The Interview.

Boss:  How many years of experience do you have?

Candidate: 18 years, Sir.

Boss: Why did you resign from your earlier profile?

Candidate: It was unfair Sir, there was no motivation and I never got my due.

Boss: Hmm, but as far as my records go, I have never received any negative feedback about the name you were associated with. Did the problem lie with you?

Candidate: My peers had much better incentives, which were never offered to me. Maybe I was over demanding, but I wanted to be at par. Is it wrong to expect equality Sir?

Boss: Equality can only be amongst equals. If I am not wrong, you had threatened your seniors quite a few times in the past, following which they always gave you a raise because they valued you. Despite that, you abruptly quit when your excessive demands were not fulfilled. All of this portrays you in a very negative light, you know.  Anyway let us get to the point, what are you expecting this time?

Candidate: I have no expectations, Sir. My decision to quit was rash and I repent it. I didn’t understand my priorities. I would just be greatly obliged if I am given another opportunity to prove myself, on whatever terms you consider fit.
 
Boss: Well, taking your past record into consideration, I have to say that the package I can offer you will be almost half of what you had previously. However, I assure you that you will be eligible for bonuses depending on your performance. In short, it will not be as smooth as it was earlier. Is that acceptable to you?

Candidate: Yes Sir. Thank you once again. I promise not to disappoint.

Boss: Fine. You may join duty from tomorrow. I hope it is a learning experience for you. 

 

Somewhere far down, in a quiet little apartment, a mother came into the empty room of a teenager, with flowers and incense sticks. She faced a life-size poster of a Royal Enfield Bullet adorning his wall, and then turned around to look at her 18 year old, staring longingly at the bike through his photo frame. Few floors below, the guard's wife went into labour.

Dugga Dugga.

The holiday mood is temporarily over. I say temporarily just to pacify a very miserable me. Yes, I am having the PDPD (Post Durga Pujo Depression).  As I sit in office, I zone out thinking about the pujo afternoons. The air became earphones streaming dhaak music into my ears. The best bit? I didn’t have to press a repeat button. The red nail paint, band-aids (shields for new shoes) and the camera battery charger became occupants of my side table.  Someone had dragged the brightness/contrast bar of my city to an extreme right. Salivary/sweat glands did overtime duty as sleep took a sabbatical. “Kemon aachish? /Ki Korchish?” was replaced by “Kota thakur dekhli?”  Oh, I could go on forever. 

If the year was a period of invention, Durga Pujo would be the Eureka moment. If the 52 weeks were a masala Bollywood movie, this one week would be the paisa vasool/seeti maaro scene. If 365 days were a session of love making, these 5 days would be the orgasm. If 12 months were a plate of mutton, this quarter of a month would be the meat hidden inside the hollow cylindrical bone. It’s the drug that puts my city on a miraculous high for 120 hours straight.  

Now, the fervour is gradually wearing off. The pulse rate of my city is returning to normal.  Amidst getting back to routine life, my nose still puckers up in search of the pujo pujo gondho. But thank God for the small joys: seeing the photographs, reminiscing moments, making place for the new clothes, eating left over khichudi. They keep me going.  

Okay, now I shall drag my distracted mind back to work. This has been a random/spontaneous blog post yet a very special one.    

I miss you Pujos. 

Love,

A hungover me. 

P.S.- The word ‘hungover’ reminds me of that song from Kick and now I know I will involuntarily hum it throughout the day. There. I am already doing it. Oh dear God. Bye. 

Because I miss the proshad