Eight by Twelve

I sit inside this 8 by 12 room- a place I am supposed to call my “office” and I am supposed to be doing work. But everything from my ears to my soul, are outside. On the other side. They belong there!

Hell, I belong there, on the outside!

I can’t help but hear the constant chatter between two office colleagues at the top of their voices (no wonder Mamta Banerjee or any Bengali, for that matter, can speak so well without a mike during rallies- loud speaking is a talent, a trait within a Bengali’s blood!!), that quick step of someone hurrying past my door presumably to the washroom (my office is pretty much next to it!!), that sharp click of a woman’s stilettos (do they actually wear stilettos to office?) is intriguing to say the least. it kills me not to be on the outside and having to use my imagination to figure out of what goes on in the outside world.

Sigh.

Back inside, the air conditioner is on and it stifles the living day lights out of me, kind of claustrophobic in here you know. I suddenly remember that case where a couple was stuck in the car during the Mumbai floods and had their ac on. They passed away in the morning. Is that going to happen here too? To me!!!

 It’s really funny you know, when you are on the outside of these “office cubicles”, one keeps wondering what goes on inside- are they hatching eggs , are they chatting with their lovers on their official phone-lines, taking a snooze, picking daisies or actually doing some constructive work?

But then there’s the case of you being on the inside, and BAM!!- reality hits you. They, some of them at least, are working. DAMN!! You were so much happier on the other side of that door. Why had you bothered being all inquisitive about the inside at all? 

But one has to deal with what he has around him. I have to contend myself with the paper white walls, dark brown furniture, a work station divided into two with your boss sitting right across you (so no facebooking either!!) and an exceedingly comfortable black chair which entices you to roll up into a ball and fall asleep.

Such are the cruelties of office. There’s really not a lot to do apart from work in this 8 by 12 torture room, once in awhile you crack that stupid joke which makes everyone laugh and the mood lightens, but that too lasts only awhile. And then, surprise-surprise…it’s back to mundane work.

Sometimes a peon comes by bringing you a cup of tea and as the door opens you get a peek on the world outside, intrigued by all that you have missed having stayed inside for those…10 mins. Seems like 10 years to me you know!

But then he has to leave hardly aware or appreciative of the freedom he has as for me, its back to dreaming/wondering/visualizing about all those brilliant things happening on the other side of my eight feet by twelve feet world.