BAD DAYS

Between honking horns muffled through window panes, rooms dimly lit in the shadow of nearest buildings, Coffee machine-beeps resonate with the photocopier at the end of the alley, Phone bells breaking the monotony of mouse clicks and keyboard sounds, he sat there muted with a biscuit half eaten and half forgotten in his hand. A man lost inside his blue full sleeve shirt. A less updated version of his previous self. He was looking down the cubicle into infinity.

“Somedays are just worse than the others”. He said to the tea shop vendor who listened to him once in a while. “It is hard to differentiate the bad ones from the worse” he would laugh. Today was no different. He was the only one who didn’t say a word in the meeting. It was as if everyone expected him to say something and all he could do was stare at the window into the world outside. A pigeon had perched itself on one of the windows , bobbing its head and walking about at ease. ‘We should be as free as those bird” a fleeting thought was interrupted by a cup of tea. He couldn’t say anything. The meeting was over. He felt incompetent. Mediocre.

He sat there looking down the cubicle into infinity.

Rent - 20000Rs, Internet bill - 1400Rs, Electricity bill -1200 Rs, Kids school fee - 7000 Rs, Gas bill - 1000Rs, EMI for car - 34000 Rs, EMI for home-loan - 41000 Rs.

He looked outside the window. The pigeon was gone. “Its hard to differentiate the bad ones from the worse”.

Children

When a Khurdish Syrian kid's dead body washed ashore on a Turkish beach, When 30 young children died with the lack of Oxygen (denied by govt)cylinders in Uttar Pradesh. When 20 neo-natals died in Attapadi (over a period of two years) due to malnutrition, When 9028 children die because of no vaccination in the last 7 years. A kid came outside my car window with a national flag, the one which resembled wings that came out during our 50th year of Indian independence. I didn’t lower the windshield. She might be 6 years old or maybe seven. If she was in school she would be in second standard singing ‘Mein baadal ban jaaon’ (If i turn into a cloud...)

I don’t see her. She is transparent like the side window glass on my cab. She walked past me and got engulfed in a thicket of smoke from a truck behind. The irony of selling symbols of freedom to people trapped in metal cans with wheel.

When pollution alone kills 1.7 million children all over the world. (in a year )

Almost

Anonymous-What do you do ?

Man - I am doing something important.

Anonymous-How important ?

Man - Its important for me ... if that is what u mean ?

Anonymous-How important ?

Man - It gives me money. THAT important.

Anonymous-How important ?

Man - It makes me happy. THAT important.

Anonymous-That important ?

Man - Well almost.

Anonymous-Almost ?

Man - Almost…

Approachable

Every time she looked out someone was staring out of the white window on the other side of the road. She could see the rough outline of a man through the glass panes covered in the morning mist.  She opened her window in her morning pajamas and  sleeveless tank top with a coffee mug in her hand. The voyeur will now have a coffee-commercial image of her. She thought.

‘What if he is a handsome bachelor consumed by work and chanced to see her. What if he wants to make a move ?’ She looked around everywhere except the window. The morning truck was delivering mangoes to the shop downstairs. ‘ I should buy mangoes’

The coffee didn’t taste good. She had lost the habit of putting Sugar way back when she was in school but today it didn't taste that good. She walked into the kitchen and looked at the ice-cream pouch in the fridge. “I have already put on 3kg, maybe I should run. I will quit smoking this weekend’. She added sugar to her coffee shot and decided to light a cigarette.

The voyeur must have gone. She went to the window again and smoked a cigarette. “Somehow woman who smokes seems to be nicer and more approachable”  her ex boy friend had told her once in moments of an afterglow smokes. She hated what he said.

‘I will quit smoking this weekend’.  She finished her coffee and non-nonchalantly looked at the window. Definitely there was someone and she smiled at him.

PASSWORD

He was dressed in a suit. A fucking suit in this humid Bombay weather. I could see that he already had an upper hand over me. A suit over my ‘grey t-shirt and tethered jeans with a captain america colored sandals’. He had a tie too. I was sweating a bit less than usual but nevertheless I took my tissue and wiped my forehead. He looked like he was carved out of soap and the wrinkles added to give character. ”Hope I am not too late ?” He spoke with a tone that demanded respect. ”No , I saw you walk in , i had a hard time crossing this road” I smiled like a servant who wanted a raise. “You want to order something ? Cappuccino or Espresso or something ?” “I will order a black tea. Put more sugar or give an extra bag” He sat down and took his iPad out. He kept staring at it as the waiter took the order. My smartphone searched for free WiFi and i was embarrassed to ask for password. What would he think of me ? He looked up at the waiter “ Free wifi ... what is your passowrd” with a lot of confidence The waiter replied with a smile “coffeeandbiscuits@123” He connected , I connected and we connected . ‘So krishand about your project ....” we spoke for a long time.

GODS and GODDESSES

Six stone idols were made from a large rock mountain in Irunutty (South Malabar).

Two female and four male.

One of the goddess was stolen and was lost for several years.

Men went looking for it.

Some say they have seen it in a mall in Sharjah (Saudi Arabia). Others say it is in a musuem in Paris.

The other goddess got herself a shrine and a thousand followers.

Hens travel all the way from Tamil Nadu in crowded cages to sacrifice themselves in front of her.

She likes blood. She is always angry.

Three male gods found temples for themselves however on the walls of the outer arch.

One got its nose broken nose during the annual carnival renovations.

The last one among the six had divine powers. Providence.

No temple was made around him. No one knew that this piece had sacred strength from the cosmos. He waited in sculptors shed for  a number of years and several hundred years after his death withered down into sand and soil. A passing birds dropping fell on the sand soil rock blend and miraculously  it had a small seed buried between shit. The seed grew into a tree and rock idol particles intermixed and became a part of its branches and leaves. The fruits it dropped healed birds who could not fly.

Years later someone found the stolen goddess in the local river.  

He placed it under the secret sacred tree. The god and goddess merged.

Forests grew around them.

Cliche

"What is it that you want now ?" She asked him by the beach

"To freeze this moment in time", He smiled.

" That is a cliché" she walked a little further and sat on a broken boat. “Is that a boat? “

He looked into the farthest point in the horizon where the sky and the sea merged.  A fish jumped up and disappeared in the blue. “ What boat ?”

She was looking far ahead into the horizon.  A cloud seemed to be staying still. “I want to go there “. She started walking towards the water.

“There might be an undercurrent”, he stopped her held her hand and kissed her.

She pushed him off and ran, “someone might be looking at us”.

He sat down by the boat as she ran away far from him. He looked at the horizon and the beach. She is now a speck on the edge of beach far away to his left. He looked towards his right. The crabs crawled back into tiny holes on the beach. He turned around and she was gone.

He ran behind her.

So I get up early in the morning and try to wake her up. She is not a morning person. She wants to sleep a little more. I tell her “it’s Ok”. You sleep for some more time”. I badly want her to wake up.

Wake up and make love to me. Make love and start my day. Start our day.

I give her a hug. She receives it like a mother protecting her child. It doesn’t seem to wake her up. I kiss her. First slowly and then passionately. She smiles in her sleep. The morning sun is in my room.

I get up and go to the loo and shakes hand with the president.

I start my day.

Nothing

When someone calls me a photographer I am embarrassed there are so many out there equally bad and worse. A lady once called me a painter and I showed her my paintings ... she stopped the reference. I could write scripts but they don't have an innate flow. I could draw graphic novels but my style can be connected only by a few.

So that makes me a nothing. "NOTHING"

Suddenly I am surrounded by a lot too many 'nothings'. A 'nothing' in design and I went to drink coffee and we spoke 'nothing'. The restaurant  guitarist took his guitar out but played ‘nothing’. A friend actor came to meet me but there was 'nothing' left to perform. I saw a 'nothing' performance artist and a 'nothing' painter in a nowhere tea stall.

Then I met a ‘something’ stranger in a ‘nothing’ museum.  A man with clarity. He was neither a researcher nor an artist but both and ‘nothing’. But he was something. Something was different. I told him ‘nothing’ about me. He listened. He asked me to stop trying hard. He asked me to relax. I told him “you are something “. He laughed and said “that’s nothing”. We said goodbye to each other and he left with ‘something’ and me again with ‘nothing’.

Hanging

“So this is the deepest pit of hell”, he thought to himself as he descended down the deepest pit of hell. The walls seemed medieval and the scent of freshly burned oil reassured him. The harness was fastened to a sturdy rock somewhere above and all he could see now was the tunnel above and below. Perhaps he will never be able to see the entrance of the tunnel through which he climbed down.

The gas mask has to be used once the toxic level goes red in the digital belt. A loud scream echoed from somewhere down the pit. “Perhaps that is the devil himself”, he smiled and dangled down the rope. He felt the carabiner which held his life line.

The pit seemed to get narrower as he climbed down the rope. The gas mask was now indispensable. The temperature was getting unbearable. The saturated halogen glow was filling the tunnel from somewhere below.  “Maybe it is not greener on the other side”. He took of his gas mask. He could hear people talking feebly somewhere far away lost in the clicking of a life supporting machine.

“Should I let go or climb back” he thought as the loud scream

echoed through the tunnel.

Destinations

On that hill it feels like you are in control. The wind seems to be moving the big boulder towards you but soon afterwards it has gone back to where it was. "Why are you on this hill ?"

A distant wailing bus appear on a valley far away. It is gone now. Soon it will climb up the hairpins to reach you. "Will it stop ?"

Its cloudy and you hear a temple bell. You walk through the elephant grass to find that its a church in the distant valley.  YOU see the cross standing out amidst the black green moss. You smile at yourself. "Why don't you believe ?"

An old lady walks towards you. She has a lantern and big bunch of firewood. The distant city is a galaxy glimerring with shining stars. The lady stops near you and asks ,"where are you going ?" You smile. Its dark she can't see your face so she lifts up the lantern.

You light a cigarette and look  at her disappearing light round the curve. The hills have started whispering. "Do you want to listen to them ?"

The bus arrives. You put your backpack inside. The conductor asks, "where are you going ?"

Coincidence

The lights went off as she sat by the balcony. He went close to her. She didn't flinch. The moonlight was on her face. He was in the shadow.

"Can you see those fireflies" she asked him, his shadow nodded.
"Can u hear the river" he inquired, she ignored.

He lit up a cigarette. She saw a shooting star. He heard a distant grey owl. She heard his stomach grumble.

"Why were we born ?" she smiled. His face was stern.
"because we could stare at the stars' he replied. She wasn't convinced besides there were no stars.
"Coincidence ?? " she postulated.
"Coincidence !!" he mumbled.

The lights came back. She didn't flinch. He could see the fireflies now.
"lets eat something" she said.
'Finally" he smiled.

Mermaids in Kochi

I can tell you the story of an oldman who lived by the backwater.
             Who is this oldman ?? How old?? Where does this take place ???
Let me start the story first. So there was this old man whose grandfather was a jew who lived in a jewish street.
              A jewish street in india, I don’t believe this.
Do you believe in ghosts? Ghouls? Ghost pendulums ?
              I do, but a jewish street?
Will you let me complete my story?
              It’s a story then. Is it based on real life ? Inspired from it ? or maybe a book ? tell me where you learnt about it ?
I saw it happen.
              So it’s not a story. It is real life.
I will be including twist and turns to real life to make it interesting.
              So it’s not real life but inspired from it. I see.
So there was this old man who is claimed to have seen the mermaids that dwelled under the cochin harbor and surfaced late in the night.
              Mermaids? Sea cows? Are mermaids real? Has he really seen them?
It’s a story.
              But it’s inspired from real life? is it not?
Yes
              So he has seen them. In Cochin, mermaids. Insane..
No… the mermaids part is fiction. It’s a splinter of imagination.
              But there are mermaids.
Maybe.
      So people have seen them.
Let me get back to my story. So one morning he gets up early in the dimlight of the neon lamps and walks through the embankment of the massive backwater.
`      Do mermaids harm Humans???
I don’t know.
             But you wrote the story …didn’t you?
I haven’t written it.
             Are you making it up as we speak..
Not really…I have the structure however. So I fill in words around the structure.
             So you made mermaids now. They were not actually a part of your story.
Hmmm … 
            Continue.

Traffic Signal's

Some say nothing is happening in their lives. For most  life is boring TV show. They fill petrol in the Easy Monthly Installment cars, Wear their branded clothes and proud Sunglasses and go to work. They spent an hour in the Traffic cursing their fellow men and some biker scratches paint of their  rear view mirror. Its normal, the smoke, the heat and the loud honking of horns. A paleness of noise, dust and of men trapped in metal.

 Perhaps a sweat drop traversed between her Bosoms and lost itself in the confusion of flesh and clothes. She looked into the rear window which said that objects in the mirror were closer. She could see herself in the mirror. The cold winter morning had gnawed on the edges of her lip.

She looked outside casually on either side. A man on a vespa scooter whispered something to his wife on the pinion and his kid got squeezed in the venture. Perhaps a sexual joke.  Maybe even an unfinished conversation about their son's future. A plump lady spoke on her phone. If one observes her mouth closely they would find the sources of all the honking. A kid crossed between the traffic with some books in his hand. 'The kite Runner ', he shouted. 

She lowered her side windows and waved at the kid. the kid looked happy. She never read books but suddenly she wanted to help this desperate kid. His charred brown shirt and a never ending trouser reminded her of her son. He ran towards her dodging vehicles.

She asked him, "what's the price ? " He replied, "75 Rs but for you 50"

She opened her big fat purse. In between the medical prescriptions and bills she found a 500 Rs note. She took it out. He looked surprised. He didn't have the change. The traffic signal changed all of a sudden. The vehicles in front started moving. There was a loud honking from behind. She released the clutch. "I will buy it some other time ". She moved forward as the kid kept staring at her. 

In two minutes she will reach the next traffic signal.

Surprise

Salman Khan died in car accident on the wall mounted t.V  and the lady on Versace perfume hoarding went into an orgasm face. An Air India jet hauled at the doorway  as the Merry Xmas song kept repeating on the speakers.


''How are you feeling ?" an sms popped on my cell phone. I chose not to respond. I wanted to say, "I am batman...."


A passing airliner made a pattern on the window. The silhouette of a cleaning staff against the bright window with an airliner beyond made a perfect Hollywood frame.
He mopped the floor in the slow rhythm of a music composer nonchalant about the hullabaloo of the passengers, the planes and the monophonic Merry Xmas.

"Where are you ? " another sms. I want to reply that I am flying back home. I wish I could record a John Denver 'leaving on a jet plane' and reply the message. i chose to ignore again because if I did i would spoil the surprise.

  Vigorously I took out a novel from my bag to read but I  knew I cant focus. The music in the lobby changed to an epic movie theme. The cleaner had vanished as I looked up. Salman Khan is a ghost now.

Once on the streets of Muhammad Ali Road a kid tried to sell me 'Attar'. A strong smelling homemade perfume. I brought it then since it was cheap. I suddenly remembered the scent. Out of the blue a random street scent filled the lobby.

"Please respond" i got another message on my cell phone.

The monotonous lady made an announcement unclear yet crisp. A Marathi woman kissed her child right in front of me. A tamilian blasted his wife on the phone. Another airplane made a pattern on the window.

"I am coming home :-) :-)" i responded to the message, switched off my cell phone.

To hell with surprises.

Stray Men

Like a tree vigorously shaken

Like a jewel on a dead women

Like a crumbled movie ticket

Like a map lost in time

Like compass in the wrong hands

Like broken dreams left on a park bench

Like silent promises given and taken

Like a painting unfinished

Like a cigarette undone.

Like a wasp hitting on a window pane

Like a nail on a cross

Like stray bullets finding stray men

Like a blind street mongrel

Like a guitar which lost it 6th string

Like a path which get lost in the woods

Like the endangered wild cat

Like an old rusting car

Like a can of tar

Like a boxer knocked down

Like a dead circus clown

Like loosing grip but holding on

Like watching animals on television

Like a brown floating log

Like an old movie poster

Like a morning dream

Like tears of joy

Like pain

Like an old treasure burred in the depths

Like soul mates destined to die

Like losers who felt important

Like swimmers gasping for air

Like winners who felt robbed

Like flies on garbage

Like Garbage cans on the street

like never ending streets

Like poison which heals

Like medicines which kill

Like chemicals in the brain

Like me

like you

like us

Broken,half baked,dead,silent,lost,buried,stray


--------------------------------------------------------------------

my friend Kiron came up with a better side of stray men

He wrote an epilogue or an add on 4 it... and damn.... i should stop writing ... this guy is unbeliveable

Stray,werent the men..but the slimy world...
smothered, submerged ....swamped with fakers..
Like Ripples in water...like Smoke in air... like an aborted zygote..like the spasms of an early orgasm they fail to travel through the time span imperative to elucidate a meaningful existence.
Stray werent the men...
Those men were the thread...s from the same yarn..
Models...from the same mould..
Sketches made with the same pencil...
Fate wove em up into different vestments..
But,
They have glass roots...invisible..yet..so very existent...
They hold em tight..together....

SAFFRON ROSES FOR VALENTINE

‘Together’ was no longer a word for them. It was an emotion. An emotion as simple and yet complicated like sadness or elation. Standing in the rain outside her house he whispered the three words that meant a lot to him. She received them with a smile, not a grateful smirk or a faithful grin but a simple smile as if she knew what was coming. She knew he would say it. She knew it would mean a lot to him .She knew it would rain.

The perfect thing about rain in Kerala is that it rains so much that for once people are busy.. They stop poking their noses into other people’s daily attempts at life. For once they are concerned about their ‘mundu’ getting dirty in the rain or their ‘sarees’ loosing color to the drainage water. They have their ‘Popy’ umbrellas and their “lunar’ slippers which are older than the ruling parties promises though equally charred and compromised. For once when the couple stood holding hands in public ‘they’ didn’t bother.

They had been friends for too long now. He founds a happiness that he couldn’t find with anyone else. To go with her on long walks across the city dodging people, to stare at a distant cloud and wonder if its going to rain, to watch her play with her hair as she told a story about some fisher man who lost his arm and to listen to her breathe away to sleep in his cell phone.

He couldn’t pass in exams while she couldn’t fail. She couldn’t bear movies while he could. They were different though not entirely. He wouldn’t lie and she couldn’t. He would drool around waiting for her to get into his bus and then pretend not to see her. She would pray that he was there. They both would act surprised and busy reading old text messages in their cell phones.

A rain bearing cloud ignored the moment when she said that she had enough of him. That was a long time back. It was for something unimportant. He wouldn’t let his ego go for he believed that ego is all that we have. She wouldn’t let herself go. She wouldn’t enjoy the moment. She planned. Planned about studies, about life and about retirement.He was like a log in the stream and she was like the stream itself..

And before they knew they were two different people in two states. He went to clear all his failed exams and she went to the busy MNC life.He befriended the cigarettes while she found happiness in the malls. He had new friends and she had co-workers.He wanted to call her when he passed all his back-papers but something inside him told ‘she wouldn’t care’. She wanted to cry to him when her boss made a move on her but he had changed his phone number. He wanted her to find if there is a vacancy in her company but his ego wouldn’t let him. He took an old copy of her resume and edited it to make his new one. He got a call from the company. He didn’t perform well. The company hired him anyhow. He didn’t want to join. He didn’t want to run into her in the same city.

He saw her at the multiplex twice with a chap half his size. He walked away. She saw him in the railway station once but she had to catch a train.

The valentines days never used to be special when they were together. It was like any other day. But this time it was different. She wanted to meet him. He got her number but wouldn’t call. She left a mail in his old email Id. “lets meet up”

He was excited. “Will there be a future ?”. She was scared. ‘Will there be a future ?”.

He saw her across the street in her yellow salwar. He knew the feeling never died. She wanted to smile. For once he let his ego take a step back..He said, “How are you ?”

She replied “ I am fine”

He smiled. He wanted to hold her hands and he did. She smiled again. Was it love or an old flames charm?

A few men came running out of nowhere. One of them bore a sword and the other a videocam. He held her close to him. A man wearing a saffron scarf knocked him out into the pavement. He got back on his feet and found himself on the ground again. They stubbed turmeric on him and on her. “jai Sree Ram” they shouted.

“Didn’t you see the warning ?” one of them shouted. She cried. He spat blood. One of them recorded all these.

The guy with sword stood like an old maharaja’s statue.

“No dating, on valentines day” the man shouted again. They took a ‘rakshabandhan’ out and handed it to her.

“Tie it on him “

She resisted. HE slapped her. She fell on the payment. “tie it on him”.

She stood up and said “ I love him”.

The man with sword moved…. .

(http://www.bibliofaction.com/read/ViewNewsArticle.aspx?news=df1c6f47-4361-43cf-bb84-3005741ac0ca)

http://www.pakistan.tv/videos-incidents-of-hatred-on-valentines-day--[8bZizjLfeuc].cfm

THE RECRUITMENT CEREMONY

The paper was of better quality than usual. ‘Please return the question booklet after the test’ a fair lady shouted.

The question were simple though twisted

‘If it took eight men ten hours to build a wall, how long would it take four men to build it?’

Hari turned around to see a guy wearing a light brown shirt peep into a green salwar wearing pimpled girls answer sheet. She let him. He smiled at her.

Someone shouted on a microphone on the podium. ‘ 5 minutes remaining’.

Hari turned the question booklet around. More than half the questions were left unanswered. A 50% complete answer sheet will never fetch him a job. ‘Every answer sheet has a pattern’ he thought. ‘I will mark ‘C’ on all the options. When a person puts an Objective question he has more tendency of putting the answer at C’ .he had this notion about objective question papers.

The test was done and someone started collecting the anser sheet. The girl in the green salwar discussed the answer with the guy in the brown shirt. Hari stood up and walked out of the large auditorium in which the ‘placement drive’ was being conducted. He knew he wouldn’t get this job.

Hari had presumptions about everything. His head spokes to him in numerous ways. On odd days he blurted out what’s up in his head and screw things.

‘The refreshments will be served near the Automobile Engineering department’ the fair lady shouted on the microphone.

Hari ate his share of ‘goodDay-biscuits’ and drank Tea. The place was littered with disposable cups and biscuits packets in no time.

The list of candidates who qualified in the written exam was put up on a notice board. The crowd shifted from the refreshment counter to the notice board. There were a lot of indexes pointing at the paper. Someone spilled a cup of tea. A crumbled biscuit made it out of the hustle into the tea puddle. The outsole of black leather shoe trampled on the biscuit. The outsole was suddenly trampled on by a set of enthusiast who found there names on the ‘notice board’.

Hari found his name at the bottom end of the list. 35 people qualified. He was one of them. He didn’t feel happy. He rather felt disturbed. He hated interviews. He hated the air and deception. He hated the drama and the mask. He loathed the inevitable description of himself to a total stranger. He disliked being evaluated by his mockery. ‘The judgment whether to select a candidate is made in the first 30 seconds’. He remembers this gumption an expert threw at Career development meeting.

The interviewer was dark with a dark framed spectacle and a deformed nose. His eyebrows were bushy and brown and his receding hairline was grey from the sides.

He didn’t look up as he was staring at the resume that Hari had submitted Earlier.

Interviewer –“So Mr.Harikrishnan Ramakrishnan Puthenveetil.. How are u feeling now?’”

Hari-“I am feeling great… fine and you can call me Hari.’

Interviewer-“Yeah..Tell me about yourself. Mechanical Huh?’

(‘How do you think I am feeling…u dark fat old man. After expanding my name to more than 100 characters’)

Hari-“I am Hari. Born 9^th may 1988. My father is a security officer with new India Assurance. My mom is a housewife. I have a brother and he is in the army. I did my schooling…………college …. Hobbies include..”

(‘I know you don’t give a rat fart about who I am or what I am? so Why all this Drama?)

Interviewer-“Oh so you read books?”

Hari-“Yes..”

(‘I don’t. I had to say I had a Hobby. That’s what my career guidance cell expert told me.Everybody should have a hobby’)

Interviewer-“So what do you think about ‘The world is Flat ‘ ?”

Hari-“It’s not. Magellan sailed……Oh the book. I haven’t read the book. I am more into fiction.”

(‘I almost blew it. Should be more cautious. the world is flat ..Whoever wrote that book? It didn’t sound fiction to me’)

Interviewer-“Oh… So what about the Kite Runner?”

Hari-“A good book . I like the beginning and The Kites and the plot. A very convincing book.”

(I haven’t read that book either. Must be about Kites and runners..cricket ???’)

Interviewer-“And you listen to Music as well. which is your favorite band ? “

Hari-“I like all bands. Esp. the Loud ones”

(‘I hate the Loud ones ‘)

Interviewer-“Oh so ….you must like Rascal Flatts ? They are my favorites ?”

Hari-“ mmmm.. I like their first album but the latest one is not up to the mark..?”

(If they are really good they must have made more than one album…. Hope they did..)

Interviewer –“Why did u make a choice to have a career with our company?”

Hari-“You are one of the most reputed software companies in the world. and to choose a career with u is probably every engineers dream.”

(Nobody is recruiting mechanical engineers. Everyone is looking for experienced people. I need a job…. I will quit if I get a mech-Job’)

Interviewer-“tell me ..What do you think about the present economic scenario?”

Hari-“Recession … is a serious issue both in the west and in the east. But the market is recovering from the shock.”

(The recession is a thing of the past companies use as a reason to fire, underpay, exploit employees…)

Interviewer-“Do you have any question?”

Hari-“What Trainig should I Equip myself with before joining the company ?”

Interviewer- “We have the best training facility. Don’t worry about that. You can wait outside in the common room. Someone will come and inform the result”

Hari-“Ok. See you in the company”

Interviewer-“mmm..Take care.”

As Hari walked out of the room he felt feverish. He felt it throughout the interview.

‘If it took eight men ten hours to build a wall, how long would it take four men to build it?’

‘ They have already built the wall..why would they want to built it again.’ He smiled to himself as the result was announced.