Another morning and I was still in my bed wondering, “Am I well rested?” I could hear the music coming in through my bedroom window. I stood on my curious legs but walked a lazy step to see what the celebration was about.
The morning sun, the shiniest star smiling away. I earned it after a sleepless night. The warmth made me join my hands in gratitude and then they were wide open in a hug, embracing. The stage and the lights were all set for the morning show.
The birds sang the morning song. Decibels high and pitch-perfect. I closed my eyes and for a moment there I became hollow. Only the yellow light and the melodious symphony could pass through me. Every cell, every organ, every muscle filled with energy. For a few seconds, I was one of them. I took some deep breaths and the song faded away. Opened my eyes and I was amazed at what I found. There was a smile on my face. “I guess, now I am rested.” I stretched a while and saddled up for the day ahead of me. Packed my office and personal bags. Tapped an egg on the kitchen counter, then another. I decided to have some extra breakfast to keep me running as it was going to be a gruelling day. I picked up my car keys. As I was locking the main door, I thanked again, the universe, existence, the morning birds who woke me up or uplifted me (as I couldn’t sleep much), the government, whoever was listening and headed on my way. Chirp chirp chirp was the song of the day.
I started walking to my car and there it was, one of the bird choir members sitting on the side mirror of my car. They were a lost species and only a few left in this area, small with soft brown feathers. When I was young, I used to enjoy, sitting and watching them. Whenever I used to step out of the house to go to school, to ride my bicycle or to play with my friends, they would always be there with their families and friends, chirping, their small wings swooshing in a low flight. Their perfect round homes on our garden trees made them our best neighbours.
Years later, now I was seeing one. A sparrow was shifting seats from my car door to the side view mirror. I couldn’t stop admiring this fine petite beauty. “Don’t you dare open the door,” I told myself. I didn’t want it to be scared by the sound of the car getting unlocked. I stood still, with my eyes wide open and the widest smile on my face. The sparrow took a short flight and landed on the side mirror. I think it was looking at its glowing self and swinging with delight. The quick to and fros from left to right of the mirror portrayed that it was happy to be alive.
It then flew a little further, to the back door. I took a step forward and slowly offered my hand for it to rest. The flights were getting longer but it kept coming back to the mirror. The chirping was increasing but it was the mirror that was the sole attraction for this tiny little creature. This time the sparrow pecked on the mirror. Maybe it had found a friend. Just as my smile was about to touch my ears, I froze and saw the unceasing pecking on the adorable small sparrow which was nothing but a reflection of its own. Maybe the sparrow was threatened by this presence in the mirror and was trying to defend its nest which I am sure must be on one of the many Kadam trees by the sidewalk. There were so many other birds singing and celebrating all around on that beautiful but slightly foggy morning. The sparrow continued to flutter hysterically, not knowing that it was looking at a mirror. It was not aware that it was its reflection, friendly or threatening!
I wondered if this was natural. I, me and mine, nothing but the reflection of our ego. We keep thinking that we are fighting against this world for this world. I failed to understand the sparrow’s philosophy. Why did it choose the mirror out of the entire white car surrounded by an enormous number of giant trees and lovely flowers? I couldn’t disturb this confused life and decided to let it be and not interfere. I took the phone out of my pocket and booked an Uber. The stout Guard Bhaiya, dressed in a neatly ironed khaki uniform quite like that of a Police constable (I think it was the uniform that did most of his job) asked me if I needed help. He was a sweet, courteous man and I replied, “I am fine. I am going to take a cab today.” With no further questions or even a hint of curiosity in his posture, he saluted me again and went back to his thin notepad of daily entrants.
While waiting, I turned to look back. I could see my family in the house. A white house with a single floor. So many people. Siblings and friends. Privileges abundant. We never ran out of books or toys. Like these birds, even I flew, with ambition. Hurdles were meaningless as a child. Teenage was filled with exciting heartbreak experiences. I could see myself dancing around on the porch.
“Madam, your cab is here.” Blinking, I saw the watchman open the car door and wish me a good day. I realized I was standing in my 24-floor DLF apartment complex in Gurugram. The birds were no more visible. Even my new friend had flown away. Maybe they were all on their journeys to find something. I could have easily cancelled my cab but the twenty-minute journey to my office could be a gift of time to myself.
The cab smelled like any other cab. Not fresh at all. The air freshener attached to the wing of the AC fan in front was empty like a dried-out well in an arid land. Maybe the placebo of the two-inch plastic bottle labeled ‘Rose Fragrance’ was enough for the cab driver and his passengers. The Maruti Suzuki Dzire was clean but the seat covers were frayed in places, admitting that they had been in service for quite some time. The moment the cab driver moved his index finger toward the FM radio button, I stopped him, ” No music please.” He immediately moved back his hand onto the steering wheel and very calmly said, “Ok ma’am.”
I sat in the back seat with my phone in my hand. l thought I should check my Instagram or Facebook account as I wouldn’t have time in the office. But who was I kidding? It was months ago when I last posted something. Social exchanges tired me as they served no logical purpose but carried the fear of ostracism. Well, I guess that ship had sailed. There was a little hesitation in me as I was not used to ‘idle-ism’. I guess I didn’t want to dig deep and denial was an easier path. I decided I would rather talk to myself as the bird had got to me.
The long-lost mirage resurfaced. On that porch, I had not been the only one. There was another girl, in a prettier dress. I was jumping up and down while she was playing with her Barbie dolls. I remember yelling at her, “Didi, you always play with your dolls. Come play with me.” She didn’t answer and kept playing as if I didn’t even exist. I was always the extrovert, in all school plays, sports, and school politics. Didi was calmer or may I say, “Always a good girl with good grades”. She had books as her pals. And of course, ‘Daddy’s li’l girl’! My dad was a disciplinarian and very protective of her girls. Only my brothers were allowed to step out for errands. The park in front of our house was the only platform for fun and play, for us girls. Didi was always comfortable indoors. Maybe that was the reason I was the scarred one. I should have never left the house that afternoon to buy candies. Those candies were just not worth it. But I didn’t know what was happening and I was too scared to confess as I had left home without asking. I just buried that incident way deeper than six feet under. I thought once you grow up you don’t remember age nine. But when I came to comprehend what it was, no baths were enough to clean that mess. No books had words enough to overlay that memory.
“Did we crash?”, I yelled after a sudden jerk. I was brought back by the sound of the monster road roller. “No, it’s just a road roller”, the cab driver replied. The smell of black tar and the fumes from the hot surface matched the aura of my thoughts. Roads were under construction outside my Bikaji office. “Bhaiya it’s me”, I rolled down my window and lifted my hand in a short wave to greet the security guard at the entrance gate of my office towers. “Madam is your car ok?”, he bent a little to see me clearly and asked with less concern and more curiosity. “Yes, yes. Thank you!” The security guard knew my car details. It was his job. He was the second one after the watchman at my apartment building every morning, to greet me.
I paid the cab driver and stepped out of the car. The cab driver yelled, “Madam you forgot your phone.” I rushed back to grab the phone with relief and thanked him. I kept asking myself, “I never forget things. I have to get back to my work mode. This is no time to fidget.” Before going to my office, I went straight to the washroom on the ground floor. That was my routine. Never straight to the office. I always had two bags on me. One was my work bag that contained my laptop, stationery, diary, folders, sanitizer, almonds, tissue pack, house keys, car keys, AirPods, and breath mints. The other bag belonged to Ms. Priya Mishra, the Creative Head at a magazine house. I removed my pumps and put my heels on as it was difficult to be seen among men who stood a few feet taller, with their chins up. My hair was always set in the neatest style with the hair spray on. It was not too short but I kept it open with a little puff in the front clipped with two hairpins. I tucked my shirt in my custom-made pants. The waistcoat fitted me perfectly, thanks to the evening gym visits. I wriggled into my blazer and did the final touch-up. I packed up my scarf, sunglasses and comfy pumps in the bag. Lips nude, eyes painted with a thin black liner with only one thing to remove. The smile. That was me, Priya Mishra, earlier aka Piru, at work. I walked to the elevator and pressed the Up arrow. The lift opened immediately. I walked in alone as I was always the first one. The lift attendant stood up from his narrow stool and saluted me. I stood with an expressionless face and ignored his presence completely.
As the elevator door closed, I saw myself standing behind a curtain. Practicing my dance moves for my recital. I was fifteen and very friendly. My teachers were yelling at me to be more serious as I had to be on stage in two minutes. But I stayed as silly as I could and just enjoyed myself. Suddenly the announcement was made and the elevator bell rang in an automated voice, “Fourth floor”. The cleaning crew entered the elevator and greeted me. I nodded back at them. I straightened up and pulled back my shoulders. The door then opened on the 6th floor. I stepped out of the elevator at a steady speed and a firm posture.
After a short biometric scan, I entered my regime. Just a few staff members, on their feet, wished me good morning and I nodded at them with a straight face. I entered my corner square office with a black rectangle desk. The office was just big enough to fit four more people. White walls and white file cabinets on those walls dressed up the room with seriousness. Only the chair and my PC matched the devil desk that had witnessed the gavel thumps of many verdicts, exciting and horrendous. I placed my bags on the small side table next to the tainted glass door, turned on my coffee machine, and made myself a double espresso. As my coffee was getting brewed, my work bag was spread out on the desk as pieces of the puzzle just placed right. My laptop set and fully charged. My notes and folders for the day, in order. As the aroma of the coffee spread, all my senses got heightened. “Bottoms up, here I go.”
I had a meeting in fifteen minutes. So I headed to the conference room. As I opened my glass door, I saw the entire sixth floor covered with employees. Most of them had settled down. Some ran to their cubicles to avoid starting their day with a lecture about discipline, from me. My assistant, Arun grabbed my laptop from my office and came to stand by me. He was a tall, slim guy with extremely short black hair. He was always dressed in a uniform of white shirt with black trousers (only his neckties used to vary) with his notepad in his right hand and a pen in the left. Many a time, there were pen marks on his face as he used to keep adjusting his thick black-framed glasses from falling off his nose. Despite his simple time-saving dress-up strategy, he was a quick learner and the fastest typist I knew. Just in ten months on the job, he started predicting my moves very accurately. Although I spent maximum hours of my day with him, this was all I knew of him. As I was walking to the conference room, Arun handed me the minutes of the last meeting. I went through them without halting as Arun walked right in front of me clearing the way. This was an important meeting as it was the last issue of the financial year and the last issue of my first single financial year. This had not been an easy run.
I was the youngest of four siblings. They used to say the one thing that I always had was the widest, cutest smile. Too many people in the house and our house was just the right size for all of us. We fit. One thing that I was not was ‘alone’. I had a doll. It was not a new doll but the one dethroned by my elder sister. I was young but old enough to know that it was a toy. I remember the day she threw away the doll. She was so angry that I could still hear her screaming and crying at the same time. I stood outside her shut bedroom door, trying to listen to her words but there was so much stomping and smashing that I felt she was trying to destroy her territory, her bedroom. I stood outside confused and scared. My sister was not the sharing kind but I loved her because I was told I had to. It was a long night. Her screams still in my head, I could not think of any way to help her. I was fourteen and my sister was twenty-two. My brothers were twenty and sixteen. I always assumed that the two-year gap between my brother and me was keeping me from being an adult. There was a rule that applied only to me: “When adults are talking, kids should not interfere.” My sister was an adult, so she agreed. But my other two siblings were boys and that was qualification enough for being an adult. Maybe I was never qualified enough for one particular subject. A subject my sister aced. Marriage.
The conference room was on the seventh floor. That meeting was important as my promotion to the seventh floor depended on it. It was a ten-storey office and it had taken me eight years to reach the sixth. It was a climb tougher than the Everest. I was never a free bird but I flew even tethered. With ropes of conditions and authority tied to me and the baton of control being transferred from one to the next, I knew I couldn’t undo my nature. I fell uncountable times, but my wings never unlearned to spread. I had got married four years ago. I thought that was slowing me down. So I got separated a year ago. Three years on this sixth floor and I had to fly. I exited the elevator, took some deep breaths and entered the room filled with men. Some fat and way senior and some just oozing superiority. I buried my fears with my doll and now had a mask on. This mask was not to stand out but to be viewed as one of them. The moment I got up to present my New Issue strategy, an old movie started playing in the background. Characters of this movie were random background artists, the society crew, mostly sad old men and some young tough-conditioned ones murmuring, “Piru is still working, owns a flat in Gurugram? Handles her own finances? What is going on?”
The projector light was flashing and all eyes were on the screen. I watched everyone, facing away from me. I recited a well-graphed and elucidated script which I had been working on, for the past couple of weeks. I could hear the Celine Dion song, I am alive, I used to hum when I was twelve. While sketching or dancing and even during my Math exam, I used to keep humming a rhythm. Sometimes Backstreet Boys, Boy Zone, and sometimes the historic Beatles. But now it was the song I had composed in my teens, that was playing in my head.
My good scores, medals and all that I yearned for were part of my parent’s achievements.
But during my teenage phase, the rebellion garnered some disagreements.
Now knowing the reasons, I can logically validate.
But then I was young, the youngest child – some decisions imposed on me were not that compassionate.
I was always overshadowed by men and my work was always a hobby to them. My pay grade was never enough to match the definition of responsibility or independence. Tying the matrimonial knot by weighing social factors, as my elders wanted, was completely alien to me. But I had surrendered. And it felt good as I was with a man different than the typical.
As the lights turned back on, the room looked smaller. It was the seating of twelve angry men. But I could see the anger pointing at my confidence and security. A detailed Q&A led to lunch. Arun grabbed my laptop and other supplies while I shook hands with men who looked so nonchalant. But I knew this was a strategy men applied. Always a condescending look to tell me my place. They forget that I am a bird. I could fly away from disdain.
I discussed with Arun my post-lunch meeting with the studio on fifth floor. I reached my office with no memory of the journey from the conference room as Arun handed me the portfolio and I got busy studying the amazing photos and clips for the next issue. As I entered my office, a veg sandwich wrapped in a white paper box was waiting for me. Snuggled on that black desk, labelled “Fresh from PO cafeteria”. That was my usual. Before opening my lunch, I excused Arun, “See you in twenty”. But I knew he would be outside in fifteen minutes. I turned on the coffee machine, this time for my single shot of black caffeine, to carry me through the rest of the day. I left the cup under the dispenser and went to my desk. My first sitting of the day in the office. There wasn’t much noise on the floor as most of the employees were either in the cafeteria or out smoking. I slowly ate the sandwich with no interruptions.
This year did not pass that swiftly. I remembered the same day last year. That day I had the last breakfast with both of my families. I had the same sandwich on the same desk. But unwrapped. The words from that morning were filling enough and the decision made me lose my appetite. His words to me, “Let’s finish our journey, even if we have to walk alone.” But he didn’t say a word after that. I picked up my packed bags and drove to my apartment in Gurugram. He picked up his packed bags and went off to his firm’s south division in Bangalore. As my steps were reaching the door of my ex-house, I could hear my in-laws begging him to stay. I knew even he was suffocated. He didn’t want to be a knight who always rescued me from family controversies or setbacks. When we first met, he found me to be a smart, working, happy kind of girl. He always stood by me but maybe I took every bit of calmness out of that marriage by involving everyone, even the seconds and the thirds and forgot about just the two of us. New to the concept of matrimony, my legends being conditioned society-worshipping elders, my opinions, my words did not faze them. So I danced my assertions away. Lived the way they wanted. To get a moment of approval, the coward in me smiled for that one fake moment, not realizing the effects of ripples. Managed my working hours as per their suitability. Refused promotions as it would hurt egos of my male siblings-in-law. Do’s and dont’s, rights and wrongs were grey areas to me. I was running after the answers without asking the right questions? “Ma’am, shall we move? Ma’am?”, Arun asked me. He was standing there for I don’t know how long. I threw the last bite resting in the wrapper in the trash can under the desk. I got up and poured the coffee shot down my throat. I asked Arun to pick up the Portfolio from the desk and headed to the elevator. The moment I stepped out of my cabin, things froze. Sounds faded. This had started happening when I had canceled the birthday cakes in the office. I couldn’t be soft in this man’s world. I couldn’t be wasting time on frivolity. Evenings were for parties. Not for me though because I had my gym wear ready in my big tote. I had a lot on my plate and just couldn’t afford to deflect. I didn’t invest any further thoughts in the matter as I was excited to be on the floor where I had my most fun experiences. That was the time when just a birthday cake was not enough.
As I stepped out of the elevator door on the fifth floor, the scene was magical. I hid my excitement under my unwavering gaze, pursed lips and raised eyebrows. I loved this floor. I was here three years ago. Worked with photographs. They told different stories to the seeker. This was my escape from my home. This was the rejuvenating floor that made me go back to Rahul with peace in my heart and awe in my mind. As I entered the clipping room, it all came back to me. The laughs I had with my co-workers here. The creativity pouring out of me. The compassion and frankness I shared with my subordinates. I knew almost all of their personal stories. Even the embarrassing ones. I was so silly back then. I was everyone’s trusted and approachable confidant. Somewhere along the way, that perception shifted. Now, I was a distant and overly self-important superior.
The meeting was long but good. Maybe it was the loner in me who wanted to stay more in that room filled with moments of people and places. The negatives lying recklessly on the table made me realize that it was the fear in me that had made me what I am. I couldn’t call for sympathy or pitying hugs in this competitive aura. They were going to judge anyhow and I couldn’t spend any more time getting affected. I had my ambitions, I had my reasons. I had given up one life for something I believed in. I had to secure myself. So what if I had to change? I couldn’t stop my eyes from scanning the negatives and photos and the art all over the room.
As I was about to step out of the clipping room, Arun came running to tell me that I was being summoned to the eighth floor. Without any reply, I hastened toward the elevator. I wasn’t running but I could feel my heart racing unnaturally. The elevator door opened and I walked in. It was crowded. I stood there in my school uniform. I was up on the stage waiting for the results of the Sarojini Naidu inter-school poetry recitation in Delhi. Then the Elevator sang, “5th floor”. And suddenly I was at Prestige MBA college. I was standing in front of the wall that displayed the postgraduate exam results. I couldn’t reach the wall as so many other students were blocking my view. And I couldn’t step out of the rush as many others were pushing me from behind. The elevator then stopped at the 7th floor. But nobody entered. Everyone but me exited. I was alone with that lift attendant who kept sitting on his narrow stool. Maybe he couldn’t stand after a long tiring day. I felt this was it. I was alone and reaching the heights or I was being called up to be thrown down? It was just one more floor but it felt like the elevator was moving at glacier speed. Suddenly loud voices in my head started shouting,” You can’t live alone. You won’t survive a day.” I couldn’t identify the voices so I closed my ears tightly and kept repeating to myself, “I wish you were here.” The elevator bell sang, “8th floor.”
After the meeting which ended pretty late, I called up Arun. I knew he would be waiting. I asked him to meet me in my office. When I reached my office, he was standing with a shy smile on his face. I told him to wrap up my stuff. He had already done that. He gave me a note with ‘Congratulations’ written on it. I shook his hand and thanked him. He said, “Ma’am, I’ll set up your office on the seventh floor, first thing in the morning”. I replied very gently to him, “And yours too”. I knew he was smiling and happy but I did not engage. I went downstairs and asked him to call me a cab. I went to the washroom on the ground floor, took off my heels and put on my comfy pumps. I opened my hair and kept the hairpins in my bag. I removed the waistcoat and packed it neatly. I drew the scarf out from my bag, wrapped it around my neck and headed out. Arun wished me goodnight. I nodded and sat in my cab.
At night there was relatively more traffic. So I knew it would take me thirty-five minutes to reach my apartment. Should I smile again? Can I? Maybe it is the unconditional morning show with the birds singing that I have to wait for. I took out my phone and put it in flight mode. I wanted to call him but maybe it was too soon. I didn’t know the appropriate time or distance that could heal us. I wanted to write to him and I did type but I never pressed the Send button.
I was alone and stranded with stoned zombies around me
I tried to suppress my fears and anxiety by smiling and pleasing
I was not waiting for a knight
I knew I had to rescue myself
But who knew that there was another survivor in this world of obsessive monsters
To me, a fighter was revealed
When we were together, we were a perfect fit
Like-minded with imagination rainbow coloured
Memories that we made led to ripples of adventure in our lives
Zombieland turned into human land
And it all made perfect sense
Staircases of possibility appeared before us
And we wanted to climb them with rapture
We were tested many times and nothing could break us apart
But unknowingly, this journey to be with each other somehow became vague
Conditions began to attach
Purposes started to clash
The strength that kept us together, turned into a plague
The colours started to fade and we didn’t fit anymore
I spilled my ego all over you
What else could you do but give up on me?
I am sorry, my love, I am sorry
I tried to bind you and forgot that you were the source of my happiness that couldn’t be contained.
I was blind not to see that the darkness was there so that I could find the light
But I surrendered to the darkness as it was an easier choice
I can’t undo my actions
I can’t give you back our lost time
I am sorry my love, I am sorry
I let you go so that I could reveal myself to myself
Don’t wait up
Let me find my reflection that you fell in love with and I am sure you will find me again
I am sorry my love, I am sorry
Photo credit: Simarna Paintal