Working Lady

Working Lady

November 2, 2013 Off By Kanchan Bhattacharya

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(Published with the consent of the Muse, she promised not to kill Peeping Tom finally)


Mom called- “Sue, we have found a match for you- come down, and look at your prince! You won’t be 24 for ever, so don’t say you won’t marry because it is too early!”


Oh, she thought- I just dreamt I was 34? Well, let me tell her, I want a live-in, not a hubby!




He had told her strange things… if you read this- make sure you have nothing on the burner! That is my dear lady, no BF on the burner. That’s right, no breakfast there on the hot seat.


She caught herself looking at the small mirror over the dining hall door… and reminded herself that she talks too much to herself- a habit she never wanted to stop now. It kept the heebie-jeebies out of her life. They however were welcome to visit her at the office in the form of stock data entry forms, and convert those to stacker program inputs. She liked her job in PPC- Production Planning and Control.


She hated the wrinkles around her eyes. She needed to visit the LVCC- the Ladies Vacation Care Center for a facial and other things. Her current boss wanted her to look beautiful.


Her BF had joined HR, and operated in the Chat Window! He was in charge of Operation Remove the Blues.


What the hell she said… the flour needs kneading…


Her BF beamed his lecherous thought at her- “I am in stasis… thinking of a website… for self, poetry and a Muse- you!” Of late he had declared an undying love for her. He had stopped liaison with all PYTs below 30. His aim in life now was the pursuit of her happiness…


She imagined she had landed a job as a matronly (what else!) model for a “The brilliance of White” soap- one that used words like “safedi ka chamatkar”. The script needed her to dance with a soap bar in her mouth and swipe the rose in her love’s mouth into a perfect white… a magic rub! She found that erotic and impracticable.


The utensils… the utensils! She concentrated on cleaning up the stack of the reasonably dirty ones, a wok included. She beamed a thought to her lazy wingman at the office- it said- “Let me pamper them a bit too- I have pampered you a lot recently- and yet you lowly peon, chose never to run the duster on my table!”


She sang a ditty borrowed from a commercial- “Shine! Shine, O barthan mere!”- a beautiful sparkling jingle. And she added “My new born babies get into the wet- for soaping you I am well set!”


She planned a double crossing- going across the zebra crossing and running back while the traffic light was still red! Made it she screamed- 14 seconds before the traffic hits the zebra crossing!


She dug into the mixie jar and unfixed the screw- oh she never remembered that turning the nut clock-wise tightened the blade further. Now it was beyond her… she washed it with water spray.


Absent mindedly, she triple crossed her boyfriend! Her ex grinned up at her from the sink. She looked at the cup of Kapi, with traces of her previous tryst, and a small, cute, innocent looking cockroach-  Peeping Tom,  trying vainly to climb out. That copper colored being waved two tentacles in a Namaste and a plea- Miss, please get me out of the mess quick. Yes! She did! The can of hit next to the sink was handy. Peeping Tom sailed into the sink’s exit, that eddying pool of soap water!


She stacked the dazzling steel and china neatly on the drain board. Done!


She was hungry. The BF’s turn!


She shifted him into the kitchen with a telekinetic leer! He landed on her chopping board. She made potato and ginger juliennes, and concentrated on taking a taste of her love. It was the turn of the red skinned maid- the blanched tomato.


The martyred onion next took its revenge… it made her cry. She thought that he would taste good on her tongue, a small solace for her efforts. She loved to dance with the ginger- it would make a lovely crunch, a value addition for her lunch.


Absent mindedly she took her present beau- a certain balding poet, out of the salt jar, and sprinkled him into the wok…The wok protested… it was missing the spices. She added a bit of everything needed, and then a cup full of water…


She tasted that and said mmmm! It needs a drop of the puree! She found that unaccountable beau in the chill-tray tucked away deep inside the shelf…she was sure he had made an amorous tryst with the chocolate. No she took out the Black Forrest Fudge and smeared it over her lips! She grinned at herself in the morror!


She nagged the soya nuggets! Out of the plastic bag! I love you babes!  “Look nice cooked in hot roasted masala dressing ye dreadful darlings!” She added Miss Powdered Vijayawada, and of course, the dry red Madam Chili from Guntur.


The batter! The Batter! She thought of dinner! With the dosa-idly mix in stock, she wanted to be ready for the contingency- a hurried dinner. A beautiful body and mind effect. She thought of dancing with the stars… what was it? Was that the serial she wanted to star for?


It was time for the dough. Wheat flour dough. She became the pilot of the Starship Enterprise. Captain’s Log. I, Miss Sue Tripathy from Ahmadabad, Terra assumed command of this derelict from Star Date. She knew the rules…



A stardate is a five-digit number followed by a decimal point and one more digit. Example: “41254.7.” The first two digits of the date are always “41.” The 4 stands for 24th century, the 1 indicates first season. The additional three leading digits will progress unevenly during the course of the season from 000 to 999. The digit following the decimal point is generally regarded as a day counter.


She yelled “Engage!” and asked the Medic Miss-What-was-her-name-never-mind-forget-her, to pamper the atta a bit with both hands. The dough became the Cling On Star Ship going to hyper space. One blank! Roti for the Tawa!


She loved the stand by. Her charming auto nonsense- it made her life is less burdensome.


“Because your shadow is chasing you” she thought to herself and to the kitchen in particular. “How silly” her BF said from the Romulan ship on the TV screen in the lobby!


She was getting a bird’s eye view of the pigeons on the ventilators. They gargled back at her!


She wanted a shot gun to train the pigeons into obedience!


Her tiffin was ready. She was in a sweat. The clock said “Congratulations, today you have broken the Kitchen Time Record- thanks for beginning the routine at 4 AM!”


She fumed! Maybe she would opt to eat her tiffin at home, and begin the routine again at 7 AM… it was just 5 AM now!


The alarm clock rang! Wake up lazy woman… you have chatted too long last night! You slept at three!


She stabbed her boyfriend. It was time to make breakfast. Get ready for yet another day! Office!


And then she remembered. It was Sunday… and Monday too was a holiday! Time to snuggle back!


As she closed her eyes, she remembered… she was 24! One year in IT was a year of loneliness!




“Ma, I wanted to tell you… you can come here. Ranvir and I are moving into this beautifully furnished flat in Sector 67… Yes Mom! I know that is shocking!


“Ma, we would marry two years later… No Ma, that is not immoral these days- after all, marriage too is a live-in“


“Ma, I know you think I am silly. But please Ma, don’t bring that eeky man here, Ma! Ma! Can’t you understand? Please… “


She stared at the phone! Ranvir Kapoor stared back at her from the paused PC screen. Yes, she would go home! IT was a bad thing! She loved Ma!


She knew! She wanted to be- MARRIED! PG life is no good!

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