COUNTLESS must be the number of meetings I have attended in my banking career spanning over three decades. At the end of every meeting, it has been my practice to invariably remove the pencil or ballpoint pen placed before my nameplate on conference tables and put it into my pocket. I did not — and do not — feel guilty about it because I know that it is meant for me. I have my collection of Parkers and Sheaffers, Crosses and Watermans, DuPonts and Mont Blanc Meisterstucks, oodles of them, but when I see a pencil or a pen, I must have it. I do not know if you will brand me a kleptomaniac, but I confess: one thing that I cannot stop myself from is acquiring pencils and pens.
I am not smitten by the pangs of conscience after checking out of a hotel room when I recall that I could not resist the temptation to ‘steal’ the pencil or the pen they keep next to the scribbling pads on the bedside table, the writing table and the toilet. (Why one in the smallest room, I have always wondered. Maybe the brightest of ideas spring forth in the loo, as good old Archimedes demonstrated in the third century BC.) Coming to think of it, it is not just the pen and the pencil that catch my fancy. I like those scribbling pads too. In the scribbling pad which doubles as my organiser, I jot down ideas or thoughts. I always have a scribbling pad nearby, to note down phone numbers or messages, or a list of things to do the next day. This pad is where I arrange my daily life.
I am not partial to these items: I love the entire range of hotel stationery – letterhead and envelopes. I like to impress my mother by sending a letter in the thick manila envelope containing a missive written on the letterhead of a five star luxury hotel.
How can I forget toiletry — shampoo and hair conditioner, moisturiser and talcum powder, soap and disposable razor. I do not lay my hands, however, on napkins, bath towels or bathrobes. Some hotels pin a notice on the bathrobe exhorting the guest to contact the front office if he (or she) would like to ‘buy’ the bathrobe.
Ditto in the luxury leather folio in which the letterhead and envelopes are placed. Clever guys, aren’t they? As long as they do not attach such labels on stationery and toiletries, my inner voice won’t hold me back.
I know some who are not deterred by such notices. I have seen huge white towels bearing the logo of the iconic Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai put out to dry on the clothesline of a neighbour. A pal of mine could arguably claim the dubious distinction of having filched at an altitude of 3,000 metres and a speed of 800 kmph. He is a frequent flyer and has memorabilia from the Lufthansa, Cathay Pacific and Quantas.
Whenever another friend of mine used to dine in a restaurant, a fine piece of cutlery would slide into his socks.
Exquisite pieces from the Waldorf Astoria, Raffles and Mandarin Oriental – you name it, he has it. When I met him last, I enquired how big his collection had grown to. He said he does not do it any more, after he was told by a steward that the bearer has to meet the cost of the cutlery that the guests help themselves to. As I conclude this piece using the stub of a pencil, I make a mental note to pick up a pencil from the hotel during my next visit to Mumbai.
Mail contributions to: timeout@epmltd.com