Quarter life cry-sis

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leaking tap

ostrich-man

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

Fevicol

Walter, why are you and Stina together all the time?

Sarcastic Walter: Because we are joined by the hips.

Walter on hindsight: No, I mean; we are not joined in the front or the back. We are more like side to side.

Walter and Stina are my co-workers

small talk

(As it happened)

I usually do not drink coffee. However, as events need to turn out the way they need to turn out for the subsequent story to be written, I was swamped by an uncontrollable urge yesterday in the morning to drink coffee. So I ambled to the office cafeteria to get myself a cup of coffee.

On those rare occasions when I drink coffee, I drink it with a lot of milk and sugar. But yesterday was a day when the waitress would ask me if I would like a black coffee and I would say yes.

As if cutting down one sachet of sugar could turn my well developed single pack into starved six packs, I skipped the condiments area as well.

It was only when I was back at my desk did I realise that it was better to stick to the usual.

I now had two choices. I could either walk back to the cafeteria to fill my cup with milk and dump a bag of sugar on to it or walk across to the side of the building I usually keep away from, to the refreshment area that had milk and sugar.

No brownie points for guessing where I went. The refreshment area was very small. It was literally a hole in the wall with space just enough for two people to stand next to each other.

As the coffee turned from black to light brown, I turned around to go back to my desk; only that the way out was blocked by a lady I had never seen before in my part of the building.

'Uh, I feel so tired', She started.

As it was less than 24 hours since I took a resolution to learn to do small talk and pretend to be a little more social, I said 'It is Monday morning. What do you expect? So is everyone.' This in hindsight is not a great line to open a conversation.

But nevertheless, she continued on, 'I have a house with gardens on three of its sides. For four hours yesterday I was out in the sun gardening.' I thought, 'Now, that is small talk!'

Just then I saw Mary walk towards us to the refreshment area and stand behind this lady.

The lady continued on, not noticing that someone was behind her, 'I was on my knees for four hours. It was soooo tiring.' To emphasise her tiredness, she started to moan out very loudly.

I can't say that I get turned on by someone moaning in close proximity (How often does someone come close to you and start moaning?), but I was very turned on by the sounds she was making.

The expression on Mary's face only confirmed that she must have heard only part of the conversation.

Not wanting to prolong this any further, I squeezed past the lady, who was still oblivious of the effect she was having on the people around, to walk out from the area.

It was only after I saw Mary's wide open mouth and stunned stare on to my pants did I realise that I had a distinctive boner.

Since then, I have been unsuccessfully browsing the Internet to buy Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility.

on how a mermaid swallowed popeye and burped out the joker

Daddy, can we go and buy Azmuth this afternoon?

You first have to meet grandma. She has been expecting you, hasn’t she? Don’t you want to spend time with her today?

Okay. Can we go tomorrow?

Okay.

But can I also get Zombozo?

Okay!

You know you are spoiling your son...

Arulmozhi smiled to himself as the conversation he overheard faded into the noise of the landing aircraft. That is the exact conversation his wife would have with him in five year’s time.

He would buy Rajendran a Superman shirt with a cape. He would buy one for himself. The father and son would wear their shirts and streak past market streets and by lanes in his Bullet chasing wicked villains and saving beautiful princesses locked up in fortresses. Vanathi, concerned as she always is, will ring him...

Aren't you home yet? Lunch is getting cold...

His ringing phone brought him back to reality.

Has the flight landed?

How is Raju?

He is sleeping? He sleeps with his mouth open; just like you!

...it is a pleasant Friday morning here in ...

Thirteen hours is all that is between now and Arulmozhi seeing his new born son for the first time.

Little droplets of sweat trickled down his brows as he disembarked from the aircraft - a dam of locked up water streaking through its floodgates, seeking its freedom.

A lone black and yellow Premier Padmini parked under the only Gulmohar tree in the airport was the taxi Arulmozhi was going to get into. He always knew these things. But he didn’t know how. Or why. But he knew.

-------------

Parthiban parked his car under the same tree for the last four years. It was his lucky spot. He did not believe in God and found many religious practices to be plain superstitious. But he liked to be superstitious. He checked his horoscope daily from a Murugan calendar he kept in his hut. He wore black shirts on a particular day, every year, to celebrate the anniversary of his meeting Padmini. And he always parked under the Gulmohar tree. They were his little joys of life. And Padmini.

Parthiban rolled the windows up and rubbed his hands together to keep himself warm. Seventeen years in the city, he still found the mornings to be cold. He squinted his eyes as rays of sunlight pierced through the ambling westward clouds and embraced him. It was going to rain that morning. Some of the rays, stung by the beauty of the Gulmohar tree, drifted towards its bright red flowers and melted the morning dew, which formed a rivulet and headed towards the tip of a just sprouted leaf. The leaf quivered at the first touch of water and bent backwards dropping the dew onto the car’s bonnet.

Padmini hissed. Parthiban smiled at her and turned to his left. A sweeper swept the vast expanse of tarmac at the entrance of the airport. That was Parthiban fifteen years ago. The sweet melody of Suprabaatham from a distance pierced through the glass windows. Parthiban rolled the windows down. He has worked hard. Padmini was his life. He ran his hands over his bulging pant pockets to check that the money was still there. Later that morning, he would pay the last installment for his taxi loan and then; Padmini would be all but his.

-------------

The genteel morning breeze fluffed playfully, ruffling Poonguzhali's curly, black hair that coiled down to her wheatish shoulders. She stood at the bus stop, smiling to herself, as she waited for her bus to arrive. In spite of the shade that covered her from the sun, the diamond on her pierced nose lit up, reflecting the radiance in her self. She has been waiting for this day all her life. She will officially become the guardian angel at the hospital tomorrow, and death will have to stand up for a bloody good fight before she could lay hands on Poonguzhali's patients. She knew it. And so did the others. Amudhan spent the last six weeks collecting milk white feathers to knit two angel-like wings for her. He would surprise her at her convocation this evening. She looked at her own tender hands. They did not seem any different to the hands of any of her patients until they weaved their magic. Her dexterity and skill perplexed every seasoned surgeon and every ounce of their jealousy melted away as they melted in her guileless joyful laughter. She has not had a deep sleep in many years. Tonight, she will sleep to her heart's content. But from tomorrow, the sleep will be gone; for tomorrow is the beginning of her life's true purpose.

-------------

Thirumalai opened the rickety wooden cupboard and pulled out a neatly ironed white shirt. It was a nostalgic morning. After all, today was his last day at work and he will be a retired man tomorrow. He vividly remembered his first day at work as a cleaner in a private bus company. He was twenty years old then. In one year's time, he became a bus conductor and it was from his first salary as a bus conductor that he purchased that cupboard.

Life changed many folds and took new turns since then. One playful crush turned to love and eventually ended in wedlock. First came the daughter and in two year's time, a little son popped out. It all seemed so fast and in no time, the rented one bedroom LIG flat and its occupants were his life. He let go off his life long dream of becoming a gardener and instead got himself a licence to drive a bus. Like many middle class parents, he sacrificed his dreams so that his children could live theirs. He has no regrets. While even his supervisor's son lives only in Delhi, both his son and daughter live in America. He was very proud of it.

It was only in the last ten years, after his kids became financially independent, that the dreams began to reoccur to him - An unending vast expanse of roses, with a lone mango tree in the middle. Roses of every kind - the reds, the yellows, the whites, the blues, the blacks and even the greens would form a canopy of colour and stretch as far as any eye could see. A mat of dark green grass would adorn the myriad of footpaths that led to the sole mango tree.

He went to computer classes for a month to learn to search the Internet. Since then, every night, he spent an hour on the computer his son had bought him, learning about flowers and farming, making notes and saving all that he read onto a folder he called 'The Dream'.

It was six months ago when he spotted a lone mango tree ten miles from where he lived. He parked his TVS Champ by the side of the road and walked up to the land. A heavy gust blew into him. A streak of lightning and a roar of thunder signalled of the impending rain. Thirumalai knelt down and picked up a handful of the red soil. He felt a lump in his throat when he took it close to his nostrils and let the smell of the soil traverse past his windpipe to his lungs. He knew it right then. That was to be his farm.

-------------

Mr. Arulmozhi, would you like to fill a customer satisfaction form for us?

It is A. Verma

It annoyed Arulmozhi to be called Arulmozhi.

A. Verma did not like the long flight to India. He was not sure whether he did not like the long flight or his trip to India. He hated the noisy toddlers and their limitless capacity to cry. He hated the endless chatter of the women in a cabin in which he seemed to be the only guy.

In two hours, he will be in the filth and dirt he came from, amongst family and friends who had no sense or recognition of anyone's private life. The noise and the sheer number of people he was to expect was already bearing down upon him.

The women clamoured for their hand baggage even as the flight rumbled down the runway.

...it is a pleasant Saturday morning here in ...

Little droplets of sweat trickled down his brows as he disembarked from the aircraft. It was the beginning of his three long week stay at hell.

A. Verma called his driver on his cellphone as he approached the airport parking area.

Where are you?...

Yes, I have spotted you

As A. Verma walked briskly towards the black BMW parked under the Gulmohar tree in the airport, nurses scrambled around the patient who was just dropped off at the hospital entrance by an ambulance. Early morning accidents are a common feature in a day for the nurses and they all knew what was expected of them. As they passed through the hospital corridors, Amudhan sent out a series of instructions to the doctors and nurses until he said 'Poonguzhali...' and stopped. Every one of them stopped and stood numb for a split second and looked into each other's eyes. But only for a split second.

You.. What are you staring at? Come on... get going

Amudhan screamed at a young doctor as continued to wheel the patient through the corridors.