Joined: 01 October 2013
Joined: 25 April 2014
(6) Amitabh Bachchan clowns
"I think I caught a stomach bug" I said pressing the side of my stomach for the fourth day in a row. It's been a week since I started working in Whiteworm. And true to its name, the company had become the biggest Whiteworm I came to detest.
I don't exactly know what had put me off of the company so much. It might be early working blues or something like that. Because, frankly the company is the most favourite darling the employees adore. It is a sex bomb, every man lusts upon.
Okay, the number of chicklits I was reading these days, in order to curb my boredom seem to be rubbing on my style of expression. Whatever.
As I was saying, the company was the oldest and the market leader in producing Washing machines. Its innovation had earned it a lot of respect and brand value, while its high pay and flat structure made employees a bunch of happy goose.
During the training classes with Joseph, where he spoke about the company more, and our project less, I figured out the reason why almost all of the employees had at least a decade of experience in the same company, and that the turn out rate of the company is less. It's because of the high salaries, and flat structure.
Suppose if you got an idea, and want to go forward with it, you could get an appointment with the CEO, or vice president or anyone you want to, and if you could be able to execute it yourself if you get a go ahead, no matter your stature.
This was what had got our manager Mr. Sharma from a normal sales guy a decade before to his present position.
"Stomach bug, again?" asked the concerned momma of mine, while the monster brother of mine, hairy harry sucked the last drop of his Frooti and studied me critically.
"You caught a Whiteworm bug" he said grinning at me, making a gesture of moving worm by crooking his finger and releasing it slowly in air, making me scrunch my nose and gag.
"Shut up Harry" It was my mom who reprimanded him, for which he just shrugged and sat down for his Tom and Jerry.
That idiot brother of mine has his summer break, so he's happily munching on mom's world best bread pakoras and watching TV, while I on the other hand had to get dressed up in skimpy formals and go to office.
Talk about sibling rivalry, why can't I harbour jealousy for my sibling now, after all the fellow didn't take bath for two days, as he says he declared holidays for bathing as well.
I so want to be nineteen again.
"Take a day off" my worried momma pressed a concerned hand on my cheek making me sit on the couch.
Harry extended his hairy legs on the teapoy, balancing the plate of bread pakora on his tummy as he switched the channel to pogo. Seriously, is the guy nineteen or nine, I wonder at times. He's obsessed with chota beam and ben10, I swear.
"Mom I was wondering" Harry spoke with a mouthful of Pakora, "Why does your darling daughter has this morning sickness almost everyday? Should I be concerned?"
A whack of pillow hit him, making him yelp as I stomped out of the room yelling curses at the horrible stupid brother of mine, and telling mom for the millionth time why had she not left him in some exhibition when he was a child.
"I'm going to office" I announce, as I mutter to myself. "Tolerating that circus is much much better than tolerating hairy Harry"
I take back my words, I thought gloomily as I sat in my cubicle, bored out of wits. Tolerating the circus isn't that better after all.
Three days back when my manager called me in for project discussion, I was so overjoyed for being able to work, finally.
As a child I always wondered what adults do going to work every bloody day. We have exams, and syllabus and all that bullshit so we got to go to school, but what about office and work, does they have a cut out syllabus too? It was the biggest mystery to me. At least they don't have teachers at their back, I used to think back then.
Adults, independence, and all that interested me. And we get paid too. How cool is that.
So when I got the opportunity to finally start my project, I was so overjoyed that I could've done a little twirl if only Kavitha wasn't there beside me. And the project we got, joy of joys was pretty interesting.
It's cross-selling of Whiteworm's ACs to existing customers. All we need to do is train the service technicians of Whiteworm's washing machines, and all other home appliances existing service franchises, ask them to cross sell to their clients. Simple.
Only problem was that there's nothing new in the job after three days. Cradling the receiver in the crook of my neck, between my shoulder and head, I was waiting for the other guy to pick up the phone, when I heard someone clear throat and I moved my chair to make space for the new arrival. Kavitha.
As I dial the number again, I feel an urge to roll my eyes at the cheesy dialogue that is the caller tune of the person I was calling.
"Listen to this" I extend the receiver to my right, to Kavitha in a well-rehearsed act.
Since we had to make work related calls, we came across many a strange caller tunes of people ranging from ridiculous to melodramatic, and we made it a point to make the other person listen to it, and roll our eyes. It's one of the things we started to bond on - me and Kavitha.
"Vijay Dinanath Chauhan," I mimicked in a deep rumble making my best efforts to imitate Amitabh Bachchan "Poora Naam. Baap Ka Naam Dinanath Chauhan, Maa Ka Naam Suhasini Chauhan. Gaon Mandwa. Umar 36 Saal, 9 Mahina, 8 Din aur Yeh Solva Ghanta Chaalu Hai" I repeated with my hand still extended, cradling the receiver at Kavita's ear, and rolled my eyes.
"Aye" I added in a typical Amitabh Bachchan's style and turned my full grin to Kavitha.
Only that it wasn't Kavitha sitting next to my chair, watching my solo performance. It was that stubble dude, watching me curiously.
He raised his one hand in a mock adab and mouthed wah-wah, and I seriously wanted to die. Right here, right now.
"Aharya" someone called and he raised his head to watch a finance guy pass our cubicle, who was calling out to him. "Meeting" the finance guy mouthed and the stubble dude grinned.
"In a moment" he said as he got up dutifully while I was chanting London bridge is falling down, with utmost concentration, my eyes on my shoes, my ears turning red by each passing second.
I let out my long held breath when I hear the sound of his shoes die down.
Why oh why should I find myself in sticky situations, with him, I thought miserably. Who the hell is this man?
I rub my forehead and with a sigh, I look up, expecting him to have left by now, only to find him stop at the threshold of the cabin and grin at me.
"Rishtey mein to hum tumhare colleague lagte hain, Naam hai Saran Aharya"
With that said, he walked away whistling a tune from Shahenshah movie, making me stare at his back with my jaw dropped.
Is he psychic or what?
Joined: 01 October 2013
Joined: 01 October 2013
Joined: 25 April 2014
Joined: 16 May 2014
Joined: 25 April 2014
(7) Twisted fate
Wringing the sling bag of mine, I tap my feet waiting for a taxi.
Once upon a time, I loved Mumbai. But those were the days I have seen only one part of the city - the shimmering and attractive part, the luxurious and lethargic part. Though it is a city of contrasts, I have had only passing glimpse but never an inside view of what it looked like. Except now.
As a part of my job, I had to visit all the franchises of Whiteworm across the city to meet and train the service technicians, and so here I go walking through the polluted roads, and going to the places I have never been to, and right now waiting at the main road near Crawford Market.
I tip my face up to find the sun shining brightly in the sky. A vehicle passed me, leaving a trail of smoke behind it making me throw a coughing fit. Stares follow me, someone bump into me and by the jeer I was not anymore sure it was by accident.
I cover my nose at the car that just left a trail of dark smoke behind. I feel revulsion as I see the open drainage, but as I cross the frail old man with gnarled fingers, a crumpled piece of cloth barely covering his essentials, his hair grey and dusty, his bony legs sprawled across the road, walking on his hands and touching my feet and raising his hand for alms, I take a startled step back, with tears suddenly springing my eyes.
I take a startled step, forgetting that I'm at the threshold of a main road with vehicles zooming past me. One wrong step, and I hear a horn and close my eyes with my hands crouching back in fear, as I see a bike zooming towards me.
I open my eyes as I blink back the sunlight hitting against my eyes and see metal close to my eyes, so close.
The silver of Royal Enfield shines in the summer sun, as the dust that formed a mist around me slowly drowns down showing me a human figure sitting on the bike that was a hairbreadth away from me from knocking me off the ground.
The biker removes his helmet and as I take a nervous step back, I see him ruffle his jet black hair until it fell on his forehead in a boyish mess.
Before me I see my colleague Saran Aharya on his bike, his one hand loosely perched on his helmet that was placed on the bike, looking at me curiously.
"Hey there again, nice act you had put up there" he grins at me, and I blink my eyes taking a moment to understand the jab.
The rapid blinking of my eyes causes the stubborn little tears that stopped at the threshold of my eyes to roll down.
If anyone asked me when I was scandalized in my life, I'll point back to this historic moment.
I wasn't crying, believe me I wasn't. The startled mist I had in my eyes rolled down at the most inappropriate moment and I saw his features resemble something akin to surprise.
I adjust my bag, and sprint towards the nearest lane I found, jostling through the crowds. No way, no way in hell am I going to stand there and let the embarrassment multiply.
I'll just go back to the office before he does, and pretend that I never happened to see him.
I told this myself over and over again as I pass the thick crowd, and trying to dodge few enthusiastic sellers of the street shopping centre I just entered.
"Ma'm do you want Nada?" a young chap asks, pushing a roll of white drawstrings which are used to tie the bottoms of Salwar Kameez to my face.
Does he think I'm in the mood of some Nada shopping?
"No, thank you" I say dodging the slim youth, and increase my pace. I spot something by the roadside after a few minutes, and release a whoosh of breath.
The road side vendor with a colourful bunch of caps perched before him seemed like a God in disguise to my eyes.
I make my way towards the roadside vendor and pick up a cap, and pull it down such that I could see only things in one feet distance. Half of my face remains concealed and I sigh in relief, and push some notes from my purse to pay the guy, when I hear someone tap on my shoulder.
"I am not interested in buying your freaking Nadas" I hiss over my shoulder only to find someone whisper into my ears.
"If only I knew the route to a women's heart is through her nada"
Startled out of wits, I turn only to stare at the grinning face of the man I so didn't want to see right now.
I craned my neck to see his face, since my cap was blinding me to the world, being pulled down over my eyes.
I see him laugh softly before removing my cap, and choose another one from the lot and adjust it on the top of my head with diligence, before stepping back and nodding critically.
"Now, no one would ever know that it isn't Nike" he grinned at me as he faced the shopkeeper, pushing some notes in his palm, and next thing I knew I was being casually dragged away by him, his hand circled around the long handle of my ethnic handbag I wear criss-cross over my body.
"Wait, why did you pay - and hey stop, stop, you" what do you think you're doing"
"Taking an irresponsible employee who's street shopping at office hours to the place she belong to: Office"
I stopped indignant, and he stopped too, and turned to face me, with curiosity.
"That I'm" he said covering the distance between us, peering at me with a hint of a smile making me take a step back unconsciously.
"See"" I start again, only to be cut off.
"Can we chit chat on our way back please?" he said and before I could reply, he caught my hand dodging through the crowds, and dragging me behind him.
"You see I don't want my bike to be picked, and the probability of that happening multiplies with the time we spend here chit-chatting" he said until we finally reached the end of the street and made our way towards the monster looking bike of his.
I hear him release a nervous breath finding his partner in the same place parked, before he swung his leg over it and told me casually, "Get on"
"Excuse me" I say bemused.
"Excused, now only if you get on it quickly, you'd have helped me keep this bike" he said thumbing over his shoulder showing the "No parking" sign. Then he pointed towards the traffic police who's making way towards us.
"Quick Miss. Isha Mehra" he said, and I did what a person under stressed circumstances would do, without thinking. I got onto his bike, and the last thing I remembered was him saying "Hold tight Miss. Isha Mehra, lest you fall down" before revving the engine and racing through the roads, making me lose my balance and almost fall on him, only stopped by my hand that is pressed against his shoulder to stop me from knocking him down.
I think I had seen a hint of a smile on his profile, but it might as well be a fruit of my overworking brain, or is it not?
Joined: 25 April 2014
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