Wavering equation

I spent my day,
wrestling with formulas,
picking values from this sheet,
fitting them in that one,
desperately trying to even out
that whopping 30 million difference,
until my eyes began to water,
figures blurred
and I forgot counting basics.
Some job, you will think.
But this was just today,
one amongst many of those days
that appear on the horizon quarterly,
and eclipse my confidence.
But when the clouds of audit will pass,
I will be racking my brain with legal paraphernalia.
Unlike the 8:00 AM of salary-day love,
I relish this wavering equation
I share with my work.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Job

Grieving with Akshat

Sweltering June morning had a lazy feel. The day was ripe by the time Meira left for office. And by the time she reached there, the sun was almost overhead. The central air conditioner had been shut down due to some issues with voltage stabilization. And in the absence of continuous roar, everything seemed loud and blaring. The voices that sounded soft in the din of air conditioner now sounded unpleasant and penetrating. It was like they were accustomed to huge decibels without realizing the impact. It was okay initially, sitting in her cramped seat but with passage of time, she started getting a heavy feeling. She felt like she was breathing stale air, laden with warm dust. She turned around to ask Akshat to open the window. But Akshat was not in his seat. In the rush of work, she did not realize his absence. She got up and opened the window. A couple of pigeons on the ledge below flew away, flapping their wings noisily. But the whiff of fresh air felt so refreshing. A couple of heads turned towards her, spared a smile from their schedule and were again lost in computers. That was a due acknowledgment of her initiative. She sighed. She missed the young energy. The nearest in her age group happened to be Akshat. They had 10 years gap between them with Akshat leading the age board. But he still cracked a joke or two and made it a little easy to while the office hours. He had appeared to be busy today and so they had mostly worked in silence. Meira returned to task at hand, the fresh air making it bearable to work. The next time she looked up was after a good one and a half hour of dedication. But something had made her look up. A sudden clamour. She turned towards the source of disturbance and saw Akshat keeping his helmet aside. And he looked harried. It was strange enough that he had gone somewhere without telling her. The usual practice was to keep one another in loop just in case some authority calls you up. And it was disturbing that he was silent and brooding on return. Meira struggled with the question and then asked him, "where did you go at this hour of the day, with this sun and all"? If anything her profile was teaching her to draft things diplomatically; this sounded like concern and not question. Safer. Akshat managed a tired smile, "had to collect my son's reports". His son. His 12 year old thalassemic son. Who needs blood transplants every second week. Whose treatment was the reason why Akshat had sought compassionate transfer to capital city. Whose treatment was the reason why he had refused to participate in promotion process. Whose family spent the days hoping for a bone-marrow match. "What did the doctors say"? Meira instinctively regretted the question. Even before his face contorted with pain, with sadness, with grief. He muttered something under his breath. All she could catch was the word "worse". And then Akshat busied himself with some papers on his desk. Meira felt her throat go dry. She wanted to say something positive, something hopeful but words died on her tongue. How do you comfort someone who is watching his son edging towards death with every breath. You do not, period. You busy yourself with work and let them live their lives in peace sans the consolation. They do not need pity. They need lives beyond the hospitals. So Meira buried the sympathies in her heart and shuffled through the file on her desk. Often her eyes darted towards Akshat. But he was lost in some manpower planning data. At least he was working. He left a little early than usual. And Meira wondered what answers he would take home today to his wife and son.

When the cats are away

All the cats are busy preparing for the farewell of "The Tomcat". So us mice are having gala free time. Way beyond the lunch hour. Hushed whispers growing louder. Muted laughters sonorous. Very many grapevines sprouting. The clowder fretting, the nest celebrating.

When the world shook

Also linking with Alphabe-Thursday: letter W

She had not had her breakfast. And so her first instinct was to ignore the slight reeling of her head. The moment passed and she did not think much into it. With three cases running simultaneously in her mind, she had room for nothing more in there. The next time the reeling lasted a little longer. She thought she might faint. She decide to grab a quick snack, just in case. So, she got up from her seat, grabbed a file to be dropped on a colleagues’ desk en route and marched towards the office canteen. The confident straight foot falls that had garnered their share of head-turner when she had been new in the place. Two years and a couple of months later, people had gotten used to her presence.

As she crossed by her manager’s seat, she heard her name being called out. “How come you’re walking around? It’s an earthquake for goodness sake”.

Ah! An earthquake. That explained her revolving head. She relaxed. She was not fainting.

Her team-members “isn’t she weird look” made her realize that relaxing was wrongly-timed,

But, she did not feel the panic. She did not feel the fear. And now that she was standing, her head did not swirl. Somehow she could not relate to the scare that had people clamoring for stairs.

But then she had never had a history of conforming.

The table-fan at her colleagues desk was definitely springing now. And so there was no point left to disagree. She knew she would be following the commotion.

The fire exit was teeming with crowd from eight floors.

No further than a couple of stairs, she stopped again. Her manager looked at her with those “no way, you are not planning to go back in there”?

Over the din, she shouted the name of her bestie, Sanjula, to the manager.

They both stopped “what about her”?

“ I have to go back .. she … her … “ Oh great … when she needed them the most, the words left her.

She looked at the crowd. Sanjula, where are you?

When she saw Sanjula’s team on the stairs, she went weak in her knees. She asked them all, but they said something that died down in the noises. She panicked. Sanjula was on family way. Advanced stages. Last trimester.

She looked ahead. Her manager who was urging her on. Encouraging her to move. She looked back. There were people all over.

But no Sanjula.

She went up to her manager and told her the facts. Narrated them. Like she did on the court’s affidavit. Factual position without emotions.

Oh silly girl, just call her up.

I am trying but the call is just not connecting.

Well, then keep trying and keep moving.

The oncoming rush swallowed her.

As they neared the ground floor, she felt guilty. Of leaving Sanjula behind. She looked back. The friend circle was walking down the stairs. She mouthed Sanjula’s name. They had not seen her either.

Desperately, she called again. Unreachable. The fear that she had not felt for herself gripped her now. She prayed as she dialed again. Nothing. No ring. No buzz. No Sanjula. She looked at her phone, it still showed dialing. And then after infinity 0:01 “ where are you” “ you tell” “ …. …. … open“ she said something but the voice cracked. She kept the call going.

Upper ground. She slowed. Moved away from the exit. Towards the cubicles. Away from the crowd. Her manager. Her friends.

Where are you?

Just reached outside.

Already in the ground?

Yes.

See you there.

Sprited, she joined the crowd. Her manager and her friends. The courage that had left her for the moment made her feel weak. Or perhaps it was the lack of breakfast. And five flight of stairs.

When they made it to the open, her eyes searched and saw Sanjula smiling over something. Their eyes met and acknowledged each other. She relaxed and joined the nearest conversation.

“Has it passed”?

“Did you feel it”?

“God, look at all these buildings, we were better off in there”

“Do you plan to go back and work”

“Yaar, anyways, it is Saturday”

Frivolous banter. Anything to keep their minds off the temblor.

And then she found herself following these people back to the cubicles.

Nobody wanted to wait in sun for aftershocks.

Files, and statements and deadlines were calling out to them.

And just as she was typing out the last lines to some important letter, she heard the rumpus again. The table-fan was dancing again. And people were gathering near the fire exit.

She picked up both her handbag and phone. And was already calling Sanjula as she joined the hoo-ha.

Vagrant mind

Courtesy: Image forwarded by a cousin on what's app

The hills beckoned her. So did her home, sweet-home, the serpent-trail of river, hovering clouds and fresh crisp air. Her name echoed in the valley. Distant. Resonant. Again. This time, closer. Authoritative. Her manager rattled off some paragraphs of instructions. Ah! The reality-bite. Disheartened, she began the speech-to-text conversion. Almost verbatim. Shot a furtive glance on desk calendar. One more week and her paycheck would be arriving. Scrimpy incentive to stay in that concrete jungle. Another furtive glance. 4th May blared in her otherwise subdued schedule. Already she could feel the bus taking that last bend on the circuitous highway.

Courtesy: Friday Fictioneers

Linking with Alphabe-Thursday: Letter V

Linking with Friday Fictioneers