Silence Please, Men at Work!

Oh, this ain’t a roadside signage that drawn my lecherous self, to sweaty and hard-bodied men under-constructing a road or building, to whom I could serve myself as the turkey that they will feast upon. Rather, it’s the unsaid rule of 36 people who work together but, never talk – AT MY WORKPLACE.

Historically, I know a ‘shy guy’. It was me - a silent geek with grandpa’s spectacles although my childhood; the only among the 50 students whose transformation to a melodramatic, over-the-top, cacophonic (but outspoken) bitch was the talk of the town today. In fact, I was so silent that nobody knows that ‘I was gay’ till, I start speaking so voluminous that nobody could ‘make me straight’ now.

Dude, let’s concentrate on those 36 people rather writing a character certificate for your own self. (Err…) Okay!

So, here’s this 36 people who comes to work every day (in singles and doubles) but never punctual, find a seat for themselves before the computer and remain seated for 8…no 9…err! 10 hours. What’s un-natural about it? All goes to work and seat in their chair and do their work, on/ off computers…! Oh yea, these are different.

In a 1500 sq. ft, where the air-conditioner don’t work when it is summer but, keeps you freezing when it’s raining or cold outside – the 36 people seat in their chairs, next to each, in different cubicles and start working. An hour, another hour, (add) few more hours; they still working...

No looking to LEFT, not to the RIGHT; nothing to scratch, nobody sighs…no phiss-phiss, no khus-phuss! Maintain distance, maintain silence…men are at work. Sometimes, the silence sound so horrible that even a metal pin might feel embarrassed of ‘being dropped’. (“Oops! I made some noise, SORRY!”) The icy-cold conditioned air swept through the room, embalmed each to a corpse laid to rest in their grave-desk. The best of the dedicated peoples, among all the countrymen, that my company has hired. And, the only non-dedicated me who jump around, crackdown the most lewd jokes and breathes so moanfully that could give my neighbor a ‘boner’. (Ouch!)

Look at the bright side, for Heaven sake! They work dedicatedly and concentrate to core. Oh yea! Getting their freelance work done at office expenses; fixing the same errors for n-number for the same program in every similar project and continues for more than 6-months, fixing their dates and lovenotes on Spark (intra-chat message application) and staring to their computer screen without a blink – if that’s what you call working then, indeed I take a bow. Has anybody heard this, “All work and no play make 36 dull men…”

Surprisingly, these 36 people unfix their posterior from the seat and walk out the glass door, turn bright, fun-filled, cantankerous individuals. Ain’t that sounds strange? Sometimes, I feel they are too hideous and too ‘silent’ in their real self. I feel betrayed now coz’ my HR promised me “a energetic and amazing workplace…”

Can you Measure the Distance?

Dear Az,

Since, you love reading me through my write-ups than to chat-in-person, let me now do some talking.

Three-months and you are gone. I am somewhat recycling to ‘what you have met’ (with few exceptions); keeping myself busy at work. In past two months, I have started contributing and collecting accolades again – for my work, for my ideas, for my creative talents; and yes, the political brick-batting. [Suddenly, worms of politics have dirtied my workplace and, I get soaked into it. I hate this but always the best player to the game.]

Anyways, this is not to speak about what going at work. It’s all about YOU and ME – the two most dearest peoples I have loved, and misses.

I haven’t said you many a things, till now. I haven’t spoken about me to you, so hurtfully. Agreed, we did spend years with each other; many a evenings, fought-and-kissed, made to the bed and satisfied; yet…I always remain standing in the dark behind you, watching and waiting.

In the last few months, a strange feeling was overcoming me and I was basking to glory; or about to reach your love till you bought a ticket to highlands. I regaled and left to my mooring with a broken tambourine. I haven’t said you, that last time when you hugged me – the night before you left; I had a gulp hidden inside my throat about to explode, yet I smiled back; only to break down once you are gone. That night, I cursed myself, and complained to Almighty (if there is any) for making me ‘what I am’.

Honestly, I don’t recall the numbers of raindrops that have drenched me one evening, while we were returning on a bike from Gol Gumbaz. I don’t make an effort to visit the places where we have memories of ours. I lived those moments to every nanosecond, I knew your touch, I can feel your breath. But now, they all gone frail and fail to measure the distances…

I ain’t complaining, but I impatiently wait for that little chat window to open with a scribbled word from you. Do you know sometimes, it feels like waiting for the postman, from the yesteryears and then he cycled through without any packet from me? I know, it sounds too dramatic, rather melodramatic to core but, that’s how it feels. And, finally one-day you says something which is nothing much a few monosyllables… (Ah, dear me!) I die a thousand deaths reading those monosyllables.

I ain’t complaining, I do understand – we have lives different from each other. I ain’t trying to bring the poles together; I didn’t wish for ‘something crazy’. I know, I am standing at the dead-end and there’s nothing for me, to continue. In fact, I expect nothing except ‘you’ – the forbidden fruit, which the GOD has denied to me. I ain’t a Eve, I am Adam dahlin’.

But, could you spare few minutes after your friends are gone, the prayers are said, the food is eaten, and the lights are out. Could you spare few minutes for me, and say ‘that you’re fine, you do think about me’. Life might start cycling and, I am hopeful, there will be ‘a day’ when we both meet each other again – till that time, please spare me few minutes of your for MYSELF. 

Happy Birthday, Mom!

To Dear Mom,
First, she made me a baby, then the 'man of the house' and now; doubled as her 'father'. Thanks for everything that you did, and mostly, you was born. Happy b'day! Big Gal.