Watercooler Tidbits 4th Oct 2011

Continuing from where I left, yesterday; I mean, the writing, not the contemplation. The latter sticks and grows on me now, bound to me, becoming a "hobby" I indulge in. I don't mean analysis. I mean looking and observing the ways in which I behave.

Just to be entertained for some time, I walked to the water-cooler today. Refilling my bottle was the pretext, of course. There was a group of newly joined employees; we like to them "Freshers". The talks bubbled with energy. They discussed about Pune dust and traffic, the evening hang-out and then the appraisal cycles and their managers. Some had a very chirpy way of addressing their "problems" as they call them. While other, chose to literally, drag every word they pronounced and made the issue sound like the most melodramatic epilogues to a Shakespearean poems. To each his own. I respect that. But I kept wondering about the variety of ways we approach a situation. We give so much of importance to a "promotion" or "appraisal" which means, almost nothing, outside the perimeter of the bureau. The sentence, I just formulated, made me laugh, on reading it.

Well, the water-cooler for me, right now is one of the best places to be. I get to see the behaviours that other have, in me. I literally identify myself. Sometimes, judging and other times, criticizing. The former stands like an undying love while the latter is like the joker that makes me laugh.

Today's highlights weren't the Freshers. They were actually, a couple of experience folks, discussing their chances, for an onsite. Well, the onsite, for most of us, is a big door of opportunities which we try to cash every single bit. And, every person has his or her own reasons for an onsite. All well-justified reasons.

The protocol is not to reveal names. So, Guy1 (less experienced), Guy2 ("been there, done that") and Guy3 (“Onsite, not again!”) are my best picks.

Guy1 - "I think I will tell my manager to initiate my visa. I need to travel."

Guy2 - "That's good. You should. I remember my days of struggle."

Guy1 - "Oh! Then you could help me with a few suggestions."

Guy2's accent had not changed. From Hindi, he switched to English. He pulled and stretched every word, rolling the "R"s and using more of "Well, you know..."

Guy2 - "It's all about "selling" yourself."

Guy1 - "What??? How do I..."

Guy2 puts out a "been there, done that" huff and puff.

Guy2 - "Dude! I don't mean that. We are all in a corporate world. We deal with all these big people and we need to make our presence felt. Else they will not consider you. You need to let them know what you have. Tell your manager that my aspirations are ... Use catchy words like "long term plan", "career roadmap", "resource re-vamp", "insurgence of new technology in the market", "client satisfaction", "customer handling" etc." blah blah blah

Guy1 - "Dude, you rock! Boy! I'm so glad I spoke to you."

Accent engraved in every single consonant and vowel this time.

Guy2 - "Sure man! You'll do it. Barge into the cabin confidently and grab what belongs to you."

Guy1 - "How is it at onsite?"

Guy2 - "Boy! It is amazing. We do like real fun things. And I mean, REAL FUN THINGS. I stayed there for like, good 6 months and understood the "client expectations" and got a "good opportunity to polish my managerial skills". It felt after all, I had reached a place, I belonged to."

Guy1 receives a call and excuses himself. Enter, Guy3.

Guy2 - "Hey Guy3, wasssssup man?

Guy3 - "Dude! I think I may have to travel again for a few days. They have a resource crunch out there. Damn it! Hey you wanna give it a shot? Again?"

Guy2 - "Naah! Six months were good for me, with all that work pressure and those ranting folks. May be after a year."

Guy1 returns.

Guy1 - "Hey Guy2, can we continue from where we left?"

Guy2 - "Sure man!"

Sadly for me, I was caught red-handed listening to the interesting conversation, because I foolishly laughed.

I have a few sincere friends, fortunately for me, who have shown the real picture of the coveted onsite. I want it, but I am not sure if I am ready for the entire package. Yet.

And hey, dear Managers, if you are reading this, I am kind of open to all those jargons mentioned above. Really!

TO BE CONTINUED

Watercooler Tidbits 3rd Oct 2011

"Man is a social animal" is what I have been taught since the time, I don't remember anymore. So what exactly does this statement mean. What I understand from this is that, one, Man is after all, an animal, thus savage and two, he "needs" a society with certain dogmas to lead a "normal" life. "Need" and "normal" are so relative but I don't intend to delve into those perspectives.

So, we agree, that Man is an animal and he's social. Somehow the "animal" part got me thinking more. I take a tangent now, knowingly. I think men are categorized as animals because there is some part within us which is never at peace. Obvious questions, not at peace with what, which part, why, how. Not at peace with the present state of affairs. Which part? I personally believe it's the mind but somewhere that answer does not satiate. Well, I see how I just embodied "not at peace with the present state of affairs". How, is a million dollar question which I can't answer. Why, because the mind, by our present reality, is so well trained to look into the future that the future always looks better and more promising than the present.

Anyways, a deeper thought into the discontentment, previously discussed, somehow made me think about the behaviour patterns we endorse now. Our inferiority complex, our insecurities, our jealousy! These are the outcomes of "something", "which WE THINK, we lack". The "something" which is the causal, is a Pandora's box. It is worth every nano-second to explore it, but it requires one to just "be", that is to say, it requires contemplation; which I think is the most difficult task, for me, as of now, because I prefer "the jazz" to "the silence".

Furthermore, these thoughts, very well, propel our body to have disorders, in ways, we may not like to look at. For example, eating, sleeping disorders. Well, gossip is also a disorder. How? We feed an "empty bowl" (which only FEELS empty) with the tidbits. At this point of time, I have a million questions to ask. Why, how, when. Although I just know the answers, and have not "felt" them, I shall not "papa preach".

So, gossip stays for now, as the best, cheapest form of entertainment for most of us. May be because an old adage brainwashed us to believe that "knowledge is power". If you are working for a modularised bureau, then canteen, the next cubicle or the water-cooler are the best places you would find a cue to pacify that sudden rush of "knowing" which is also called "vampire-feeding" or better yet, gossiping, for us, laymen.

A few days back, I went to the water-cooler bay, which has huge windows, in our office, to bask in a bit of sunlight, since I felt too cold because of the air-coolers. It was nice and silent. I could hear only the sound of the water-drops from the water-cooler. I stood at the window, which was tinted and showed my reflection in a bluish hue. Suddenly, two women rush there and seat themselves on the bean bags. To maintain anonymity “to respect the privacy”, let’s call them Lady1 and Lady2. The ladies begin their talk with a few giggles. They were married, I assumed, from their discussion on husbands to cooking in the morning. After a hush-hush talk on "something", they talk about their mother-in-laws.

Lady1 - "My mother-in-law is an amazing woman. She did... for us, she maintains a decorum at home. My father-in-law consults my mother-in-law on almost all matters."

Lady2 - "My mother-in-law is the most jovial lady you'll find. She cracks jokes at the drop of a hat. We are so happy when our mother-in-law is here."

Lady1 - "That is amazing. How come she is so humorous? She must have had a great life."

Lady2 - "Oh yes, she laughs at anything and everything, anyone and everyone. She is such a happy person."

Lady1 - "Wow! So when is she going to come next, to see you?"

Lady2 - "Well, that's the thing. She is coming next week" {with a grimace}

Lady1 - "So? Aren't you happy?"

Lady2 - "I am. But you know it is kind of tough for me to handle her sometimes. She instructs me to do everything her way."

Lady1 - "Oh yeah! I know what you mean."

Lady2 - "No you don't. She gets irritating and then I have a string of fights with my husband. Why can't she let me just be? Why does she have to laugh at me? Every time!"

Lady1 - "But isn't that good... she is humorous, right?"

Lady2 - "Oh come on, is that really humour, when I am asked as to why my husband should heat the milk in the morning while I get the clothes ready."

Lady1 – “My mother-in-law is the same. She cribs about almost everything about me. Including the food I eat.”

Lady2 – “Hell! One shouldn’t marry!”

Lady1 – “Yes, but you know we HAVE TO.”

Lady2 – “I know...”

Blah, blah, blah...

Marriage is a big, big question. To add to the “solved-mystery”, how difficult it is to accept a whole bunch of new relations though marriage, for both men and women. And tolerate or rather succumb to the “get-togethers”. Then, this had me wondering if I can genuinely, ever appreciate anyone. If I do, do I criticize them, after a while.

To be continued...

The story of the Red Nail Paint

The place I was born was as unknown then
As it is now to me,
You ask "So why do you decide to pen"
"If you don't know this, silly ?"
But what would I do if my mommy,
Herself had no clue.
She left me in this place named Tommy,
Hilfiger known by few!


Picked, dumped, dazzled, hassled,
Every time, opened eyes to see myself shackled
Sometimes saw no light for days,
Does the Sun really have rays?


By big glassy windows was I kept,
Laying there like a vegetable inept.
Ladies, young and clad-young, walked by,
And I kept wondering why that "Sigh".


Some thither and gave me a look, so close
At times was conscious and other times got a marijuana dose!
The good days were not to be forever, I learnt,
The separation from the counter girl, my heart burnt.


Again packed, wrapped, thrown and sacked,
Drifted in a gush, so strong, compassion lacked.
The new place had no window, no velvet to lay,
A box so cold and plastic, that I even heard a donkey bray!


As days passed, I got sure, I was here now for eternity,
Like others in the box, old, brazened, of my fraternity.


And then one day they hopped along,
Just chirpy and bubbly, like a Scottish song.
They picked me over the others and saw how I performed,
"Oh take me home, please take me now, I am perfect, not deformed."


Prayers heard at last, I was somewhere I could call home,
She was lanky, tardy and sometimes even wore dresses Chrome!
Nevertheless, I was her first and I loved it that way,
Clueless! She gave me looks but had nothing to say.


The gong had struck and she picked me to play with,
I would finally know who I am, surrendering to no myth.
When on her nails finally, my past didn't matter,
Now sunken in my truth, no change of seasons, me deter.

"What is it?"

What does one do when all of it seems fake,
No wine, no cheese will help, nor cake.
A thunderous silence within feels so real,
People around look cool, say "No big deal!"

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.


The big, "real", unjust world around I see,
While one suffers in hunger, the other's on a shopping spree.
Where one endures the scorching heat, the other is basking for a tan,
One making dough by a flinch, the other only thinks of a "surviving" plan.

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

Why is the agony not affecting me enough,
Am I bad, cruel, evil and innately rough?
What is it that I am missing here, are they like "keys",
At least tell me "You can find it!", it'll bring within peace.

But no! You don't do that, I ask, "WHO YOU ARE that I speak to"
"What is it that you understand? English, Spanish or Hebrew?"
Still no reply, I am tired of finding where this is leading
I'm questioning, listening, thinking and heeding

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

The REFLECTION says,
"Look within and you will see"
"Why don't you ask, "Who is this "Me"?"
"What you see outside is all you have inside"
"It's high time! Sneak no more, don't hide"

I say,
"I don't like this answer, I am telling you now"
"I am used to logic and only to God, I bow?"
Ah! I see this bias, I accepted, since the first day,
When I "want" soemthing I go "outside" and pray?

And yet, the question lingers,

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

Marked "Sold"

From cradle to coffin, as I was told,
Life meant “surviving” till one is old.
Learning and struggling is the path to gold,
Like one had a price tag and marked “Sold”.


The basics of life were defined as food, clothing, shelter,
“Achieve this!” even if the mind goes helter-skelter.
And when one has “achieved”, it still doesn’t stop there
The competition engulfs all, even if one says “I don’t care!”


Then there is “someone” who preaches the “path to life”
“You can’t question Him; you can’t have a mental strife!”
“Money is no good, looks don’t matter; competing is bad”
“Give it all to Him, even if that makes you sad.”


One tries to make happy this end and that end,
One cheats, “survives” and lets his integrity bend.
Day by day killing the INNATE BEING within,
Just to satisfy someone “who is recording a sin”.


Then one fine morning, nothing makes sense
One looks deeper to see emptiness intense.
The powers that be deem one unsocial and unfit
One has to prove his “character” with an affidavit?


One wonders “I followed all the rules and did as “they” said”
“Why am I questioned if I take an off and once decide to be on bed”
“I “survived”; I struggled; I played blindfolded as I was told”
{The reply}
“Well, YOU didn’t question then and hence marked “Sold””

The wait for the end… Part 10

It is said that Time waits for no man. Yet, there are instances where people have said “Time just stopped right there, for me!” Time is one concept, so incomprehensible; and yet so real. There have been researches done on time; innumerable theses, philosophies, satires and even innuendos written. It has gained the status of the “Fourth dimension”. So to say, no stone has been left unturned to prove its existence. But then, why oh why, does one have to consciously think of it and only then realize its existence.

A 50 year old man never ceases to fall in love with a high power bike or a posh SUV. A woman never, and that means NEVER, feels she has grown old. I wonder how difficult it is for Time, this time personified, to prove himself/ herself again and again. Imagine the effort he/she has to put in! Then, there comes a small child that tries to light a cigarette and pretends to be an adult, and puts all the effort of Time, yet again, in the drains. But the concept is captivating. So much so, that even when Einstein had to explain relativity to the layman, he had to resort to Time as a tool. He said, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity.” Well, physicists have always romanticized Time, time and again.

Put aside all the jazz and the philosophy, what is time meant for a person who is waiting? What is its’ significance to him/ her? Isn’t the concept delusional sometimes? Especially when he does not know what he’s waiting for. And yet, the wait is very persistent and pertinent.

The New Year had just passed by. Neeti didn’t expect his call. He hadn’t called her for her birthday. She returned the favor by not calling him on his. But it wasn’t that easy for her. She had to put in great efforts to control herself; so much so that she had to leave the city and go to some place far away, like a self-imposed vacation.

The first week of January is always, and will always be, full of excitement. The city sparkled with all sorts of decorations. The malls spared nothing to bewitch their scapegoats. Some offices and bureaus unsparingly gave leaves to their employees. The fervor stays till the first weekend and sometimes even beyond among the pompous souls.

Neeti had spent the New Year at the Cowasjee’s. The lady of the house, Mrs. Cowasjee, had prepared a lot of dishes for dinner and Mr. Cowasjee, for a change, contributed by smiling. “It is probably self-abnegation”, she wondered. Neeti thoroughly enjoyed their company. But flashes of old memoirs kept teasing her mind on and off. She showed no signs on her face and when Mr.Cowasjee asked her about her Year’s Resolution, she politely replied, “Uncle this year I’m going to get back all that I lost.” The answer made the old man not blink for 3 complete seconds. The look on his face was then reassuring. He replied nothing and just patted her head.

The seasoned and elderly folks have different ways of doing things. This gesture of his was interpreted in two ways by our heroine. One, she thought may be the pat was like a blessing. Then two, she felt probably the pat was the gentleman’s way of saying “I have seen the world… Been there done that.”

The entire second week was very hectic for Neeti. O’deth wasn’t keeping well and Neeti took care of her. O’deth didn’t have any room-mates and stayed alone. One day, at O’deth’s place, while Neeti was preparing spinach soup, O’deth asked her “Any updates?”
Neeti said, “I have a feeling there is, but in reality, I guess, there isn’t. A baby of my delusions, does that fit in here?”
“And Kashif?” O’deth was careful and almost whispered.
“He calls and I don’t receive.” The answer was meticulously delivered.
“Really? And he is fine with that. I’m surprised you’re still alive!” O’deth laughed at the small joke she tried to make.
“Yeah! Very funny! Come on Ody, he is a bad person… He’s a gangster.”
“No further comments darling! You’re intelligent, eh? And about good or bad, only if one’s profession decided that…”
O’deth then went on in a whisper “I wish you see through the tinted glass…”

The conversation ended but the ends seemed still loose. Neither of the girls were satisfied with the dialogue.

Neeti reached her place by 10.30pm. She threw her stuff on the table and literally pounced on the sofa. Her head was aching and her back hurt badly. Within 3 minutes, her cell phone rang almost startling her to her feet. She saw the screen. “Kashif calling…”
“Hi Kashif!”
“Neeti… aap ne mera call uthaya… Shukriya”
“God! Aap ne kyun call kiya? Aap jaante ho na main nahin aap se baat karna chahti.”
“Neeti mujhe aap se milna hain?”
“Kashif yeh mumkin nahin hain. Sorry”
“Main force nahin karunga par main chahta hun aap milo”
“Force… hahahahaa… yeh tho aap ka favorite shabd hoga, angrezi ka. Aap ka tho kaam bhi wahi hain.”
“Neeti mujhe aap se milna hain.”
Neeti burst out into tears.
“Neeti, kya hua? Batao mujhe. Usne firse takleef di kya?”
“Usne takleef dene ki zarurath tho thi hi nahin na Kashif… Mere tho dost hi kaafi the.”
“Neeti main…”
“Kashif main rakhti hun. Mujhe sone jana hain. Please”

No byes were besought. The line went dead. Neeti rushed to her bedroom and dug her face into the pillow. She cried and cried and eventually slept off.

Around 2.00 pm her cell phone rang again. With eyes still closed, she searched with her hand in various directions to locate the piece of cacophony. By the fourth ring, she received the call and …
“Hi Neeti...” It was Aman and he was almost panting.
“Aman… itni raat ko kyun call kiya? What’s the time?”
“Time… does it matter now!”
Neeti sensed queasiness and sat up on her bed and leaned against the wall.
“Aman, are you drunk?”
“Neeti mera bacha… mera shona. This is my last call baby! If you would ever call again on this number, I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed. This number will no more be mine.”
“Kyun? Are you giving up the worldly pleasures and going to Dharamshala.” She barfed venom.
“No my love. I’m not. I have a request Neeti.”
“Request! Wow! I like the sound of that word. You never do that. What is it, Aman?”
“I want to sing a song for you. One last song. Do you have the patience and the courage to listen to this one last song?”
Now this was too much to handle. Call at 2 am, a request, “last”… she was sure something unusual was happening.

“Aman… why are you saying LAST again and again? What has happened?”
“Nothing my love. Nothing. I just want to sing this song for you. Please.”
“Aman, please, tell me what’s going on?”
Aman replied nothing. Just a sigh, loud enough for the other end to hear.
Ever noticed how people build the edifice of suspense gradually with a large helping of drama.

“Last time you called and said some stuff like this. I didn’t get the head or tail of it. What are you upto? Please tell me. Aman? ”
Aman was crying by now. Neeti listened to him weep patiently and tried to calm him.
“Aman, what’s the problem my love? Tell me. We’ll work it out. We can. You know it. Tell me baby. Please.”
Notice the change in theme. From sarcasm to sincere pleads.
“Neeti its just…”
“What baby? What is it? Are you disturbed? Do you want me to come there? Haan?”
A wallowing sound and then, “Neeti I’m getting married.”
Silence. The sound of someone swallowing hard. The effect of the other panting.
Neeti broke the lull after 10 seconds.
“When?”
“In 8 days.”
Aman was still weeping.
“Aman do you know what you’re saying? Are you saying this to hurt me haan? You’re drunk too.”
“Neeti I don’t have the courage to call and tell you all this, otherwise. I need to drink to call you.”
“Well… why have you called me now? Oh yeah, by the way, congratulations. May God…”
“Neeti I’m sorry. Please. My parents and my grand mom wanted this and I just abided.”
The tone was humble. “Hmmm… Who’s the girl?”
“Haven’t met her. They chose…”
“And you said “Yes”. When did all this happen?”
“I was incapacitated. I had no choice. It happened a few months back.”
“Why are you telling me, though?”
“Neeti I want you to know…”
“Wow! Aman. And here you call me so that you don’t have the guilt anymore about not telling me.” She almost stung back.
“Neeti what guilt? Come on. We had broken up a long time back. Remember?” Aman was defensive now. Neeti noticed the change in his tone. No crying this time.
“Yeah. That is why I waited for you for 2 years. And you knew it Aman. You very well knew it. That is why this call today. Because you are guilty. You are so guilty Aman. You are so ashamed and I hear the contempt.”
“Neeti I couldn’t help it. My grand mom is not well and she wants to see me married. My parents wanted that too. And I had to do things for my family.”
“And you didn’t resist. So you wanted that too.”
“I don’t know.”

Something just died within Neeti. She felt like her body was only a vestige.

“Yes, that’s the classic answer you’ve given me all these months whenever I asked you.”
“See Neeti I want you to be happy. Just be happy okay.”
“Aman do you even know what you’re saying? You goof-up with someone and then make the person wait for you for 2 years and then just marry off…”
“Neeti I didn’t goof up. I told you that I wasn’t prepared.”
“Hmmm and here you are more than prepared. Directly for marriage. Aman I’m sorry, I’m cutting the call now. I wish you all the luck.”
“Neeti, baby please listen to me.”
“There is no point Aman.”
“I still have 8 days. I can do something.”
“Aman when there was time, you didn’t. Now, the milk is spilt. And frankly, I don’t think you have guts anymore. You need to be man enough!”

Neeti cut the line. Aman kept calling her again and again. She realized he was drunk completely. She switched off her phone. But sleep betrayed her. She sat up, wallowing and watching out of her window.

3 am and still Mumbai was awake. Her tears never stopped. All her past came right in from of her. She saw the first time she met Aman. The lunches and dinners they had. The laughs and tears they shared. Everything.

The dawn never happened for Neeti. She was awake and for once, Time made no sense. Break of dawn was just like a God’s way of physics. Her eyes were red and swollen. In that one night, her life had turned topsy-turvy. She lost weight and her face was quick to show the signs.

Even at 7am in the morning, she was at the same window; watching the oblivion. Nothing made sense anymore. The empty feeling that crept in her was here to stay and that she knew.

At 10am she switched on her cell phone. She got a series of message alerts. All were from her boss Sushant, inquiring about her absence in office.

Not a single call, from the person she waited for.

She had a bath and again sat at the same window. This time, no tear flowed. The eyes blinked once in a while, which seemed to be the only sign of life in the puny little body, sitting by the window, watching something or may be nothing, on the busy lanes of Mumbai.

She heard a knock on the door and pretended as if she had not heard it. The knocks turn louder. Gritting her teeth, she unfolded her crossed legs and walked up to the door, took a deep breath and opened it…
“Neeti…”

The woman gave no reaction or response. Her eyes met the eyes of her guest for a split second. She turned back and began walking towards her bed-room. She laid her steps apathetically. Her head tilted to the left.

“Neeti yeh kya ho gaya? Ankhein dekhin apni?” Kashif pushed his way inside her apartment. He noticed her bag lying on the sofa. The windows were open. It was all so not-Neeti.

Neeti shrugged and walked into her bed-room, sat on her ruffled bed and again watched outside the window. Kashif followed her. He was hesitant to enter her room but then realized it wasn’t the time for awkwardness and formalities. Something had gone terribly wrong and he had to know.

He sat next to her and looked at the woman watching outside;no emotion in those pretty but tired eyes.

“Kya hua Neeti? Batao. Bolo bache.”
No answer.
“Kuch nahin bologe tho pata nahin chalega na. Kuch tho batao.” He hesitantly, kept his hand on her shoulder. Neeti pushed his hand off but the human touch, sent a vibe down her body and had her tears flowing again. There was no wallowing or even weeping for that matter. Just gushing tears. Unstoppable. No sobs heard, no eyes blinked.
“Bolo… please”

“Uski shaadi ho rahi hain Kashif.”
“Par woh tho keh raha tha ki…”
“8 din mein… Usne call kiya tha raat ko.”
“Neeti… aap please matt ro… Main use call karta hua… Uska dimag thikane lana padega.”
“Abh kya fayda. Uski marzi bhi tho shamil hain uss mein.”
“Par woh itne mahine aap se… Neeti aapne do saal intezaar kiya. Aise kaise jaane doge aap? Main usse tik karta hun.”
“Nahin.” A deep breath. “Abh bas. Bhagwan ne mera kaafi mazak bana liya. Abh aur nahin yaar. Thak gayi main. Do saalon se apne aap ko roz jhoot bolti thi ki woh aa jayega. Aa jayega. Par abh jo hua hain, acha hi hua. Sach tho saamne aa hi gaya. I at least know what the reality is. Unlike before where I only guessed and wondered and hoped and…”

“Koi aise kaise kar sakta hain yaar? Neeti hum usse call karenge. Woh piya hoga.”
“Nahin. Mujh mein baat karne hi himmath nahin bachi. Isse zyada nahin bardasht kar sakti yaar main. Please.”

Neeti kept talking about random things; her tears never stopped. Kashif listened and kept cursing himself for being so helpless. A few hours later, after making sure that Neeti had her lunch, Kashif left. On his way out, he turned back and said to her,
“Neeti… Irada pakka hain? Call Karen ek baar?”
“Nahi Kashif… pakka” Those eyes spoke copious things and were confident.
“Fir Neeti, shayad abh intezaar khatam hua. ”
Neeti shot him a wide-eyed look. Those words rang.
And after a sigh, she asked, “Sahi mein?”

Kashif looked at her quizzically and in a while, left. He kept wondering about that question Neeti had posed.

7 days passed by. Neeti had made efforts to put things behind. She joined back work. Ramu and O’deth knew, from her of course, about the latest. They tried cheering her up almost every day. Kashif met her almost 3 times in a day and took her out for dinners, whenever she was willing.

That morning, Neeti woke up and the first thought that rushed to her mind was that it was Aman’s wedding day. She decided to show no remorse and fool herself every second of that day.
She took Ramu along to the Marine drive and opened her bag to display cards, dried flowers, burst balloon pieces, gift wrappers. He watched her closely. She placed a paper on the pavement and put on the stuff on it and set the entire collection on fire.

No words exchanged.

They both went then for a coffee.

6 months had passed. The trees had gained new leaves. Café bistros were renovated. The government had changed and newer promises were made. But Mumbai refused to reacted, in any way different than usual. It still continued with the same pace. Not missing a single heart beat.

One day Neeti and Kashif decided to meet up for dinner. A small, yet chic, place in South Mumbai was the venue. Neeti looked, of course, gorgeous.
“Aap ache lag rahe ho” He smiled, warmly.
“Acha” She retorted, a perky tone.

Then there was silence. An uncomfortable one, for Kashif.

A sigh and “Aage kya plan hain?”
Neeti looked at him surprised and burst out laughing.
“Kashif aap tik ho na? Kya puch rahe ho?”

He laughed too in self-pity and spoke no further. The tempo was all right. They left the restaurant with nothing to look back to.

The following day was exptremely hectic for Neeti. Kashif insisted on meeting and they met again. He asked her if she would like to sit by the sea on Marine Drive for some time. And, as expected, she didn’t reject the offer.

They both sat watching the dark sea. Huge waves hit the shore and the breeze jumped around like a peppy child. The peace was broken by the sudden ring from her phone. The number was familiar.
“Hello?”
She heard a a very deep breath followed by “Neeti…”
“Aman…” Kashif watched her face change colours.
“I made a mistake. Honey, my baby. God! I was crazy.”

He kept jabbering.
“Aman, wait! I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“My love I am sorry. I can’t live with her. I want you. Only you.”
Neeti was flabbergasted. “Aman please hang up. I can’t…”
“Neeti I love you gosh!”

Those words killed her. She had waited for two years and they came only after they lost their meaning and essence.

She heard his cries and then finally said, “Sorry Aman. Take care and goodbye.”

She cut the line while he kept pleading her.

She looked at Kashif who seemed satisfied with the current development. They both didn’t discuss it, but smiled at each other, and kept looking at the sea.

“Neeti aap ko yaad hain maine aap se kaha tha ki aap mujhe ache lagte ho?” That was sudden and totally unexpected.
Neeti was a bit alarmed but showed no signs of it. The herald made her prepare mentally.
“Haanji”
“Aur main abhi bhi aap ko bohot zyada pasand karta hun.”
“Okay”
“Neeti… aap samajh nahin rahe ho.”
“Yes.”
He looked the other side, took a deep breath and turned back to look at her. She was still looking at him, waiting.
“Mujhse shaadi karoge?”
She looked into his eyes. “Nahin.” Softly.
“Itni jaldi jawab dene ki zarurath nahin. Thoda waqt lelo.”
She took his hands in hers. “Kashif, aap ko jawab pata tha.”
He looked down. “Haan”
“Fir kyun?”
“Kuch sawaalon ka jawab nahin hain mere paas.” He looked helpless. His eyes could cry, if granted permission.

The rest of the evening was silently spent.

They reached her place and she invited him. He reluctantly came in and sat down on the messy sofa. The hurt was seen all over his sunken face.

She quickly made them both some tea. She broke the calm.
“Sorry Kashif”

They looked at each other. Each wondering about the other's predicament.
“Tik hain. Kuch nahin kar sakte.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hum dost tho rahenge na?” He almost begged.
“Hamesha… Shayad.”
“Yeh kaisa jawab hua.”
She smiled.

Time goes by its’ own wish and will. She understood her wait had ended when Aman called her this time. That she had meant a lot to him. And she knew that this wouldn’t be his last SOS call. Whereas, Kashif knew part of his wait had concluded but the other part was in Time’s hands. He waited and watched in complete composure.