Wardrobe malfunction, anyone?
With the office décor shouting out ‘bored’ in deep blue, the Little Wench takes one look around her desk to find one sign of life, at least one crack in the deep blue bubble!
Sighing, Wench almost talks to her laptop, “Oh what I’ll do to have ONE interesting, straight out-of-fiction thing happening, I swear I’ll not complain even if it turns out less than perfect. Just anything, anything out of the monotonous routine!”
“Yes, yes, I know. It’s my favourite kurta!” said the wench in her head while rolling her eyes. She was happy she was perfecting the art of receiving compliments at least when performed in her head. In her head, in fact, sometimes she came across as cocky as it turned awkward in real life.
Few minutes later, staring at herself in the washroom mirror, she said to herself, “Life couldn’t be more boring! God, what would I give to get a tiny-little excitement in life!” leaving the door behind her to snap shut, as soon as she stepped out of the washroom, she realized she heard something croaking to its loudest. No wait, something shrieked. The front-desk guy sitting right in front of me, staring me in my face. And then I realized whose shriek it was! It was my kurta, stuck between the door and me, tearing at one side all the way up till just the point where breasts begin.
Horror struck her in one split-second while one part of her brain smirked out loud, “Just what you asked! Entertainment. Entertainment. And Entertainment.”
Bordering on Bibliophile *sighs*
Sorted Colleague 1: So in short, getting on a plane and getting that hotel booked for a week is a luxury! Reading books and stuff is fine, I can always do that with my kindle and ipad what not, but luxury is this!
Wench: Do you know what real luxury is? It’s to have a book, to hold a book, a hard copy of a real classic in your hands that you can touch and feel, along with the text. It is to have the time and space to enjoy the other world as you flick it over page by page. An e-version kills the book, no matter how convenient it gets!
A 50 bucks-thief~
It’s ridiculously crowded for an averaged sized bus. You don’t want to exploit the faultless, tired
guys sitting on ladies’ seat, so you turn towards the other side to create a space to stand, only to realize that this upsets the guys even more somehow, as they get embarrassed looking at you, offer you their seat thinking this must be the only reason why you’re a girl and turn toward the other side. And even before you can explain them the situation, their inexplicable embarrassment makes you awkward too and you just find yourself settling down eventually.
Now, window seat in buses while commuting from a new place is one of my favourite explorations! As you pass a Rs. 50 note to the fellow passenger for the ticket, you do your usual check-list and a quick scan of the stories (people) around you. Headphones are in place, right playlist is on play, the book is on your lap, and you are looking at every person around you with amusement, curiousity and a little hope The auntie who is tired, busy co-ordinating back home and looks like the last time she got her ‘me-time’ was at the gas-booking queue, the balding uncle with a mellow smile who seemingly doesn’t have a complain against anyone, in his life of odd 65 something years and willingly shares the warmth in his smile with you without expecting anything in return, or the clean (and cute) guy who has a peculiar way of doing everything and you often find yourself checking him out in a very ‘non-checking out’ manner.
Just then, you realize your ticket hasn’t come yet. Worried, for the T.C might show up anytime especially when you least expect it, you check with the guy. He explains he passed it long back. A lot of people find my story interesting by now, and tell me someone in the passing chain must have thought Rs. 50 was too big an amount to let go and got away at the nearest bus stop with the money. Amused, I politely refuse to believe it and decide to go check myself with the conductor. People stare at me confused as I pass through the huge rush from my first row-seat towards the other end.
Yes, they were right. And I understood this after getting myself touched/squished/poked through my way to the conductor. Yes, someone thought Rs. 50 was enough an amount to let their conscience go have a smoke a the nearest outlet as they took the money to their pocket. Or maybe, someone thought Rs. 50 was too small an amount to be justified being honest with. Or worse, someone’s life had such abundance of scarcity that it was hugely influenced by the ‘having/not having’ of Rs. 50.
Would i still pass on money next time i am in a bus? Most probably, yes. Would i still be willing to trust people around without thinking once about this incident? Probably no. Not without remembering this. Should i be happy, that i am not one of those unfortunate? Or should i simply feel sad that even a small 50-rupee note can make you painfully aware of your conscience (or lack of it).
