Monday, May 25, 2009

Wish upon a Key board

Once upon a time in a windowless office of a high rise building worked little Sujatha. Little, because she was short, insignificant and the littlest in the organization chart, just about earning a few hundreds more than the office boy. Sometimes people bumped into her and didn’t even notice. She was that inconspicuous.

Like in all offices of the world, they followed some unspoken corporate mantra diligently. The consequences of which were very belittling to Little Sujatha. In the beginning of the month, every body laughed more and frequented the social networking sites with a vengeance. They updated status messages with smileys and left scraps to each other. Needless to say Little Sujatha was excluded from this camaraderie.

Good looking junior executives were bullied and teased but everybody conveniently ignored Little Sujatha because nobody really wanted to date her or even talk to her. It was then she read a story about why people bully or talk about others- something to the effect that people throw stones only at trees laden with fruit. She was sadly a barren tree, even boring to be bullied or cared for. This story scarred her a bit and she shed a hasty tear or two in acute self pity. Of course no body noticed.

When mid month approached , every body’s smile faded a bit and towards the end of month , they put on their running shoes and jogged hard to get businesses and make clients happy and most importantly to please the Office Priestess Rochelle- beautiful, intelligent, rich and born under a spotlight. When she walked into that windowless office, doors opened and spectacles frosted. Her voice was musical with a strong commanding ring. People listened to her, loathed her success but loved her nonetheless. It was rumoured that on Rochelle’s instruction, that her suite like cabin was always sprayed with the latest launched bottled smell - Chanel or Versace or whatever that changed according to her whims .

By virtue of sitting around Rochelle’s cabin Little Sujatha would get that whiff of the latest in the international scene which she always associated with success and would often cross her fingers wanting to be Rochelle, the beautiful tree laden with the choicest fruits.

Then one day, she heard a voice. She swore it was the computer talking to her.
Press F5. Now. You shall find what you want.
She types slowly and deliberately. Rochelle, I want to be Rochelle.

She feels herself being lifted, tenderly but somehow compellingly. And there she was enveloped by a smell so tingling cushioned in a seat so warm and leathery. She smiles in delight and the spectacles of the Executive Assistant frost. Her heart sings a beautiful song praising her for finally being the tree with the choicest of fruits. Then it stops on its own and little jets of pain shoot through her shoulders slowly and steadily. Diamond beads like sweat spring on her face and neck and trickle down like small comical rivers. Then the pain becomes a dream. A painful dream but real. Unbearable, scary and she hits the floor with her hand clutching her heart.
A heart attack the doctor confirms later. Must have been all the stress being the boss, Poor thing.

Meanwhile little Rochelle sat at her desk excluded from all the office camaraderie- Away from the spotlight and feeling light bereft of all the fruits that once weighed her down. Happy to be just a tree at last.
Sweet Talker

We were walking by the woods and the sweet talker says “ I can climb the highest peak for you”. The leaves start to fall and we encounter a little mole hill. I smile at him say ”this is the mountain, climb it”. And he disappears in a blink

Then my phone rings and he explains in the sweetest soothing tone. That mole hills are way too small and climb he would only the highest peak with his bare hands.

I yawned and deleted his no.

Next please.