Chapter 1: Intolerable Interview
"Abused patience turns to fury" - Thomas Fuller
4th January 2012 - Chandigarh
Sat upon a cushioned chair, I lingered in the waiting room of the biggest publishing company in India - The Vadhera Publishing House. I knew that if I got this job, my future would be set, my education would finally come into use and that pot of curd and sugar that my elder sister Jeevika fed me before the interview, would finally pay off. I waited impatiently whilst clutching my files, shaking a leg nervously and chanting a made-up mantra. The badly dressed receptionist kept turning around at the sound of my chants and passing me evil glares which I kindly returned in the form of a death stare. The phone rang at the reception and the revolting receptionist turned to pick it up with her witch-like nails.
"Okay, Sir...yes, I'll send her in". She put the phone down and pointed at a door located at the far end of a corridor.
"Maanvi Chaudhary, Mr Vadhera would like to see you in his office". And with that, she gave me one final look of disgust and turned around to face her computer screen. God, I already hate this place! Nervously, I stood up and made my way down the long, lacklustre and boring corridor towards the office that held my future. They could use some DIY help in here to add a few colours and paintings to the walls to brighten them up. At the moment it looked like a psychiatric hospital with its white walls and stingy atmosphere. I opened the glass door of the office room slowly, almost in a filmy, slow-motion style and was greeted by a colourful and more exciting room than the corridor I had just walked through. There was a desk piled up with papers and papers and more papers and a leather chair, which was rocking back and forth whilst facing the opposite direction, so I couldn't see the interviewer.
"Take a seat, Miss Chaudhary", a familiar husky voice rang out. Could it be? No. I dismissed my thoughts and sat down, expecting the leather chair to stop its dance and turn around.
Instead, it remained where it was.
"I had a look at your qualifications. You graduated from St. Xavier's College with a degree in journalism? Average."
AVERAGE??! Iski itni himaat! No, Maanvi! You're taking it the wrong way, I reassured myself. Maybe he has higher standards and I should probably tell him more about myself and my abilities.
"Yes, Sir, I..."
"Did I ask you to speak?"
Khadoos kahega! How dare he speak me to me like that! Control, Maanvi! I need this job so I will zip my mouth and swallow my curses.
"You like shopping and spending time with your family? Hah! How are you going to work here if you spend time doing such 'faltoo' things?" Control, Maanvi, control! Repeat after me: I need this job so I will not say anything...I need this job so I will not say anything...I need this job so I will...
"You worked for a small company in Rishikesh as a local newswriter? Rishikesh? Really?" 'Mr Leather Chair' let out a small snort, still rocking back and forth.
...I need this job so I will not say anything...
...I need this job so I will not say anything...
...I need this job so I will not say anything...
...I need this job so I will not say anything...
SHUT UP, BRAIN! Right, that's it!
"Excuse me?! How rude can you get? First you pick on my qualifications and my ambitions; I didn't say anything out of respect. Then you pull faults out of my personal life, something that has nothing to do with you and then you start sniggering at my hometown! I'll have you know that my hometown is a cultured and beautiful place, much better than Chandigarh! Oh, and you can keep your stinking job, why have a job where I receive no respect?! I'd rather find a job where the interviewer actually has the courage to face their own employee, instead of sitting in the opposite direction."
I stood up, furiously.
The chair stopped rocking.
Reality decided to hit me on the head at that very moment and I realised what I had just done. Uh oh!
The chair moved slowly around to face me and I froze to the spot, grabbing my files in self-defence and preparing for World War 3.
No. It couldn't be. That brown, gelled, silky hair; those brown, mesmerising eyes, the colour of rich soil; those model-like features that could put any Bollywood hero to shame; that muscular and slim built body and that mocking, provocative smirk that finished his look.
"Still as feisty as 6 years ago, aren't you?" He spoke with that voice. That husky, annoying and irritating voice could only belong to Mr Virat Vadhera...my worst enemy!
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That's the end of chapter 1. Please let me know what it's like. Thank youuu😊
Edited by ~Sonya~ - 13 years ago
Ishaani
Cricket
