Gulmohar

I trample the freshly fallen Gulmohar flowers as I drive in the somewhat cramped six-lane to the office. I don’t like doing that, but have not much of a choice either, squeezing through the little and big vehicles. And it screws up the drive such that even the good fifteen kilometres seem never-ending. How long? I’m almost there. I hate going to work when the entire world is returning home. Why have I always been in the wrongest lane ever since I was born?
He liked Gulmohar flowers; I likened him to Gulmohar flowers. And then, one day, autumn struck.
The office looks like a disaster zone today. The servers are down; the newsroom is entirely screwed up. And so is the desk. And we are happy at a chance to gossip around over cups of tea. (Silly humans) Hot lemon tea is the flavour. Who’d work now? It’s started raining too!
It rained so hard the other day that my heart broke. Did I ever tell you how much I liked the rains? And the smell of the rains… ah! I remember the way smells drove you crazy. Your ex had bought you a deo, you’d told me once. It was nice; I’m sure she wasn’t.
Back to work, everyone! Gazing at the dumb computer so that everyone can read the news tomorrow. Straining my eyes so hard I’d stop reading someday. They bloody spoil our evenings, and the rainy days. Sundays aren’t spared either. Why, the universal holiday is reserved for a special few. I never knew I’d become so indispensable to a newspaper that an edition would conk off if I didn’t work.
As if it would.
I still wonder where did he vanish. We’d met that day… he was staying at a guesthouse, courtesy some uncle of his. He came to see me off downstairs. I drove off watching him in the rear-view. That was the last time I saw him. Heard his voice after that, couple of times, yes. We kept drifting apart, and I called it off. So, why is he coming back now? I wasn’t so much bothered about him then as his dreams bother me now.
Darn! I’ll throw off this computer someday. It dumbly follows instructions or not at all. Never seen such an asinine thing in my life. How can I concentrate on work? DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! And why doesn’t this other guy stop calling me up? I will throw away the cell as well. Shattered to pieces. Let’s see where you grab me then! I’d vanish too. But wait a minute! What if he called? What if he came looking after me? Now? Isn’t two years too much time to forget someone? But I haven’t…



Wedding blues

Somehow, I can’t concentrate on work. Hmm… someone is getting drenched-wed. Darn pre-monsoon showers! I can hear the loudspeakers yelling the songs out. Their food must have been soaked by now. Had I been the bride, I’d have ran away under the cover of the rains… Me, the bride? Seems like a funny thought to me, but they all think I’d soon be one. One of our common friends heard somewhere that I was engaged and called up to ask if I actually were. I lied to him that I wasn’t… what if it was him who was trying to find out? And here, why are they blaring the songs like that? What’s the entire point of getting married? Why not stay single… of course, until Mr. Perfect found me back.
No matter wherever I hide, I’m sure the office would hire some sleuths and be the first to unearth me. They don’t just let me be. And the deadlines! Why fuss about them when they are already dead? Just feel like making wreaths of each page and strangulating whoever comes looking for me. And are these people some former undercover agents? They get to know whenever we don’t feel like working. Why, oh why? I just hope it rains such that they don’t leave this office two days. Let’s see where the news comes from then.
The wedding is on… where is the hurry, man? Why don’t they go home and come back tomorrow when it stops raining? The soaked wouldn’t be as tempting as a Bollywood heroine. Haven’t I heard this song playing there somewhere? Yes… in his car. Ha ha! I’d have rather heard him lip-sync than sing for me, like he tried over the phone the first few times… hollering his lungs out as if he was singing while it was just the car stereo. It was kind of sweet. But when the same song plays here, I don’t quite like it, despite the fact that it reminds me of him. Exactly! Because each thought hurts.
“Every second counts, Malini!!” The refrain for me… I KNOW and I am working!! Mom hasn’t even packed food today… bet your life on it, Malini is dead. “Malini, Malini! Why don’t you cook, for a change?” That was mom this afternoon… and then I fought with her. I already had so much to do. And my ‘special’ assignments… what if I wasn’t being paid for those? “I love to take photographs, mom!” And then I fought with Mr. Venkat in the office. “But I am only five minutes late, why do you have to get freaked out?” And then I fought with Miss Nandana too. She calls herself a friend? Tell me about that… she hangs up on my ‘sob sob stories’. “Your wish, don’t think I have nowhere to go.” Self-explanatory. And then I fought with the guard in the parking lot too. “Reserved parking, yeah? Am I the only one driving the cheapest car? And does that qualify me to be disallowed to park here?!” And all these wedding songs remind me of now is food… Take my word, Malini is dead today.