila introduces a slight edge into her tone. If Sharmila suddenly feels the urge for potato chips, Zaki switches off his laptop (yes, he does switch it off every once in a while, just to surprise the neighbours) and rushes to the kitchen.

The two of them will sit in a room for hours; he discussing the life and times of Charlie Parker; she, telling him to keep quiet while she reads her notes. Then, every once in a while, she will reach out and pat his head, while he tries hard to cover his embarrassment. At times like these, I am compelled to admit there aren’t too many things better than a successful marriage.

Finally, I can say without hesitation that Zaki is among the most patient men I have ever known. I can say this without hesitation because he has yet to lose his temper with me – an incredible achievement, if you ask my mother. I have harassed him online, danced around him offline, sung horrid songs to him over the telephone, shrieked like a banshee while he has been working on something important and, generally, tried my best to be a perfect nuisance. He has responded by inviting me home to dinner, plying me with vodka, and playing me some of his favourite CDs.

There are a lot of people who really like Zaki Ansari a lot. Including me. After all, hey, I’ve got problems too.