The Others (3)

Ta-dah! Here's something from Rajasree. And here's that something on her. She's fun and pretty cool. And I'll miss her at work when she's gone (in two days, to be precise :( ).

Rajasree's Post

Mon…

Chelebelar kotha bhebe, paalai ey mon jokhon…
Ma’er koley jao doure, bhoi peyo na tokhon…

Golpo shuune raashi-raashi….
Paabe tomar bejai haashi…

Jhhora paata chhoriye ghashe…
Orao ghuri nil akashe…

Khelte khelte hochhe boro, tomar chena kobi…
Likhbe jokhon dekhbe tumi bhubon jora chhobi...

Baadol dine jaabe chole kore obhimaan...
Thakbe smritir shonge shudhu jhhora paatar gaan...

“What do your bay mates think of your blog?” asked S.
“Erm…they don’t know it exists (like most other people).”
“But why?” said S.

Here’s why (a little something on the five people I share my bay with).

1) NDC, the irate Project Manger. She joined a while ago. Works late. And is forever harassed. Always interesting to watch her fight it out with her team. But last evening she was really rude to this Graphics chap on her team and I wanted to slap her.

2) MK, the new Graphics girl. Harmless, quiet. Shares nice Bangla music.

3) RG, the elderly Content Lead. He’s, well, elderly. Genial smile and all that. Great sense of humour. Though I wish he would not stop work (especially since he’s on my project) to stop and stare at everyone else’s work…with said genial smile in tow.

4) IB, the new Content chap. Earnest and suffering at the moment because he has to write his storyboards in PPTs. And interrupts RG every 2 minutes for dope on PPTs (RG happens to be this PPT wizard). Which is mildly off-putting.

5) SB, the Graphics guy. He sits on a towel and clears his throat all day.


SG, who sits in the next bay, wrote me this email once:

Dear Monjima.
I am sorry to sound picky, but SB has been clearing his throat incessantly for the last 45 minutes.
Regards,
SG

P.S. I miss my ex-bay-mates, D (which is understandable – he’s a friend and talks rubbish all the time) and RB (God help me – but then again, he sat on a chair, always).

The Others (2)

Here's post two from "The Others"...thank you, Mitul. Or maybe I should thank S for: (to Mitul) "I dunno how you keep your project deadlines" and (to me) "Go and push that Mitul's chair". So, here it is. Mitul says it's the beginning of a new novel - it will continue on her own blog (the cheapskate)! S says we can all collaborate and finish the novel, on this blog (yay)! But since I'll have to run after people and yell threats over the phone in the middle of the night to get them to "collaborate" on this novel, I shall, very graciously, allow Mitul to finish it on her own blog. But to read the beginning, everyone has to visit my blog - how cool is that! Heh heh!

Mitul's Post:

Life, as we knew it, is over. Gone. Kaput. Yet, here I am, seeped in nostalgia and bathed in hope. Nostalgia, I can understand, for it deals with events already happened… in the past… in some specific time. But hope? Which future am I hoping for? What’s future? Where’s time? Blown into blithereens, time has ceased to exist. Or is it still on somewhere… tick-tock, tick-tock? Hard to say; difficult to hear in vacuum. Time has dwindled to zilch, but space has multiplied million times. Soul-destroying darkness all around. Did I say ‘soul’? That’s funny, do I still have a soul? Or am I just the soul? Spinning wildly in some post-apocalyptic heaven? The darkness, the stillness, the silence: afterlife. After Life-On-Earth. But where’s Earth? Didn’t I hear its core being ripped out — the last thing I heard in fact.

Who am I speaking to? Can’t even hear myself. But it’s important to feel my lips moving. Something moving. Can’t feel anything else. I have boiled down to my lips. And memories. Maybe I can tell the story now. Surely, am no longer under the oath of secrecy. Oaths do not matter now. Nothing matters. No matter. Bad joke.

I will talk. It will look like a pantomime. If anybody’s watching, that is. Any Body. Never mind. I need the past for company. Let me pick a random date: 22nd September 2008. Bet you never knew what was going on as you went about your life that day. Bet you never knew…

I’m feeling thirsty. That’s a good thing. Means I’m more than a soul. But water has ceased to exist too. And food. And cigarettes. And wine. Is that it, then? Am I to die a horrible death, choking on my own spit? Am I to count the moments till hunger gnaws away my innards? And what about my story? How will I tell my story? The story of…