He stared at infinity for the fifth time since morning, that had become his routine anyway. The infinity too seemed to beckon him. There seemed to be not much he could do with most parts of his anatomy aching from the previous night's fall than stare at the screen (luckily one doesn't fall on his eyes anytime). How long can a man stare at an uninteresting screen? Out popped a gtalk message with the all too annoying *ping* 'En maadthidyo??' Although tempted to say 'Enilla maga, Yeddi bandidda, byelectionalli win aadre Vidhana Soudhano Vikasa Soudhano decide maadthidvi', he just typed a cursory 'Nothin dude, jus like tat'.
He stepped out of the house hoping some fresh air would lift his spirits only to be greeted by the rickety ambassador being serviced by the pan chewing driver. He couldn't conclude whether the emission was from the car or the driver's ears. A few steps later, he tried calling her, she cut. He tried again, this time the cut was even more spontaneous. He felt like being slapped in the face. Cursing, he slipped the phone into his pocket. He was confused. Was he being cruel to the world or was the world playing games with him? Two lanes passed and he met an old friend, His only mistake was asking casually "How are you?" and she started her story which showed all signs of extending to a mega serial. He frantically began searching for the ";" button but then realized this wasn't the familiar MATLAB environment. She went on and on interspersing with what she assumed were humor. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he said rofl with a dead pan expression.
Two blocks away there was some commotion. Seizing the opportunity, he sprinted towards it. He quietly went through the outer periphery of the crowd. War cries of "Eno maneli heLbandidya ilwa??", "Nadi stationge *&%*&R$%$%$" were heard. He smirked at them and moved on. The world seemed to be as normal as everyday. The girl at the corner house was strutting on the terrace as usual with her cell. He always wanted to talk to her but every time there came up some situation. Sometimes her father propped out of nowhere, at other times her boyfriend jumped out of the bush. He made a mental note to try his best tomorrow, to atleast speak to her for a couple of minutes. He couldn't afford to not talk to her, he badly needed to know her prepaid rate plan. His calculations always showed her monthly cell expenditure to be around 10k which he assumed was atrocious and thoroughly believed there was some great plan by some small time carrier that had eluded him.
Everything seemed so normal. The milkman's son was as usual chasing his cows on his Pulsar with those huge buckets dangling from the mirror. He had graduated from the squeaking Atlas cycle. The boys playing cricket, the vegetable vendor trying to hide the rotten stuff under the superficially good ones, the local grassroots Congress worker putting up a big poster to wish the local MLA on his birthday, the Panipuriwallah setting up his stall, the street dogs barking at the German Shepherd for invading their territory, the Uncles setting out for their evening walks followed closely by Aunty gangs with their over powdered faces and jet black hairs. - he noticed them all. The strays continued barking oblivious to everything else.
He headed to the Coffee Day. This had become their adda over the past two years. Pleasantries were exchanged and enquiries made over his crestfallen face. He then began to unwrap his woes sipping the frappe on how he had been assigned to rework on someone else's code, how he had to work with variable indexing as weird as main_struct.(itm).tr1.alpha_f0(z, main_struct.(itm).alpha_f1(z*2,1)). They tried consoling him. He was uncontrollable. They offered their support, tried to cheer him up and when nothing worked left but not before offering their condolences. When the last of them had left, he ordered another coffee. Somehow the coffee tasted bitter that day. Maybe it was psychological, maybe Coffee Day had run out of sugar. He stared at infinity and began sipping it.... His cell began vibrating, it was her. He cut the call immediately, without second thoughts .....
He stepped out of the house hoping some fresh air would lift his spirits only to be greeted by the rickety ambassador being serviced by the pan chewing driver. He couldn't conclude whether the emission was from the car or the driver's ears. A few steps later, he tried calling her, she cut. He tried again, this time the cut was even more spontaneous. He felt like being slapped in the face. Cursing, he slipped the phone into his pocket. He was confused. Was he being cruel to the world or was the world playing games with him? Two lanes passed and he met an old friend, His only mistake was asking casually "How are you?" and she started her story which showed all signs of extending to a mega serial. He frantically began searching for the ";" button but then realized this wasn't the familiar MATLAB environment. She went on and on interspersing with what she assumed were humor. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he said rofl with a dead pan expression.
Two blocks away there was some commotion. Seizing the opportunity, he sprinted towards it. He quietly went through the outer periphery of the crowd. War cries of "Eno maneli heLbandidya ilwa??", "Nadi stationge *&%*&R$%$%$" were heard. He smirked at them and moved on. The world seemed to be as normal as everyday. The girl at the corner house was strutting on the terrace as usual with her cell. He always wanted to talk to her but every time there came up some situation. Sometimes her father propped out of nowhere, at other times her boyfriend jumped out of the bush. He made a mental note to try his best tomorrow, to atleast speak to her for a couple of minutes. He couldn't afford to not talk to her, he badly needed to know her prepaid rate plan. His calculations always showed her monthly cell expenditure to be around 10k which he assumed was atrocious and thoroughly believed there was some great plan by some small time carrier that had eluded him.
Everything seemed so normal. The milkman's son was as usual chasing his cows on his Pulsar with those huge buckets dangling from the mirror. He had graduated from the squeaking Atlas cycle. The boys playing cricket, the vegetable vendor trying to hide the rotten stuff under the superficially good ones, the local grassroots Congress worker putting up a big poster to wish the local MLA on his birthday, the Panipuriwallah setting up his stall, the street dogs barking at the German Shepherd for invading their territory, the Uncles setting out for their evening walks followed closely by Aunty gangs with their over powdered faces and jet black hairs. - he noticed them all. The strays continued barking oblivious to everything else.
He headed to the Coffee Day. This had become their adda over the past two years. Pleasantries were exchanged and enquiries made over his crestfallen face. He then began to unwrap his woes sipping the frappe on how he had been assigned to rework on someone else's code, how he had to work with variable indexing as weird as main_struct.(itm).tr1.alpha_f0(z, main_struct.(itm).alpha_f1(z*2,1)). They tried consoling him. He was uncontrollable. They offered their support, tried to cheer him up and when nothing worked left but not before offering their condolences. When the last of them had left, he ordered another coffee. Somehow the coffee tasted bitter that day. Maybe it was psychological, maybe Coffee Day had run out of sugar. He stared at infinity and began sipping it.... His cell began vibrating, it was her. He cut the call immediately, without second thoughts .....
