Rajrupa Gupta's Blog, page 8

Stereotyping Is Always Bad

It was a rainy evening of
October when I had arrived in Chennai for the first time with fifteen of my
colleagues, six years back. We were soaking wet from waiting for the taxis
outside the railway station. Our luggage was no better. We could only shudder to
think what nightmare awaited us when we opened those. The loud complaints that
I had been hearing during the long 20 hours of journey had become cries of
despair now. Indeed, I remember myself start softening towards the others at
this point, we had barely set foot in the city and our sufferings had already
started!




We were coming from Pune. I
still remember the disbelief that had given into horror later when we had
learnt that we were being posted in Chennai. We were so shocked that we
couldn’t speak for several minutes. Nobody wanted to come to Chennai. Everyone
knew it was a place where dwelled ugly people who ate tamarind in every type of
food that was cooked in coconut oil. Also my oh-so-fair “North Indian” friends were running a risk of being irreversibly
tanned. Several of them considered quitting the jobs. Several returned to the
manager’s room to beg. Ultimately S and I were the only two girls in the group
of sixteen who had to travel to Chennai. Others were aghast that we didn’t beg
with the manager, that we were really fine with going to Chennai. We had taken
a train to Chennai from Pune and by the time we reached, I was brainwashed
enough to doubt whether I was insane to choose to come here.




          The next few days weren’t much better. Amidst sickly rains
and muddy streets as we roamed to find a decent house we were cheated numerous
times by auto drivers who charged Rs. 300 for going from Chinnamalai to Indira
Nagar, laughed at and rudely gestured at by brokers because we didn’t speak
Tamil, humiliated by bus conductors because we didn’t know that it was us who
needed to go to him to buy tickets and not the opposite and many more such
hings. We stayed in a hostel that was infested with cockroaches and where the
warden didn’t even allow talking with a male colleague who came to visit. We
were criticized badly as uncultured “North Indians” just because we climbed up
the desk to hang Christmas decorations from the ceiling in office – any girl
with a proper upbringing wouldn’t do that, imitating boys and climbing up
desks!




But when S and I laughed at
these things and went back at being at peace once again, the others fumed. While
we appreciated the good things, they started ignoring them and blowing up the
bad(s) out of proportions. Slowly we started to scatter away and before the
year had turned, most of them had left the city for “better places” while I
stayed back along with S and a handful more.




Today, six years later, when we
look back, remarkably, while I have all good things to say about Chennai and
its people as I know them, they seem to have nothing short of spitting venom.




While I remember the old
gatekeeper of the housing complex I lived in, who always smiled at me and told
my parents (when they visited) that they needn’t worry, he’d look after their
daughter in Tamil, and, then, realizing that they didn’t understand the
language, took huge pain to explain using sign language; they remember the
cranky neighbour of theirs who complained to their house owner because they
made a racket of bursting firecrackers!




I remember the vegetable vendor
who, upon learning that I was from West Bengal and loved eating fish, kept
providing me with information about new sources of fresh fish! I remember my
boss who was my mentor and tutor in true sense and to whom I still owe
everything I know till date. I remember those two beautiful girls who somehow so
unexpectedly became my best buddies in spite of the fact that we came from
backgrounds that couldn’t be more different. I remember the wondrous applause
in the eyes of those people who had gathered around the old sick man I was
helping by the road. I remember my elderly neighbour who always cooked an extra
set of dosas for me whenever she made some, and yet, we never spoke except few
gestures and smiles.




My friends couldn’t remember
anything even remotely positive about the city, while I was so full of them. And
that’s when I found myself, to my own surprise, defending Chennai and its
people and that somehow amidst all these small things, Chennai had become home
to me!




I mulled over it and I think
it’s the outlook that mattered. While I was friendly from the beginning, they
were brooding. I warmed up to the people and let them see that I was no
different from them, while my friends took pride in proving that they, as North
Indians, were superior.




It’s not only them though. I
had once asked a Tamil guy, what their definition of North India was!
“Everything that’s north to the Deccan plateaus”, pat had come the reply. And
he went further describing a rather humiliating stereotype of “North India”,
which showed his total lack of knowledge of people who actually lived in “North
India.”




Most of us, I find, have an
opinion formed even before we meet someone or visit some place. We then look
not beyond, but try to fit in everything within the definition we have known. For
some of us, the stereotypes matter so much that we refuse to see the reality
even if it lies naked in front of our eyes, because we are afraid of variety,
change, and of the different, the unknown. We prefer to hold on to simple and
ordinary classifications, and whatever we feel comfortable with.






It’s not always aggressive,
rather it’s an over simplified generalization that eases the burden of
considering each individual separately. Especially the North Indian and South
Indian stereotyping in our country have gone a bit too far. It took me a really
long discussion to figure it out that we have got it all wrong! If you are from
a Non South Indian state, chances are, there’s a macro programmed inside your
head which is triggered by the word South India. And the output is always an
oversimplified, “Oh, he is a Madrasi!” And vice versa!



But do you think it’s fair? Do you
think judging a person even before knowing him is right?  Well, if you don’t know already, let me tell
you, it’s NOT. Don’t generalize. Don’t project your opinion formed from your
experiences of someone onto another one. Next time you find yourself justifying
a stereotype, any stereotype, recognize it and rectify it, give the person
before you a chance!




Love

© copyright 2013 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Neera - The tale of second chances

I

The inky clouds, pregnant
with heavy rain, were slowly gathering at the western horizon of the sky. An
excited wind blew from the west, bellowing mad whistles and determinedly trying
to blow away the tin roofs of the slum houses that lay beyond the patch of high-rises
where Neera lived. The wing-like fronds of the tall Palm trees that lined the
boundary walls of the housing complex, thrashed and writhed as the sadistic
wind played with them ruthlessly. Yet they bowed their crowned heads low before
the wind. It was almost as if they were worshipping their torturer.

It was not long before the
storm hit the shore with full force. It had been very long two months of
scorching heat waves. The solemn prayer of every living being on the earth was finally
about to be answered.

Any other day Neera too would
have welcomed the impending thunderstorm with open arms. She would have cried
out of joy as the crazy wind, the messenger of the storm, carried the first
dust into her mouth. But today she just looked wearily up at the sky from her
hanging chair on the terrace where she had been sitting since she didn’t know
when, since when Avro had left.

Today the cloud resembled
a giant Octopus, extending its muscled tentacles to engulf the blue sky much
like the hairy insect that was threatening to swallow her heart now. She shook
a little, partly because she was astonished by the anomaly of the nature, the co-existence
of the opposites – the vast blue sky and the massive black cloud separated only
by a thin line of crisp orange, and partly because of all the emotions that played
havoc in her heart. Faint lightning was appearing under the cloud followed by a
muted roar. A great battle was going on under the seemingly unmoved façade of
the cloud. It was not much different than the battle she was fighting inside
her. She was finding it very hard to stay calm just like the clouds that were
turning more turbulent each second.

And then it came.
Suddenly. Without a warning. Before Neera could react to the hissing sound made
by the first few drops when they steamed after falling on the hot surface, it
started to pelt.

II

Neera made a cup of ginger
tea for herself after a long warm bath. Ginger tea was the best to calm the
nerves down, her mom used to say.

“Mmph”, she wrinkled her
nose at the first sip. The tea was too sweet. She must have added sugar twice.
She carried the cup to the kitchen and threw the tea in the sink. The familiar twitch
in her body that she was used to, had now spread to both of her temples. Rather
they were throbbing in pain now.

          Suddenly
an overwhelming nausea spread through her. She felt so weak in the knees that
she had to hold the edge of the kitchen counter to stay steady. Her knuckles
turned white as her grip tightened. “Why?” she cried out loud. “Why do I have
to go through this?”

          Why
did Abir have to be out of country just now? She dialled up his cell. It rang.
Once, twice, thrice. “Oh! What the hell?” she shouted and threw the phone on
the sofa. And then collapsed on it. And then she cried. Violent sobs started
coming out from her chest. Her whole body shook. Hot tears burned her cheeks.
She let out a cry that surged from her heart with such a force that her ribs
vibrated. She drew her knees close and buried her face in them.

“Mom. She missed her
period”, five words hit her anew with renewed force. Not sudden and sharp like
the first time but a definite heavy awareness that seemed to choke her.

The warm bath had finally
worked its way through her body. But instead of calming her down, it brought
back the memories so suddenly that her skin prickled with the hyper active
nerves. The nature reciprocated her in perfect symphony. The crazy storm had
just gotten crazier.

III

 “Mom. She missed her period”, was Avro’s last
spoken words to Neera before he had left in the afternoon. Neera had been busy
loosening the soil in a tub with a rake at that time and had looked up to her
son, her face full of incomprehension.

Avro had waited just long
enough to let the meaning sink in and then had left just as her expression had
started to change as the situation had started dawning upon her.

          It
was such a sudden onslaught that it was over even before she felt it. A mingled
sense of disbelief, shock and denial had perplexed her. She had sat still, very
still like a statue. Only if you’d noticed very carefully you’d have known that
she was twitching – a nerve condition that had accompanied her for the past
twenty years. It was just like the calm that preceded the storm. Only it was
worse.

***

She went up to Avro’s
room, her legs barely holding her weight. Little Avro smiled at her from the photographs
that covered the entire wall at the back of his twin bed. She sighed as she sat
down heavily on the bed – when did her son grow up so much? She hadn’t even
noticed.

She still remembered so
clearly the little pink bundle of flesh wrapped in a white sheet. Again, how
long ago was it? Eighteen years. Eighteen long years. She hadn’t noticed until
just a couple of hours ago that her son had grown so much that he now had the
audacity to come to her and say that a girl was pregnant because of him.

A hot anger surged through
her. She wanted to slap her son till her hand fell off her stump. How dared he
approach her with something like this? Did he not have any shame? She had not
thought twice before giving up her life for him. While her friends attended
parties, she tended to her son. While her friends spoke at length about some
new hobbies she spoke about Avro’s school activities. She had provided him with
everything he needed and more. How was she going to be able to explain this to
Abir?

          Then
suddenly her anger, all of it, overhauled. She felt a fury at herself. She was
a total failure of a mother. Her friends didn’t centre the whole of their
universe on their children, yet they had turned out just fine, at least they
didn’t shame their parents like this. In fact she was a failure at everything.
Even Meera… Neera’s demented mind nibbled at the no-entry zone before she could
stop it. Once again a vigorous shiver ran through each of her pores which
screamed in agony as they stretched to their limit.

IV

 “I
am pregnant.”

“What are you saying? Have you gone mad?
What a stupid idea of joke!”

“It’s true. I am not joking.”

“Oh my god! How could you do this?”

“I don’t know sis. I was an idiot I guess.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He is avoiding me now. He is such a
coward. I need your help sis. Won’t you help me?”

“You stupid girl. How could you get
yourself pregnant when your boyfriend doesn’t even want to take responsibility?
Don’t you know what will happen next? How could you shame our family like this?
For you nobody will marry me now. We have to go shamefaced everywhere. Everyone
will mock us.”

“Please sis. I need your help. We can sort
this out. No one has to know.”

“Please don’t ask my help in any of the
sins you are going to do.”

“But how I can do this without your help
sis? Why don’t you think rationally?”

“YOU
want me to think rationally? Did you think rationally when you were having fun
with your boyfriend? Did you think about your family? About me? Now don’t shed
those crocodile tears now. Save them for later, when you face Ma.”

“Please don’t do this. Don’t tell Ma. I beg
you. I never meant for this sis. I didn’t know. If only you would help me.”

“I am so ashamed that I had to be your twin
sister.”

V

Avro’s room came into
focus slowly as Neera recovered from the blackout she suffered. She was lying
on the floor. Her head hurt terribly. She was sweating and was having trouble
to breathe. A dead volcanic memory had suddenly erupted to life in her mind
causing her to black out momentarily.

Her sister had died twenty
years ago. Wrong. Her sister had killed herself twenty years ago to escape from
an unwanted pregnancy and public humiliation. “It was time to face the truth”, Neera
said to herself.

At that time her parents had
been more concerned about getting her married before the scandal spread than
mourning her sister’s death. She too, was eager to get out of the
claustrophobic atmosphere of her home. She lived in a constant denial, fighting
the sense of guilt that threatened to consume her every now and then.

Abir had come like an
angel and had agreed to marry her ignoring all the juicy gossips about her
family. Next year Avro was born and Neera finally could start a new chapter in her
life. She was so happy to have a family of her own. It had truly seemed that
the dark days were over. Until now that is. How rare was it that a person had
to face such a situation in her lifetime; twice?

Neera felt so many
contradictory feelings. She feared that she might just explode. She was feeling
concerned for her son. At the same time she was angry at him too. A tiny part
of her was even proud that her son didn’t back up and was ready to take the
responsibility of his actions unlike her sister’s lover. She was scared of what
Abir would think of her. She felt terribly guilty of her sister’s death and an
unreasonable anger at herself. But above all, she was feeling an overwhelming
urge to help the little girl, who was right now suffering from an irresponsible
mistake.

Her clothes were wet from
the sweat. Faint salty lines from dried tears streaked her cheeks. Her hair was
dishevelled. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her nerves threatened to tear any moment.


But Neera got up from the
floor. It took a huge effort given the fact that her head felt so heavy. She
wiped her cheeks, smoothed her hair, took the phone in one steady hand and
dialled a familiar number.



The storm continued
outside. But Neera felt calm. The storm of emotions that was raging inside her
had subsided. She had taken the decision. Life rarely gave a second chance. Now
that she had one, she wouldn’t waste it too. Neera sat still on the couch. Very
still like a statue. But if you’d notice carefully you’d know that she was not
twitching anymore.

Love,

© copyright 2013 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Neera - A tale of a mother

I

The inky clouds, pregnant
with heavy rain, were slowly gathering at the western horizon of the sky. An
excited wind blew from the west, bellowing mad whistles and determinedly trying
to blow away the tin roofs of the slum houses that lay beyond the patch of high-rises
where Neera lived. The wing-like fronds of the tall Palm trees that lined the
boundary walls of the housing complex, thrashed and writhed as the sadistic
wind played with them ruthlessly. Yet they bowed their crowned heads low before
the wind. It was almost as if they were worshipping their torturer.

It was not long before the
storm hit the shore with full force. It had been very long two months of
scorching heat waves. The solemn prayer of every living being on the earth was finally
about to be answered.

Any other day Neera too would
have welcomed the impending thunderstorm with open arms. She would have cried
out of joy as the crazy wind, the messenger of the storm, carried the first
dust into her mouth. But today she just looked wearily up at the sky from her
hanging chair on the terrace where she had been sitting since she didn’t know
when, since when Avro had left.

Today the cloud resembled
a giant Octopus, extending its muscled tentacles to engulf the blue sky much
like the hairy insect that was threatening to swallow her heart now. She shook
a little, partly because she was astonished by the anomaly of the nature, the co-existence
of the opposites – the vast blue sky and the massive black cloud separated only
by a thin line of crisp orange, and partly because of all the emotions that played
havoc in her heart. Faint lightning was appearing under the cloud followed by a
muted roar. A great battle was going on under the seemingly unmoved façade of
the cloud. It was not much different than the battle she was fighting inside
her. She was finding it very hard to stay calm just like the clouds that were
turning more turbulent each second.

And then it came.
Suddenly. Without a warning. Before Neera could react to the hissing sound made
by the first few drops when they steamed after falling on the hot surface, it
started to pelt.

II

Neera made a cup of ginger
tea for herself after a long warm bath. Ginger tea was the best to calm the
nerves down, her mom used to say.

“Mmph”, she wrinkled her
nose at the first sip. The tea was too sweet. She must have added sugar twice.
She carried the cup to the kitchen and threw the tea in the sink. The familiar twitch
in her body that she was used to, had now spread to both of her temples. Rather
they were throbbing in pain now.

          Suddenly
an overwhelming nausea spread through her. She felt so weak in the knees that
she had to hold the edge of the kitchen counter to stay steady. Her knuckles
turned white as her grip tightened. “Why?” she cried out loud. “Why do I have
to go through this?”

          Why
did Abir have to be out of country just now? She dialled up his cell. It rang.
Once, twice, thrice. “Oh! What the hell?” she shouted and threw the phone on
the sofa. And then collapsed on it. And then she cried. Violent sobs started
coming out from her chest. Her whole body shook. Hot tears burned her cheeks.
She let out a cry that surged from her heart with such a force that her ribs
vibrated. She drew her knees close and buried her face in them.

“Mom. She missed her
period”, five words hit her anew with renewed force. Not sudden and sharp like
the first time but a definite heavy awareness that seemed to choke her.

The warm bath had finally
worked its way through her body. But instead of calming her down, it brought
back the memories so suddenly that her skin prickled with the hyper active
nerves. The nature reciprocated her in perfect symphony. The crazy storm had
just gotten crazier.

III

 “Mom. She missed her period”, was Avro’s last
spoken words to Neera before he had left in the afternoon. Neera had been busy
loosening the soil in a tub with a rake at that time and had looked up to her
son, her face full of incomprehension.

Avro had waited just long
enough to let the meaning sink in and then had left just as her expression had
started to change as the situation had started dawning upon her.

          It
was such a sudden onslaught that it was over even before she felt it. A mingled
sense of disbelief, shock and denial had perplexed her. She had sat still, very
still like a statue. Only if you’d noticed very carefully you’d have known that
she was twitching – a nerve condition that had accompanied her for the past
twenty years. It was just like the calm that preceded the storm. Only it was
worse.

***

She went up to Avro’s
room, her legs barely holding her weight. Little Avro smiled at her from the photographs
that covered the entire wall at the back of his twin bed. She sighed as she sat
down heavily on the bed – when did her son grow up so much? She hadn’t even
noticed.

She still remembered so
clearly the little pink bundle of flesh wrapped in a white sheet. Again, how
long ago was it? Eighteen years. Eighteen long years. She hadn’t noticed until
just a couple of hours ago that her son had grown so much that he now had the
audacity to come to her and say that a girl was pregnant because of him.

A hot anger surged through
her. She wanted to slap her son till her hand fell off her stump. How dared he
approach her with something like this? Did he not have any shame? She had not
thought twice before giving up her life for him. While her friends attended
parties, she tended to her son. While her friends spoke at length about some
new hobbies she spoke about Avro’s school activities. She had provided him with
everything he needed and more. How was she going to be able to explain this to
Abir?

          Then
suddenly her anger, all of it, overhauled. She felt a fury at herself. She was
a total failure of a mother. Her friends didn’t centre the whole of their
universe on their children, yet they had turned out just fine, at least they
didn’t shame their parents like this. In fact she was a failure at everything.
Even Meera… Neera’s demented mind nibbled at the no-entry zone before she could
stop it. Once again a vigorous shiver ran through each of her pores which
screamed in agony as they stretched to their limit.

IV

 “I
am pregnant.”

“What are you saying? Have you gone mad?
What a stupid idea of joke!”

“It’s true. I am not joking.”

“Oh my god! How could you do this?”

“I don’t know sis. I was an idiot I guess.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He is avoiding me now. He is such a
coward. I need your help sis. Won’t you help me?”

“You stupid girl. How could you get
yourself pregnant when your boyfriend doesn’t even want to take responsibility?
Don’t you know what will happen next? How could you shame our family like this?
For you nobody will marry me now. We have to go shamefaced everywhere. Everyone
will mock us.”

“Please sis. I need your help. We can sort
this out. No one has to know.”

“Please don’t ask my help in any of the
sins you are going to do.”

“But how I can do this without your help
sis? Why don’t you think rationally?”

“YOU
want me to think rationally? Did you think rationally when you were having fun
with your boyfriend? Did you think about your family? About me? Now don’t shed
those crocodile tears now. Save them for later, when you face Ma.”

“Please don’t do this. Don’t tell Ma. I beg
you. I never meant for this sis. I didn’t know. If only you would help me.”

“I am so ashamed that I had to be your twin
sister.”

V

Avro’s room came into
focus slowly as Neera recovered from the blackout she suffered. She was lying
on the floor. Her head hurt terribly. She was sweating and was having trouble
to breathe. A dead volcanic memory had suddenly erupted to life in her mind
causing her to black out momentarily.

Her sister had died twenty
years ago. Wrong. Her sister had killed herself twenty years ago to escape from
an unwanted pregnancy and public humiliation. “It was time to face the truth”, Neera
said to herself.

At that time her parents had
been more concerned about getting her married before the scandal spread than
mourning her sister’s death. She too, was eager to get out of the
claustrophobic atmosphere of her home. She lived in a constant denial, fighting
the sense of guilt that threatened to consume her every now and then.

Abir had come like an
angel and had agreed to marry her ignoring all the juicy gossips about her
family. Next year Avro was born and Neera finally could start a new chapter in her
life. She was so happy to have a family of her own. It had truly seemed that
the dark days were over. Until now that is. How rare was it that a person had
to face such a situation in her lifetime; twice?

Neera felt so many
contradictory feelings. She feared that she might just explode. She was feeling
concerned for her son. At the same time she was angry at him too. A tiny part
of her was even proud that her son didn’t back up and was ready to take the
responsibility of his actions unlike her sister’s lover. She was scared of what
Abir would think of her. She felt terribly guilty of her sister’s death and an
unreasonable anger at herself. But above all, she was feeling an overwhelming
urge to help the little girl, who was right now suffering from an irresponsible
mistake.

Her clothes were wet from
the sweat. Faint salty lines from dried tears streaked her cheeks. Her hair was
dishevelled. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her nerves threatened to tear any moment.


But Neera got up from the
floor. It took a huge effort given the fact that her head felt so heavy. She
wiped her cheeks, smoothed her hair, took the phone in one steady hand and
dialled a familiar number.



The storm continued
outside. But Neera felt calm. The storm of emotions that was raging inside her
had subsided. She had taken the decision. Life rarely gave a second chance. Now
that she had one, she wouldn’t waste it too. Neera sat still on the couch. Very
still like a statue. But if you’d notice carefully you’d know that she was not
twitching anymore.

Love,

© copyright 2013 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

The Future of Shopping

    
Last night I had a weird dream. I am always having weird
dreams but this one felt so real that it was not until I opened my eyes that I realized
it was a dream. Science fictions and time travelling were never my things but
in my dream I took a deep dive into the ocean off a cliff and when I came up to
breathe everything changed. I was in the future; rather, I was me 17 years from
now.






***

    The year is 2030. And I have a daughter who looks eerily
like the girl me.




    “Mom”, she shouts from the kitchen, “Did you buy the
gift I am giving to Tara yet?”






    I look up from reading my newspaper, only to realize it
was right on my Google glass sitting on my nose. No, I hadn’t bought any gift. Nothing
I remember of. “When do you need it?” I hear myself calling back.




    “In an hour mom! What’s wrong with you?”




    As I panic and fumble with my car keys, my daughter comes
stomping at me bewildered. “Where are you going? You need to buy the gift!”




    “I am going to buy it only.”




    She looks at me as if she is seeing me for the first
time, “give me your UBI”, she says.




    “UBI?”




    ‘UBI - Unique Buyer ID!’, prints my Google glass in
front of my eyes, ‘Everyone above 18 is issued a UBI. It’s a consolidated
record of you as a buyer. The UBI card can be used as identity proof. Loss of
UBI card must be immediately reported to police.’




    Head swarming with new information I fish my purse and
bring out a card that looks like credit card. This card has all the information
I am told. She uses it on her Google glass to buy a birthday card and a Disney diary.




    “You are buying it online? You said needed it now?” I feel
obligated to ask.




    “Mom! You are behaving so weird today! Don’t you know
once you give your pincode, you can choose from the nearby stores you want to
buy from? They will deliver from a shop ten minutes away from us.”




    The Go-Local trend. Big
malls will be replaced by smaller diverse stores located across all regions. It
will be possible to buy from the nearest store through a centralized online
store and also to help locate the nearest store. This will go beyond the current
system of grocery shopping and encompass all types of merchandise. Of course this
will require stores to make sure that they are never out of stock.




    My daughter and I are outside taking a stroll when she
spots another girl wearing a flowery blue dress. “Isn’t the dress beautiful? I want
it mama, please, please.” She says. Now isn’t that typical of my daughter? She
reminds so strongly of myself. I realize now, how bad my mother must have felt when
I placed such nonsense requests! How am I supposed to buy her the exact same
dress? Where will I find it? I try to stop the other girl’s mother to ask where
she bought the dress from. But my daughter surprises me yet again. She scans
the dress using her mobile and immediately all the information about the dress
including the stores in which it is available, the price and other colour choices
come up. When we visit the nearest store in which the dress is available, the
store is ready with many other recommendations for my daughter.








    All products will carry an
electronic chip in them. Any mobile device will be able to scan it and then tag
it against your UBI. You will then be able to buy it on the fly or visit a
store nearby to browse through it physically. The stores will also be able to
formulate personalized recommendations for you based on the items you tagged. If
you do not wish to visit a physical store, you can still browse through the
virtual shop – it’s racks filled with dresses/items you have tagged and the
recommendations made for you.




    While, at the store, my daughter tries through the
dresses, I try on pairs after pairs of jeans. But none seem to fit me the way I
want. Frustrated, as I am about to give up, my daughter comes looking
exasperated. “Really, mom, what’s wrong with you today?” she takes out her
mobile and a 3-d scanner in it measures me. And voila, I have recommendations
about the brand and type of jeans I should be trying in the store. Within two
minutes I have a pair of perfectly fitting jeans.




    There will be 3D scanners
in each mobile device which will be capable of measuring your body shape and
size and the data will be uploaded in your UBI. When you tag a dress, it will
be tagged in your size and recommendations also will be made in your size. Thus
all your dresses will be custom made for you.




    Back home, we have nothing to eat. My fridge is empty! My
daughter casts a nasty look at me and taps something on my Google glass. And
instantly I am transported into a virtual shop where a virtual me browses
through the store. It feels no less than a real shop. I, well my avatar, can
walk through the aisles and take items after items off the racks and examine
their ingredients and expiry dates just like the real store experience. My
delight knows no bound. I buy a lot of things. And before I can recover from
the retail revolution shock, the doorbell rings and my merchandise is here.




    The virtual stores will have
the inventory in real time. The real brick and mortar models of the stores will
be replicated in the virtual model of the store. The online buyer will have an
avatar of her own and the virtual experience will be no different than the real
one.






    I have received a promotion in my job. But it means I also
have to move from of the town to a different one. My worry knows no bound. How am
I supposed to transfer all the household goods? Where will I get a buyer if I decide
to sell some stuff? And how will I start to settle in the new town? My daughter
comes to my rescue again. By now I am used to it. She 3D scans the articles we
have decided to sell and tags them with the price we want for them. She also
looks for similar second hand items in the town we will be moving to and within
an hour we have our old house emptied and new house furnished.




    The second hand articles shopping
will be revolutionized. Advertisements for such goods will be more professional
and with option of comparing the actual price of the items. The 3D scanner will
be able to produce the best possible imagery of the item to be sold. More and
more retailers will be creating space in their stores to sell affordable second
hand items as people will move around more.




    Ecstatic, I reach for my husband to tell him that I am
never leaving 2030. But everything fades. I try to reach out for my daughter’s
hand, but it slips. I drown.




***

    When I opened my eyes, I was still in my bed. My husband
slept peacefully beside me. It was still only 14th September, 2013.
And I realized I was only dreaming about a fantastic future where life was so
easy with such fantastic shopping experiences.






   I wonder now, is it possible to find a time machine? Something
I can hop on while in my full senses and take a sneak peak of what future has
in store? Will it really be as fascinating as my dream? Because if it is, I can’t
wait for it to come.






Love,


This post has been written as part of the Future of Shopping contest hosted by IndiBlogger in association with EBay. Please visit bit.ly/eBayCheck_Extention for more information.

© copyright 2013 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Satiate Your Taste Buds – With Microwave Kalakand

It’s
always good to be home after a stint of staying at hotels (or inns as they
prefer to call it here) where food becomes synonymous with To-Go and drink is
always dispensed from the vending machines.





On
my return home this time, therefore, the first thing I did was peering through
my refrigerator ignoring my husband’s raised eyebrows. I was going to make
something. I absolutely had to. And given that we were going to a Ganesh
Chaturthi party later that afternoon, I decided it had to be something sweet.





Now,
even though I have learnt to appreciate, on quite a few occasions, that there’s
nothing quite like Ghar-ka-khana, I tend to get lazy when I calculate the
effort. So in my two steps forward and one step backward dilemma of whether or
not to undertake the hassle of actually preparing my favourite dishes at home, I
am always on the lookout for the easy alternatives for the traditional recipes.





And
so I have found this one: Microwave Kalakand. One of my favourite sweets of all
time. Even though it took my grandma hours to make it at home, this perfect
alternative takes just 20 minutes. It was super easy on my travel tired nerves
and my starved taste-buds were satiated. And most importantly, people at the
party loved it.





What you need:

1) Ricotta
Cheese

2) Sweetened
Condensed milk

3) Few
cardamoms (crushed)

4) Few
strands of saffron (optional)

5) Your
favourite dry fruits (crushed) – I used pistachio







 How you
do it:

1) In a microwave safe flat bottom dish, combine equal
amount of Ricotta Cheese and condensed milk until smooth, without any lumps.
Add the crushed cardamoms and mix well.

2) Microwave
uncovered, on for 3-5 minutes. Keep peering through the door, the mix should
not spill over

3)    Take
out and stir well.

4)    Put
it back in the microwave and cook for 2 more minutes.

5)    Mix
well again, scrapping the sides

6)    Keep
repeating step 4 and 5. Remember taking a mixing break every 2 minutes is very
important






7)  The
final consistency should be thick, creamy but granular. The mixture should not
be runny, yet should retain its moisture

8)    Transfer into a rectangular dish, and press
down

9)    Sprinkle crushed pistachios on top, and chill
for one hour

10)  Ta..da. The Kalakand is ready. Cut into
squares and serve.





Do try and let me know how it turned out. If I, being me, can do it,
you can too. It’s very easy. Writing about it took me more time than making it.




Tip: Ricotta Cheese can also be substituted with
Cottage Cheese and Sugar. Also half and half milk can be thickened on an oven
top if you have time and patience. 



Love,

© copyright 2013 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

The Super Woman Syndrome

Saturday. I had a picnic to go to. Something, which I had organized. So
I was up early to complete the household chores before I left. I was also
working as we had to complete an entire set of application performance related
tasks within the weekend.




I squeezed ten minutes in to call my mother-in-law in India because I
wouldn't get time later and she would be upset if I didn't call.  As
I was speaking with her she wanted me to call her sister as well because it’d
been long since I’d spoken with her. And she also asked if I had bought the
pain relief cream online and sent it to her. I hadn't. Truth is I had simply
forgotten! I admitted it with extreme guilt.






I had barely gotten over to the second minute of our conversation when
the pressure cooker started buzzing and the MS Lync started glowing. And at the
same time I realized that I was experiencing the Super Woman Syndrome.







I realized that I was always biting off more than I could chew. I had to
do everything myself. And I had to do everything perfectly. I took great pride
in my multitasking capability. See, I could do so many things. I was perfect!




But this was not supposed to be like that. I can’t remember when it all
went wrong! When did it become so hard to say no? You see my problem? In my eyes
the ideal woman is the iron-woman, who is a go getter, never afraid, tough and
a fighter. I want to be her. I think less of me if I can’t.




But I guess it has been the same all along. All my life, I have seen
that Goddesses were the most divine creatures. Even Gods were allowed to make
mistakes but Goddesses, never. Those who did make mistakes were never given the
standard of a Goddess. They had to amuse themselves with the Apsara status.




In my home, it was always mom, who took care of us, decided what was
going to be on our plates for the day, and kept notice of the household
inventory and the monthly budget in spite of having a full time job as a
doctor! She was the doctor-next-door for our neighbours who didn’t mind
knocking on our door at any time of the day for even the smallest of
discomforts, and mom always helped them smiling. She was the bridge of
communication between us and our relatives. She remembered everything! From the
last date when we had added fertilizer to the flower pots to when last we had
booked our cooking gas cylinder. And yet she made it look so effortless. If I
can’t be all that it’s my fault. Isn't it?




Not only me, I see numerous women around me struggling to live up to an
impossibly high standard. They thrive to be perfect in front of
an imaginary audience. As long as I remember, I have always been
taught, be smart but not overbearing, be outspoken but be a lady too, be
ambitious but raise a family too, be successful but make your man feel like a
hero. Stand apart but make everyone feel at home around you. 




It’s the woman’s responsibility to maintain the equilibrium in all
aspects of her life. Men can be careless but you as a woman must always be very
caring and careful. That’s how the universe is. Because he has that Y chromosome
and we don’t. Is that why they say, think like a man but be a lady. What does
it mean anyway?




Housewives tend to get extra careful in keeping every damn dust particle
of their homes in order. Women who have children suffer from the
self-deprecation that they are not doing enough. Women who have a career are
always torn between their families and work. Women who are too busy in their
work to raise a family feel alienated from the society in some way. There’s an
invisible checklist that hovers before every woman’s eyes, to be looked up as a
respected woman, all of the points must be checked. Somehow we all feel that
the day is way too short to realize all we aspire for. Somehow we all believe
there's a formula that constitutes an ideal woman.




It’s our fault really. Or is it the way we have been trained so
deceptively that we believe we are born that way. Or probably deep within us we
know that we are lucky to live a normal life despite all the adversities and we
must make most of it. We must prove ourselves deserving of the life we have. We
must always give more than we receive so that we owe nobody anything. We must
always come up to the top so that no one can point finger and say, “You know
what, she doesn't deserve this.”




You know what, I know this. I even consciously try to break out of
this mould.  I try to be carefree, independent, happy go lucky. I try
to live the life on my own terms. But somehow I always tend to go back to the
same place where the need to be perfect catches up! I can't accept my failures
and move on. I need to dwell on it. I need to take up everything on my
shoulder. But yet somehow I never feel that I am doing enough!






So yeah, I most definitely suffer from the Super Woman Syndrome. How
many of you do too? 




 Love,
























































   

© copyright 2013 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

So What She was Raped? I Dont Care, Really!

Image Courtesy: Google Image





And now in Mumbai. Yet again, yet
another woman. And surprisingly it didn’t even hurt me anymore! Not the way it
should have. I wanted to know however. Who was the girl? How old was she? What
was she wearing? Was she alone? How many men were there?




I flooded Twitter with my
questions. I received numerous responses. I re-tweeted few of those to let
others know. But you see I never asked any question or expressed any curiosity
about those rapists.




Why should I? Don’t I already
know it must have been the girl’s fault? Didn’t the law enforcers –
both police and khaap and the Indian Judiciary system convinced me to believe
so? After all it was such a convenient theory to believe in. The girl must have
provoked them. After all they were just a bunch of sex starved boys under the
influence of alcohol. Aise me ghalti ho jana is most natural. They are just
cute little boys and no criminal. Yeah, I know that.




So my curiosity was only about the
girl. But when I heard that she was doing ok, I felt that, it was fine. After all
she didn’t die, right? Nor was she critical. Then why make it a big issue? I was
relieved, but a little sad too, I don’t want to admit it, but I was. You see, I
have a very short attention span. I don’t really care for things that don’t hurt
me directly. You see, I have even forgotten that the trial for the Nirbhaya
case is still going on. Had she died, I would have at least tried to show the
departed some respect by shouting slogans. But she didn’t die.  So I moved on to bigger problems in my life
like scouring for onions.




What would happen to those who
raped her? Why did I even ask? I already know. They would continue to come to
the courtroom once in a blue moon. The Government would keep spending my tax
money to provide them free shelter and food. And if anyone among them turns out
to be a teenager he would even walk free! In short they would keep inspiring more
men to follow their path like true leaders. There’s nothing wrong in satisfying
their needs that grow big inside their pants at the sight of a woman, under the
influence of alcohol or not! After all, everyone knows that’s how men are.




And till the time the earth shakes up again, I will scour for my onions and lament about the diminished value of my
assets as the Rupee continues to fall. Why should I care about how the country
is going through one of its darkest times as long as my life is pretty much the
same? You see I am selfish giant. You know why? Because it’s the only thing
that can keep my sanity. I live inside my bubble: the outside world appears
very rosy or should I say blurred.  I
only peep outside when incidents like this one turns my bubble upside down. My
heart burns, blood boils and brain pounds. It becomes very uncomfortable
really. So I slide as soon as I can back into my hole, turn my back and
soon the world becomes rosy again.




Love,

© copyright 2012 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

A Nostalgic Sniff Later!

This
morning when I woke up, the sky was blue like an expensive sapphire. Few fluffy
white clouds here and there, in stark contrast with the blue, only added to the
charm of the beautiful autumn sky. The bright clear outdoor was too
irresistible to ignore, so I decided to take a walk.





Shiuli Phool


          The air outside felt so crisp and
clean, I could practically smell the freshness in it. Then suddenly I smelt
something familiar - a faint whiff of something very dear and precious came my
way and went. It was the sweet fragrance of the Shiuli (The Coral Jasmine or
the Parijata) flower. It lasted only a sniff but in that fraction of a second
it took over my senses so fully that I had to stand right there with my eyes closed
for a few moments.




          I was surprised, bewildered for I never
expected that in this foreign land and I was desperate to find the source of
that aroma. But I was finding it very hard to concentrate in the present
because waves after waves of nostalgia were hitting me square in my chest. I was
shocked by the speed with which my olfactory memories transported me back to
those cherished times of my childhood. I had to give in to the sweet torture, to
revel in those good times I knew would never happen to me again.




          As long as I remember, we have always
had the Shiuli tree in the backyard of our home. With the onset of autumn, the
flowers would start blooming signifying that it was time for Durga Puja again. The
newly foggy and chilly mornings always found me along with my grandmother and a
cane flower basket collecting the fragrant white flowers abundantly. Later we
would sit on the veranda with the slanting sunrays kissing our feet and stitch
the flowers into a garland.




          During these times, sometimes my
grandma would tell tales about how the flower came into its being. One of them
was the story of Lord Krishna who found the tree during the ‘Samudra Manthan’. His
first wife, Sathyabhama demanded that the tree should be planted in her
backyard and so it was done. But the flowers always fell in Rukmini’s backyard,
which was adjacent. This was how he kept peace between his two wives.




          Another tale told the story of the
princess Parijata and Surya, the sun. They fell in love and got married. During
a fateful morning in summer when the sun was in his most powerful self,
Parijata accidentally came too close to him. It was too much for her and she
wilted. The sun was very upset. After a long prayer, with lord Agni's blessings, Parijata was reborn as a tree. The sun then always visited her in the night and that’s
why she bloomed in night. She still could’t face the sun in the morning so she
shed all her flowers at dawn. And my grandma said, the flowers were so fragrant
because they were kissed by the sun. I liked this version better.




          We placed the Shiuli flowers face down
on water in a brass bowl and kept it in our home. The heavy fragrance made our
home feel like a heavenly shrine.




          As I tangle more in my nostalgia I remember
another distinct smell that signified Durga Puja - the smell of new clothes. The advent of autumn meant lots
of them. I would inhale the fabric deeply and close my eyes. Each of them
smelled so differently. So many planning went on – the accessories, the shoes,
the day of the festival on which to wear them, morning or evening. I would smell
them and I would know.





Dhunuchi


          The smell of the hay and the clay punctuated
by the smell of the smouldering coconut shells and powdered incense (dhuno) during
those evenings when we sat with the potter uncle while he made the idol in our
local community club.




As I
lose my way through the fragrant lanes of my childhood, I remember so many
different smells, each of them so distinctly associated with a fond memory. All
of them clamour in my head knotting themselves up in random orders.




The aromatic
cocktail of several perfumes, flowers, candyfloss, sweat, tamarind water from
the phuchka stalls and diesel that always made me high when we hopped pandals.




The hospital smell that strangely evokes happy memories in me because that smell at the front door meant Maa was back home after a day of saving dying people's lives.





Pithe


The sickly
sweet gunpowder that filled our lungs when we so happily burst our crackers during
the Kalipuja (Diwali).




The scent of the candle that has been just put out meant it was time to cut the cake.




The
smell of the new rice and the new jaggery in the winter and the heavenly aroma
that rose when Maa made Pithe from them.





The Mango Flower


The smell
of the trimmed grass and the wet soil that greeted us on the day of the school
sports.




The aromatic
smell of the mango blossoms that filled our entire garden in spring.




The smell of the fresh paint and the look of our renovated house.




I
can’t stop, it’s like a floodgate of memories has opened in my head. I didn’t know
a sniff of a long lost smell could bring back so much.




It’s
the same time of the year when the Shiuli tree blooms in our garden. And yet,
it’s another year when I’d miss all those I loved. Thousands of miles away probably
the flowers are still carpeting the garden floor in my home white, but probably
no one picks them up in cane baskets now. Probably they wilt away unnoticed,
unloved. Do they miss me? 




I couldn’t find the source of the smell that had pulled
me into the whirlwind of nostalgia. Probably it was my Shiulis sending their aromatic love all the way just to say that they missed me!


The fallen darlings of my garden





Love


This post is written as part of Indiblogger's Smelly to Smiley contest. For more information please their Facebook page: www.facebook.com/AmbiPurIndia

© copyright 2012 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

In the Place Between the Right and the Wrong - II

This post was originally meant to be part of Indian Fiction Workshop Exercise-9. Unfortunately I couldn't finish writing on time. So I am reduced to posting the whole story here in two parts.

Read part I here.

Thursday
10 am in office

Pooja is busy cleaning up her office when Puneet hurriedly
walks in looking hassled.

“Pooja, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now Puneet. I am busy.” Pooja continues to clean her
desk and never turns back to face Puneet.

“I see that you are in a hurry to leave.”

“I am.”

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“To Pesho and Pillai?”

Pooja stops dead. Her face looks paper-white as all colours
drain from it in an eye blink. She starts shaking. She holds her desk tightly
and turns slowly to face Puneet.

“You know!” she says slowly.

“Yes! I heard that we lost the Parekh Phosphate case. And
the day before, I saw the deposition file with you, remember? And I knew that
you were not working on that case. And I also knew that Pesho was the defending
attorney in that case. So I just had to add two and two. You’d only made it
easier for me. I remembered the way you were behaving so uncharacteristically
that day.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Patel then?”

“I would have to probably, sooner or later. But before
that I have to know your take on it. I need to know why you did what you did.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Does it? Even if you tell Mr.
Patel, it won’t matter because you don’t have any proof. And by the time you
can dig up something I will be gone far from your reach.”

“Don’t talk about going away, I can’t stand it. And are
you telling me that you are naïve enough to believe that Mr. Pesho will be able
to trust you completely after what you did? After all isn’t it already proved
that you are capable of backstabbing?”

“Thanks for making it clear that I am a big loser! I
think I should go now.”

Pooja tries to leave but Puneet continues, “But the thing
is, I am shattered. I feel like a
loser Pooja. I just can’t believe that you are capable of doing such a
despicable thing. Betraying your own firm by equipping the defence? Denying a
dying lady the compensation she deserved? How desperate you must be! But every
time I try to despise you I realize that I know you well enough to know that
you wouldn’t do anything so horribly wrong just because you want a better
paying job. So as a friend I am just asking a justification from you.”

Pooja looks like on the verge of breaking down for a
moment or two. Then she recovers but continues to look dubious.

“Don’t you have anything to say? Are you telling me you
did such an immoral thing just so you’d get a job in Pesho and Pillai?”

“A partnership. Not just another job.”

“So this was your only motive?”

Pooja continues to look haughtily at Puneet for few more
seconds. Finally she says, resignedly, “Actually, no. I don’t want to sound
like defending myself for my actions. What I did may be immoral but was the
right thing to do in legal perspective.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pamela sued Parekh Phosphate with the charges that the
unhealthy toxic smoke filled work environment in their factories gave her lung
cancer. But Pesho always had his doubts about the truth of this statement and
this case meant a big deal for PP’s reputation and the stakes were high. Pesho
approached me with a very lucrative offer in exchange of information. I didn’t
decide on it until I overheard Pamela talking to Mr. Patel and understood that
her cancer may or may not have been caused by the environmental condition of
her workplace because she has a long genetic history of cancer. But she needed
the compensation money for her treatment. So Mr. Patel advised her not to speak
about the family history in the actual deposition. But I handed Pesho the
actual buried documentation than what was officially produced.”

Puneet’s convoluted expression clears. “So we lost on the
ground of withholding the truth.”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to. Just let me go.”

“Except one thing maybe.”

“What?”

“That I don’t think you did wrong. Don’t give me that
look. We all learnt law is just about telling right from wrong. It’s not about
emotions!”

“You believe that?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t. I am moulded too much
like Mr Patel. But I always knew you were hardnosed. Maybe Pesho and Pillai is
the best place for you after all. You will grow better there.”

“Was that mockery?”

“Oh, no, Jesus. I am serious. You align well with their
principles. The ruthless manner with which you handle your cases, I am sure
Pesho and Pillai will be delighted to have you.”

“Thanks. But I bet you are delighted to have me gone.”

“What? Why would I be so?”

“Because with me present here, you could never be made
partner.”

“Now that’s a debatable topic. Why don’t we discuss this
over dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up at eight? What say?”

Pooja looks thoroughly taken aback! “I don’t understand. Are
you…”

Puneet cuts in, “I am just asking you out on a date where
we can discuss about who would have made partner had we both continued to work
here.”

“I still don’t understand. Why suddenly…”

“Stop being so paranoid Pooja. I have wanted to ask you
out for a very long time now and I suddenly realized that I may not get another
chance if I don’t do it now. I just can’t let another robotic lawyer from Pesho
and Pillai sweep you off without even trying in my own emotional way.”

“You think I am robotic?”

“That’s another debatable topic I would prefer discussing
over dinner. So what do you think?”

“I think I’d like to discuss that over dinner too!”





Love



Read part I here.

© copyright 2012 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

In the Place Between the Right and the Wrong - I

This post was originally meant to be part of Indian Fiction Workshop Exercise-9. Unfortunately I couldn't finish writing on time. So I am reduced to posting the whole story here in two parts.

Sunday
4 pm in a club



"Hey Pooja! What a pleasant surprise! “

“Puneet! Surprise indeed! I didn’t expect to see you
here. What are you doing here?”

“Umm… Nothing. I am just stalking you!”

“What?”

“Hey! I was just kidding! Don’t look so shocked. Actually,
I come here often. I am a member here. But what about you? I have never seen
you here before.”

“Yeah. I am just meeting someone.”

“Meeting someone here! Who? Can’t be a client. Can it?”

Pooja doesn’t answer but one of her arched eye brows
shoots upward.

“I mean, please pardon my curiosity Pooja, it’s just that
I happen to know most of the members here so I was wondering if I knew the
person you were meeting.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Puneet eyes Pooja while she fidgets with her phone.

“I am sorry. But I have to go. He is not coming.”

“Hey. Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Everything is fine. He just got some urgent
business to take care of.”

“Who is this mysterious ‘he’ by the way Pooja? Why are
you being so secretive about him?”

“Puneet! This is my personal life. I don’t appreciate you
asking questions about it.”

***

Monday
12 pm in office

“Hey Pooja. Got a minute?”

“Puneet! Yes! Please come in! Please sit down.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you yesterday.”

“It’s ok Puneet. I am sorry too. I overreacted.”

“I still want to make it up. Over lunch maybe?”

“Um… I am not sure….”

“See! You still haven’t forgiven me! Come on, I insist.”

“Hey Puneet! It’s fine. I didn’t mind anything at all. I
really can’t join you for lunch because I plan to eat here in my office. I have
some really important work to finish.”

“Ohh… ok. Yeah, Mr. Patel did mention that you are
working real hard on that Penske case.”

“Mr. Patel discusses associates with you?”

“Oh no! Pooja, not like that. It’s just that he and I
play golf together sometimes.”

“I get it.” Pooja says and goes back to work.

Puneet looks visibly dejected but says, “I guess I’ll
just go then. By the way Pooja, please don’t get offended but I have to ask
this, are you seeing someone?”

“What?”

“I am just curious. I mean the way you behaved yesterday,
it’s not very usual of you…”

“Puneet…”

“Don’t say anymore, I get it. It’s none of my business. I
will just get going.” Puneet leaves looking frustrated. A little while later Pooja’s
mobile rings.

“Hello”

…

“Pesho? Hey how are you doing?”

…

“I understand but I would appreciate it better if you
didn’t call me during the office hours. I don’t think it’s right.”

…

“Yes. I am onto it. Though I think Puneet, you know
Puneet right? From your club? I think he already suspects something but I am trying
as best as I can.”

…

“No, you don’t need to worry. I don’t fail in my
undertakings. Because I am the best. And I think you know that.”

…

“Ha ha ha! And you will! Just a few more days.”

***

Monday
11 pm in office

Puneet peeps through the door of Pooja’s office seeing a
blue light emanating from the otherwise dark room. He finds her laptop on her
desk but she is nowhere to be seen. As he enters the room, it lightens up
sensing his presence. He picks up a famed photograph of Pooja from her desk and
looks at it. A deep sigh escapes him. He stands in the middle of the room for
some time looking around fondly.

As he turns to leave, Pooja enters the room with few
files. She starts so violently seeing Puneet in her office that one of the
files slips to ground without her noticing.

“Jesus Christ! Puneet, what are you doing here in my
office?” she screams, “I can see that obviously you are up to something.
Probably you meant it when you said that you were stalking me yesterday. What
is it you are looking for?”, she hurries over to her laptop, “Did you try to
hack my computer?”

“What? No! What’s wrong with you Pooja? You are behaving
very strangely of late!”

“I am not the one prying over others Puneet!”

“Why the hell would I pry on you?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you are after my clients? Maybe you
are trying to dig up dirt on me! Maybe you think that I am your competition on
your way to becoming the partner! How will I know? All I know is, I found you
in my cabin looking at my computer when I was away. And this doesn’t look
normal to me.”

“Stop being so paranoid! You and I work for the same firm
Pooja, and we have worked together in the same team for the same client
multiple times. I cannot steal your clients because they are my clients too! Yes,
I consider you as a competition but a healthy and worthy one, I wouldn’t stoop
so low to dig dirt on you because you are my colleague too. Even if I want to,
I don’t need to sneak into your cabin to do that. I have worked closely enough
with you to find that out on my own if I so wish. And it’s not the first time
that I have entered into your cabin in your absence! Gosh! You are acting so
jumpy! As if you were burying evidence when I barged in! You know what Pooja, I
think you have worked too hard on the Penske case and I think you are too stressed
and that you should go home.”

Pooja sits heavily on her chair holding her head between
her hands and breathes heavily.

“Hey Pooja, are you alright? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is just fine Puneet! I am so sorry for the
way I behaved with you but I am just not myself today. You are right. I am
probably too stressed. Would you mind leaving me alone for some time please? I
am sorry!”

“Absolutely. I understand. Our jobs do get to us
sometimes. Even to the very bests. I will leave you now but are you sure you
can drive back home? Else I can drop you!”

“I can drive home Puneet. But thanks very much for the
offer.”

Puneet turns to leave. But then stops and stoops to pick
up the file Pooja had dropped earlier. “Here. You dropped it I think. Wait a
second! Isn’t this Pamela’s deposition file? The plaintiff in Parekh Phosphate
case?”

Pooja hurriedly takes the file from Puneet’s hand and
shoves it down her drawer with other files.

“I didn’t know you were working on the Parekh Phosphate case.”

“I don’t think Mr. Patel discusses everything with you
after all.”




Continued...






           Love,


Read part II here.

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Riot of Random