Office Office

I wake up one n a half hour earlier than the scheduled time to reach my destination. And the first thing I do, is not to use Jane... but to put on an episode or two, to which am gonna get ready to. Earlier, I used to have my companion, my sister who would dance before she'd leave for work.

Now that am alone, it’s all television.

As I look outside the window of my car, I find the glorious building standing tall, newly shined by workers who use a swing to make all fourteen floors of its body-Pretty and Shiny, home to many people's happiness.

Beneath its beautiful exterior, hiding the traits of a lying, manipulative, sick boyfriend.

I remember the day the first time I saw it, fresh out college and a relationship. And it turned my stomach.

Walking up the stairs, I get glances, which tell me, "oh look at this young one stepping outta a chauffeur driven car." Also lecherous glances of business “executives" who look at me trying to bend a little to see under my top or beneath my skirt.

The glances they get back are not kind.

Taannnnnnnnnnnngggggggggg.... You enter the building after an X ray scan of all your belongings. Right, like anyone would want to do anything to this building.

Ahhhh, the rusty metal doors of the lift which happen to have their victims marked out for the day. Well, Videocon Towers has got scores of people, rushing in and out of the building but the lifts always manage to stir them out of their reverie.

And so I enter, not fearing its metal clasps on my hard earned clothes and wait for number 4.

Ms. Kone, the electronic voice of the most annoying ever, will not leave a moment to make her presence felt. And so she echoes through the 3 and half inches of confined space saying-" Please allow the door to close.”

And if that wasn't enough, she goes further-" This lift is from Kone". Okay biatch. This is your turf. Your space.

I don't have one.

Our office doesn't have a concept of doors or cubicles or even assigned terminals. Anybody can steal your lip balm, kajal, water,your favorite pen.... Or the terminal you were working on till you looked away.

Right. And with me, enter caked girls smelling of perfume and nicotine. Carrying caffeine in their hands, I figure they are the ones who woke up today at 3 am to be in office, look pretty, not let their curls out of place and deliver an audience, the morning bulletin.

A fake smile here, an acknowledgment there and when Ms. Kone has told us to allow the doors to close a third time, Mr. bald spot with the sickest dressing sense comes and stands next to me.

I try and touch the close button but too late, his two heavy thighs have made their way into the lift.

Great, nobody can catch him. Not God. Not his mother. Or his girlfriend. No, he doesn't have one.

Not even Ms. Kone.
Come on girl, be pink, be a girl.
It's us versus them.

As he seems to think of the lift as his second home, he exchanges pleasantries and niceties as if we are all at his place. Obviously, this is it. This is what got him his post. Sucking up and sucking hard. He was good at playing with words. I should know that. One should see his artful tactics that govern work.

Man, run for some shelter.

As am quite tall, I can’t hide behind any of the foul smelling ICICI “executives", an option for some of my friends. Great. So I show some attitude by checking myself in the mirror and pick number 7 as my destination while he addresses someone else.

You see its not so much about work or the lack of it, but the desire to pass him a smile, the guy who is responsible for ruining so many of my evenings just doesn't seem to be strong. Don't you want an appraisal, I ask myself. Not like this, says the honest, hard working angel in my head who believes in Karma. You’ll get your bit.

No you won't, says the practical one...Its all about niceties and PR. You better suck it up, put your chest out, fling your hair, and all of those 32.

I notice my hair looks nice. Unfortunately, in a fraction of nano second, he catches my eye.

Uh-oh! The narcissist in me has cost me this. This is why God told us to never be taken up by our appearances, they only do your harm.But I am not even good looking, says the angel.

Here we go.

“Hi -----, how are you doing?"

So what’s its gonna be? Be humble or just a mumble? Before my head gives me answer, I flash my 32 teeth smile, wishing him a good morning and a terrible life.

No, that’s not enough. He prods me further."

So what’s plans for today? I hope you have some good ideas for today's show, we really should see some good numbers."

Ya we do, or your tushy, which beats Bangladesh, will be set on fire.

Before I could reply, he steps out of the lift. Well, if you didn't want an answer, then why ask a question? I hope the juice he has in his hand, spills on his crotch and looks like he just wet himself. No.Too mild.

I hope the juice he just gulped is expired and it gives him the loosies. No, I want....

Woah...There he was, trapped in the arms of my gal pal, struggling to get his 2 rupee coat made of metal out of Ms Kone's hand. So much so, that he dropped his drink, skids on it and falls on the slippery in- betweens.

Burning bra's together in the sixties finally pays off in technorama with an electronic whiff of a woman trapped inside a speaker.

She had watched me worked nights, days and evenings with hundreds of others whom he never thanked once. She heard my constant bitching, not without reason, and she had heard a hundred others.

All this while, Ms. Kone has been watching. And unpredictably, she chose the harshest way to put him down.

And make my knees go weak with glee.

When bad boys need to be spanked, all the bad girls come out to clap their hands together.