RECYCLE BIN

"Yippee", said the junior,
The boss sat with a benevolent smile.
The results of the rat race were out,
And he was the 'rattiest' of them all.
His mouse in one hand,
"Yippee", said the junior.

They called him, day and night.
"You know it all", said one and all.
Some pulled his hand-
Curved to the contour of his mouse,
Some patted on his back,
Arched permanently on someone's desk.

Gain some, he did,
And lose some, he did.
Fifteen kilos and five inches round the waist,
Grow up, he certainly did.
Poring over those thick books,
Learned those new words-
'Anemia', 'Insomnia', and 'Anorexia'.

Eight years, he toiled.
Eight months, he lagged.
Eight days, he vanished.
And eight hundred people, discussed that.
"From the eight figures of the days' profit,
Came down one eighth of a decimal", they said.
And thus he was fired on eight counts,
"The man worked like an eighty-year-old", they said.

"Yippee", said the junior,
The boss sat there and smiled.
Learn some, he did,
The boss- HE did.
The new words he learnt were,
'Pretence', 'dis-regard', and 'boot-lick-er'.
And so he sat there and thought-
"But hurt it did, to watch the kid".

A DAY AT WORK

(An autobiographical script of a ('gone nuts')software engineer's life)

The whiteness all around haunts me… The whiteness of the screen in front of me seems to tell me how colorless life has become. Scared, when I look down in an attempt to escape from the white screen, I see the whiteness of the papers on my desk. Documents scattered around… I never make an attempt to put them in order. That is the least the ghost of the rebel in me can do. I wish to chatter endlessly, I wish to paint my cubicle in a thousand hues, I wish to laugh out aloud, but the wishes come up and get stuck somewhere. All I can hear is the clatter of the keys on the keyboard- the keys that continuously jab down the tiny sprouting desires within the heart.

At times I believe that I have become hypersensitive. A smiling face brings so much of elation to me that I feel euphoric for a few minutes. And the next minute I see my superior’s name blink in the msn and I shiver in fear. (Shiver might be a bit of an exaggeration. But I do at least shrink- that is- the head held high is lowered, the shoulders set apart in relaxation come together in a hunch, and the legs that swing continuously are restrained.) But then, at times, I think I have become insensitive. I do not realize that I haven’t eaten anything from last night onwards. I also don’t realize that I have had my full even while I am having my third round of meal (I deny all those reports stating that the second point mentioned is not a new development).

Well, I call this a love-hate relationship, err… with my work. Why didn’t I even bother to take a note of how many times I thought that I loved my work and how many times I hated it. But even if I tried, it would have been impossible. The feeling changes faster than I write a test case. I doubt that, among other things, work has induced in me bipolar disorder as well. (They say that it is a disease in which you feel like a 5-year-old one moment and a software engineer, the next. Or in other words- sudden and varying feelings of extreme happiness and sadness.)

I just got a glance of my colleague- the one with scrutinizing eyes and a fake smile. I mean- one of the ones… For me, she has no name. Names are easier to forget when you have a lot of tasks to remember. Ah, yes, tasks- there are tasks. I try to concentrate on my work.

I am drifting off to sleep. I am aware that on getting caught AGAIN, I will be criticized in no uncertain terms. But I do not bother. I see a short and sweet dream in which I ask people with floating faces to go to hell. Someone is shouting at me. I still do not care. The voice is coming nearer. Irritated, I wake up from my sleep. I recognize that the voice is familiar- my boss!!! The next second, the valiant soldier in me is dead. I start typing away mechanically, jabbing the keys on to a heavy heart.

CHITCHAT

I decided to add this as an afterthought. I wonder how many of you might be thinking that i have gone as crazy as to shut myself up in a room and churn out stories like a factory, and post each one a day in the blog. Well, sometime during those days when i had nothing much to do except eating and sleeping, and cooking( which i have presented as a serious business to anyone who cares to listen), i used to wake up from bad dreams and talk in a strange language and start scribbling like an intellectual, scratching my beardless chin! And these creations are going to shower down on you unfortunate ones like whatever you choose to think. And for those genial souls out there who click your tongue and curve your mouth in apparent sadness that a seemingly normal girl until a few days back have gone out of her way to prove that she is crazy, think twice- you might be in for a surprise! I can guess what you would say when you see some of my crazier stuff- perhaps the same thing! (that is, if you are one among those great souls in which adventurous spirit never dies and decide to visit my blog again). And by the way, who said anyone is normal anyway???

THE END

( Kindly dont accuse me of giving u a false hope that i am going to end my blog association too soon... The title infact refers to a story- one of those crazy notes. Read on... )

PART 1
A sad old father's suicide note read thus- My daughter Angela was an angel, except for the fact that me- she considered an old fool and her mother- an ass!!!

PART 2
Angela looked at him, evidently lost somewhere else. It was not difficult to see that she admired him, but who did really see that she dreamt of him every waking and sleeping moment- dreamt of walking with him holding his hands in hers.

PART 3
The bricks of the wall were red. The seats they occupied were painted red. He held a rose in his hand-red... That day he asked Angela- "Will you marry me?" She stoop up (i think, in reverence!!!) as she took the flower- the thorn pricked her.

PART 4
In hushed tones the couples conversed in between the walls of the library. He was brooding, she was watching him. And then he spoke suddenly- "Angela, i want you to meet my parents."

PART 5
It was a busy hospital; or rather a hospital with busy people in it. The doctors didnt meet the patients, the relatives didnt meet the doctors... Two men with beards and cameras walked along the corridor of that yellow building. One said to the other- "Heard that the rape victim is swell."
The other said- "Who knows! Must have been into business for quite some time." A third man walked behind them, white beard, and medicines in his hand.

PART 6
"My daughter deserved a better life. I tried to give her atleast a better death. I am a happy man now- because we all- all three of us(my wife, my daughter, and me)- we live happily hereafter. The End."

AN ODE TO A DREAM

(The fact remains that i rarely did ever pen a poem, but the compulsion was involuntary, and the urge had to be dealt with.... )

- in memoirs of a person who imagined it to be pearldrops when he saw tears trickling down her face!

Long live thee those who
reap thy gold in the sun
because if you let it pass
then the darkness falls,
and then pain, and then the final rest.
With their sweat they build the castles,
Of love, and longing, and eternal hope.

Hail thee the sparrow,
who builds its thirteenth nest,
because the last twelve-
she lost it to a snake.
The last of those feathers
She tore it from her wing
killing a part of her
to give birth to many more.

Honour thee the twig who clung to the tree
when the fruit ran away to be free
The twig lived long
and the fruit died in a kid's hand.

Love thee the dream-
who asked me to die to live,
and get reborn several times
so that i eventually died better!