Just felt like writing an OS, following the recent turn of events... it, unfortunately is really long so please bear with me
This would be the third time she wanted to go and either strangle him or quit without notice or just... er... you know... well, tell him to go (hushed whisper) **** himself! However, as she wistfully dwelt on these singularly beautiful possibilities, some unwelcome and unpleasant pictures jostled their way in. Those silly half-sleeves completely failed to hide those menacing biceps; so strangling was a ludicrous, even laughable thought, even in her beatific dreams (unless of course he got strangled by her Dupatta!)
If she quit without notice, she was sure he'd take great pleasure in digging out some obscure legal clause which would only make life miserable for her... so that was out too. And in the remote possibility that she managed the courage to use a swear word, she had the uncomfortable feeling his retort would be far more colourful and explicit and that he would not in the least hesitate to use the choicest of words on her. So that was out too.
Which meant it would have to be her tried & tested fourth option. Gosh! She was nearing a half century over there. Every time, MSK made her blood boil, she'd come back to her cabin and vent out her spleen by writing out exactly what she thought of him, in a letter addressed to him but never sent. Obviously! And she realized with a start that she now had a 'Drafts' folder worth almost 50 mails! Well... she'd complete that half-century now, she thought with grim satisfaction, as she stuck out her tongue at the side of her lips and clicked on 'New Mail'.
To: msk@khuranaconstructions.com
Subject: You make my blood boil!
Dearest Dusht Danav Sir,
Were you by any chance told as a kid that you were not God's gift to mankind? Is there an even remote possibility that someone... someone might just have mentioned to you that you cannot always be right? that there are ways of doing work other than yours?
Just because you have an MBA degree from some fancy college, have some experience handling your family business and drive around in a Merc, it doesn't give you the license to deem every idea, other than yours, idiotic. You think we are a bunch of morons? well you know what we are a bunch of morons, because we work with the biggest moron around. Stands to reason that some of it would rub off on us too!
If you think we, especially I, cannot do a single thing right, then you are welcome to do it yourself, by all means. I would give much to see you juggle calls to the caterer, the decorator, the lawyer, the contractor, the accountant, the electrician... and if you can't, please call your darling chamchi Sasha ma'am, don't bother me!
In the last week, this is my third letter to you, you Khotte da Puttar Sir. Just who do you think you are... and who do you think I am? It might interest you to know that we are not living in the olden times and slavery is not legal. Which means you cannot give me work at 7 pm, just when I am beginning to dream of my dinner, and expect me to finish it for you by 8. Just because you don't have a life, doesn't mean I don't too. Fortunately for me, I have friends who love me and eagerly wait for my return each day. While I can understand that your family will have none of you, this cannot mean that I get stuck with you.
And trust me... I can fully sympathize with them, you are not only an insensitive and rude and impossible man, but you are also a slave-driver and an unnecessary perfectionist, to the point of being an OCD. Every time you yell 'Geet', I can hear the sound of the whip cracking. As I scramble over to carry out your orders, I cannot but wishfully think about the day I will have the courage to say 'No', fling my silly pad and pen (those signs of servitude) at your face and stomp off in front of the whole office. And the way things are going, that day doesn't look too far. It gives me a thrill just to think about it!
Oh! Just remembered another thing, I need to tell you that there were only Ten Commandments and 'Thou shalt not make Mistakes' was not one of them. So you can't hold me to that. It's human to err, yet unfortunately you most definitely are not divine, hence you conveniently gloss over all the mistakes you make, notably giving me the wrong set of papers to photocopy. Oh yes! I remember and am storing up all the times you have made a mistake and will tattle in front of Dadi. Ha! So there!
Speaking of divine, just because the office girls (silly them) call you Dhak Dhak, doesn't mean you are divine or God's gift to womankind either. You are not half as good looking as my darling Hrithik or one-fourth as charming. Just because your sole competition is Adi Sir (though he is worth 10 of you), it doesn't make you 'India's Sexiest Man'. You are fairly average looking with an average body with an average dressing sense and your stubble or arched brow or quizzing eyes or stare don't improve you even a tad bit, and don't let anyone tell you differently.
I am warning you, don't you mess with me; I am a Hoshiarpur girl who has knocked sense into the most notorious of characters too so which field are you a radish of?
This is positively my final warning, one step out of line and I will... I will do something terrible to you... I will call you names like bas***d... just you wait... you you Dusht Danav!
Signing off for now...
Yours Respectfully
Geet Handa
Secretary to MD
Khurana Constructions
New Delhi
She finished with relish, her murderous thoughts at peace now that she...
'GEEET'...
She jumped with a guilty start...
'We are late for the meeting...' Maan stormed. Heavens! She had completely forgotten about that meeting. She quickly gathered her stuff and ran out trying to keep pace with his striding steps, just managing to shout a request to Pinky to get anything else she might have forgotten.
************************************************************************
The next morning, well-breakfasted and fresh, Pinky and she set out to office, reaching well before time. Now she'd finish that pending work she should have done yesterday. As they turned towards her cabin, Pinky called out...
'Oh Geet, tu toh bahut careless ho gayi hai... in your haste, you forgot to send your mail too... but don't worry haan, I did it for...'
Pinky broke off as she saw the look of utmost horror dawn on Geet's face. Geet howled and almost knocked over Pinky as she made a dash for her office. Maybe I can recall it... maybe...
She faltered as she saw her 'Unread mails'... DARN THAT DD! Why did he have to check all his mails instantly? Why couldn't he have waited till morning? She was sooo dead... With great trepidation, Geet sat down to read the mail...
To: geet@khuranaconstructions.com
Subject: Re: You make my blood boil!
Dearest Ms. Hoshiarpur Express,
If it is any consolation to you, you make my blood boil too! I do not think that I am God's gift to mankind (it might interest you that I am straight, but more on that later!) and I have frequently been told that I cannot always be right... by you!
I do not think all ideas, other than mine, are idiotic, merely that yours are. I guess I am a big moron for having signed your joining letter, for since that day I have not had even a moment of peace and my efficiency has gone down considerably. I spend half my time either protecting hapless vases from your Hoshiarpur stride or saving my beautiful plants from your wilful Dupatta or exerting my poor arms catching your mighty self as you do acrobats in my office. I would give much to coordinate with the caterer, decorator, accountant, plumber, (Plumber? Why the hell would you contact the plumber? Are you planning to flood my office?) but for the above-mentioned reasons I am quite short on time.
I completely agree that slavery is illegal but also believe that 'waterworks' and 'hurt-doe-eyed looks' should be too, as a means of gaining the upper hand. I have yet to see any work given to you at 7 o'clock turned in by 8 o'clock and have since given up any expectations of seeing it too. (Which does not mean you can skip out at 7 pm!) And yes, I do know that you start dreaming of your dinner post 6pm, for nothing else can explain the dreamy look that comes into your eyes at that time or the complete lack of attention to anything I am saying! If ever I happen to have the bad luck to ask you to do overtime, I know I must be fully prepared to feed you and possibly pay you in kind too, in food!
I am exceedingly glad and greatly comforted that your friends love you and eagerly await your return each day. It has been one of my most gnawing worries that something might go wrong and I might be stuck with you forever. I am eternally grateful to your friends for taking you off my back at least during off-hours and on weekends.
I am sure it would make you extremely happy that you are at one with my family at your reading of my character... rude, insensitive and I believe impossible. However, the last epithet I feel is more deserving of you than my humble self; hence I bestow it on you. I have never in my life seen any woman so impossibly maddening, one who could try the patience of a saint... one who could do impossibly stupid things and one who could be so impossibly ad... anyway. I have also hereby noted that you do not like being addressed as 'Geet' (since you associate it inexplicably with whips cracking; a visit to the Psychiatrist may be in order perhaps?) and hence will take it upon myself to call you by any other name that seems suitable... 'Ye ladki', 'Hoshiarpur Express', 'Cartoon'...
I am glad you know your ten commandments well; because one of the key ones is 'Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain'. Thus, henceforth, Babaji has to be kept strictly out of all discussions and complaints about me. While I am not planning to threaten Babaji's position in any way, I do think I am fairly close to divinity based on the number of mistakes I have pardoned. And a mistake, when repeated again and again, becomes stupidity, which unfortunately the proverb or divinity does not pardon.
And lastly, speaking of divine, I am quite gratified at the number of things you have noticed about me- my looks, my body, my dressing sense, my stubble, my eyes and brows, my expressions. One would almost infer that you might have had a crush on one, had it not been of course for Mr. Weepik Greek God Roshan. I am exceedingly flattered and I won't let anyone tell me differently, not even you!
I am grateful for your warning and will try to not mess with you, since I am obviously not a radish from the fields of Hoshiarpur. I couldn't quite make out the names you wanted to call me since you were whispering that out in the mail, but would be happy to have that session face-to-face, at your convenience. I could possibly even teach you a few more colourful ones!
Incidentally, i would have liked to read the 'other 2' earlier mails mentioned by you!
Yours, as ever,
Maan Singh Khurana
Dusht Danav and incidentally the MD,
Khurana Constructions
New Delhi
PS: I want that file by 9.30 sharp so get back to work now!
Geet blinked, twice, thrice, her mouth wide open at the missive. Guiltily, furtively, she sneaked a glance in the direction of MSK's cabin, but unfortunately he caught her eye.
For perhaps a few seconds, their gazes locked, and then she saw his right eye drop just a fraction into the slightest of winks and a tiny grin tug just at the corner of his mouth, before he slowly turned back!
Geet blushed furiously and quickly turned to her computer.
Bade Achche Lagte Hain Naya Season
Cricket
