When I was made a scapegoat

Prompt: Promise (Used in a sentence)
 

 

Pic: Pixabay

It was just another weekday afternoon. Arched my neck, like a dressed chicken twisted in the sink, I felt my oesophagus strain. Staring at the roof, I rotated my eyes and shut tight to see ripples of white. "Look far ahead from time to time," the doctor had said. "Blink at regular intervals." Dilated and supple, I plucked off the last strand of resolve to see the copy evolve. How the hell can people who can't spell their own names correctly be called reporters? Editing is thankless a job. It only pays bills. All types of bills, but. Thank God for that. 

Back from a coffee break, the newsroom seemed pregnant. Suddenly. Full blown in pin-drop silence.  An almost every-week affair. Someone is delivered. Delivered of their alleged sins, when a reader complains. Chief Editor thunders. One of the staff goofs up. All are warned. Someone is questioned. Someone else is suspended. News reel runs. Edition is out. Following morning is another day. Amen.
 

"Nisha, can I have a word with you," I heard the Editor.
 

"How did this story go to press?" he pushed the paper in front of me.
 

"You approved it at yesterday's editorial meet..."
 

"But, Nisha. Not this version."
 

"Of course, yes..."
 

"Listen, to me. You were not paying attention. I had said, read carefully before using it."
 

"I had my doubts on this copy. That's why I brought up the matter at the meeting and you said, it's ok to go..." I tried replaying the previous day's conversation.

I could sense the looming dagger come my way. In fact, it was already sent out my way. It was only a matter of time  - time for me to decide where I allowed it to pierce into me. 

The Editor continued: "Well, the Chief is boiling. The ministry is involved. He wants to know who was in-charge of the shift yesterday. But don't worry, I'll handle it. Relax."

"I'll speak to the Chief..." I got up.

"No. no. no. no. Not now," the Editor jumped up. "You are walking into a hungry lion's den. Leave it to me. I'll handle it. He'll calm down in a while," he winked. "You get back to work."

"It's better to resolve the issue right away. Lemme go speak."

"Nisha, Don't you trust me. I know the Chief better than you. He would be at his wits end now. Do you want to get yourself in trouble?."

The Editor sat me down, looking into my eyes, he said, "I want to save you his wrath and the HR issues that may follow. Your promotion is due. We need to be prudent now. Leave it to me."

"But!"

"I promise you, I'll keep you out of trouble."

"But...how am I accountable!!"

"Get back to work, Nisha."

Did I need a hoodie walking back to my desk? Colleagues dropped their heads, peered their eyes on screen. It wasn't in solidarity. Yet it was to help me bear the assumed pain with dignity. To deliver themselves of innocence. Did the coffee break bring up this shame on me? Being at the wrong place at the right time... whoever said was right. 

Mind didn't allign with work at hand. Ears sensitive. Eyes sharp. I saw the Editor walk into the Chief's cabin a little later. Unpleasant glances once again darted across the room. Some walked out cigarettes in hand. Solve the jigsaw puzzle, idiots. 

The Editor walked towards me. "Chief’s agitated. Wants me to shoot a warning letter, copy to HR immediately."

"But what did I do, what's my fault, I had told you the story is sensitive, how am I responsi...."

"Relax Nisha. Let me complete. I told him it's collective responsibility."

"How is it collective responsibility!!! You approve stories. I asked you yeste..."

"Nisha, Nisha, relax. It’s all taken care of. You see, there is a way of handling him. I know him for the last 15 years. Relax. Consider the issue is closed."

"Are you sure," I asked, shamelessly and yet relieved.

"I promised you that I'll sort it out." I was confused. Something didn't seem right still.

"Hello, relax. It's over." He walked away. 

I heard the voice. The other voice. Inside me. Crawling all outside me. "Get your arse up and speak to the Chief." Heart thumped. Bowel rumbled. I hurried to the washroom. 

Now, I felt hungry. Tension breeds on hunger. Canteen is the best place to de-stress. As I snacked on a carrot cake, I heard the voice. That unsettling bark of a rumble. "You should not have taken that story, Nisha." The Chief. 

"I'm sor...y.."

He walked with his plate to another table. 

"Get your asre up, now. Go. He's alone. Speak." The other voice screamed inside me.

Cheated. Abused. Shame wrenching from within, I hurried, this time to weep on the closet, locked in the toilet.

Through the haze of tears, I made a promise to myself - 'I am getting out of this place at the earliest'.

I am with Team #CrimsonRush for the #BarAThon from 1st to 7th August 2016

I’ve decided to get off my arse

So am I. Only as I can be.

Hard on the outer, soft in the inner and soppy in between, with the crust almost shedding in indignation as the trespassers slither their way deeper within. They dodge me with menace with every attempt I make to aim at their horns.

Yes, they have a pair and some even pairs – sharp, pointed and dangerously positioned to pierce through me. And lo! there I’m lost. Guess, that’s why people ask me to shut up. Those near ignore me and those afar thank their stars and others sent me notes with asterisks, which I take time to count and deduce what they mean. Crazy me!

But for all the brain cells in me, [yes, I do have them, too] I cannot figure to which part of me they want to cause harm to. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, sexual…am I missing any al? Okay, et al…In case I discover some by the end of this.

If at all I get to the end, that is. My ToDo list is cracking my wrist and stiffening my shoulders. But surprisingly it’s also aching my back, which I thought had long ago parted ways with me. Oh my, sweet arse, thank you for bearing me all these years!

There I hear! Gedupp!

This is the sound I am tired of hearing. Loud most times, feeble at times. From where, is what I fear. May be those creepers inside me are barking for not praising them enough! How can I? All they do at all times is stand on their heads and gnaw my insides, asking me to get up.

What do they know of my work load? I have to take care of my family, friends, community, even foes. I have to work to keep my mom happy, dad satisfied, brother smiling, and those cousins’ egos well-fed. I have work at my desk, on my colleagues’ mind and in my boss’s plans. I have work at home, in the kitchen sink, at the study table, in the living room and even bedroom.

But today, I used the trick I learnt at my workplace - Speak more. Work less. I took time to speak to the trespassers yelling at me from within. I tricked them by describing the colourful world outside and persuaded them into stepping out. “Don’t be holed up inside a woman. The world outside is beautiful”, I sang to them.

And they ran away…stupid fellows.

Now, let me get up. As in GET UP. And fill my insides with what I love to hear, with deeds that will radiate into hues that I love to see myself in.

It already feels nice. I feel great. Actually, those fellows were not illegally occupying my insides, yeah. I had allowed them in. Ah! There I go. It was me trespassing on my poor dumb and mute arse all these years.  How long? No guesses, please. I’m forever young… 32 at heart, 24 in mind and 36 in spirit!

 

Morally conscious papas and mamas @ work

Becoming a parent is bliss. The act of nurturing the bundles into young adults is a blessing.

Tradition, culture, values, beliefs, faith, empowerment, education, vocation, passion… name it, we guide our kids the best way we can in all ways we can at all times we can until we ever can. I know of mamas and papas who are so obsessed with parenthood that honorary doctorates would fall short for their priceless research on offspring rearing. From the best curriculums, the best teaching methods, the best schools in towns, the best extra-curricular activities that can put the kids directly on that spaceship…they know the best.

Here are some comments of such ethically and morally conscious parents I have been privy to.

“Oh! **** ***school. I don’t like that. Have you seen their uniform? You just need to look at the way those students walk.”

“I’ll never look at *****. Do you know they hire housewives as teachers there?”

‘Children should settle abroad. They have no future in India.’

Interestingly, these are parents extraordinaire who will wash down culture, manners, ethics and morals down their kids’ esophagus with their daily Bournvita.  Check these out…

“I punish my son, if he doesn’t do his bed every morning before going to school.”

“I call my neighbour’s kids every weekend to play with my daughter. It’s important she learns to share her toys and space.”

“I ensure my girl washes her undergarments herself.”

“I reward my son with an ice-cream every Sunday, if he keeps his toys in place through the week.”

Courtesy: TFW

Now, these mamas and papas after disciplining their wards and planning for their future, when they turn up at workplaces, play brooders. Place a clutch of eggs under them and rest assured your tea-time sandwich is taken care of.

The office boy should collect the print-outs from the printer. ‘That’s his job’, they remind you and yell,  ‘where the hell is that idiot!’

He should offer coffee, guessing their sugar swings, at regular intervals without being told. That’s his job. ‘How many years, you’ve been giving me coffee. You still can’t get it right!’

The cleaner should wash their lipstick-kissed or cigarette-smelling cups after their last sip. That’s his job. Otherwise, the stained cups will accumulate beside their keyboard for days!

If newcomers commit an error, they are corrected loudly and clearly. ‘We also started like this!’

If juniors show enthusiasm, then they are passively bullied. ‘He needs to be shown his place now, else tomorrow he’ll shit on our scalp!’

Once they are done with disciplining co-workers they get down to executing their own future plans…They will block all calendar holidays in advance and if an emergency befalls any colleague during their pre-planned holiday, they will fall ill with a contagious disease!

And, yes, when they sense work pressure increasing or deadlines nearing, their kids would be performing in a surprise orchestra and they would have to be present at school right away...'to boost their morale'!

M...orally-conscious florals!

Mingling with husband’s women colleagues

So there was yet another get-together this weekend and I was at my social best. From picking up the right ear drops to matching my dress to selecting the footwear that stood me at a decent height with my better half, I carefully planned my evening before setting out to play the guest wife.

The venue: One of the husband’s colleague’s living room; The group: His office friends cum colleagues. Occasion: Informal hang-out with families of a formal group.

We were the first couple to arrive and the host greeted us with all their freshness. A 20-minute of individual attention I enjoyed, when walked in the next couple. I shifted from my place to sit opposite facing the new arrival. The woman started off hurriedly about the invitees expected. I was quiet to give her time to finish gossiping before the accused arrived. When she stopped to breathe, I asked, how she was, and she replied something on the lines, ‘always fine’.

I smiled.

Then three women arrived and sat with the earlier one on the two-seater sofa. I shifted from my earlier position and pulled a chair and sat rubbing my knees to one of them.  

Then the volley started. The one in the centre said, ‘That areshole, what does he think of himself…' and I pitched in that I have an equally stinking boss. They smiled and one at the extreme left said, ‘Don’t know why teachers give projects. I have no time…' and I pitched in that kids need to be made self-sufficient. They smiled reluctantly, and the extreme right said, ‘I’m joining the online networking group. Easy money, that is…' and I pitched in that one needs to be shameless. They almost smiled, and the one second from left said, ‘I’m planning to go on an all-carb diet. Look at this tummy…' and I pitched in that diets don’t work. They ignored me.

In between arrived the star attraction of the group. She sat 30 inches away from the foursome, 15 inches to my right. Every time, she spoke, one of the sofa-seaters voiced her thoughts by leaning over to poke her. In quick succession, the other nudged her thigh and started, ‘You know what…’. Three minutes later, another scratched her hand, and said, ‘Did you hear…’ One minute later, her feet was kicked at, and said, “By the way...”

The act continued until dinner was served and I rushed to grab the two-seater. My three seat-sharers started the menu dissection. Spare a thought for the hostess, I said and they ignored me scooping one another’s dessert over my plate.

In the wee hours, when we bid our byes, they opened their arms and craned their necks. Refusing to smell their earlobes, I waved my manicured fingers, instead and smiled.

The next evening when the husband returned from work, he said, “They think you are a stuck-up person.”

I smiled.

PS: All puns unintented because I prefer being stuck-up to sticking out!

Cheers!

Scene 1: A Character in office packs to leave early, because he has an evening flight to take.

Scene 2: A Character in office prepares to leave early, because he has an evening flight to take.

Can you identify the characters?

If you have got the answers, you may please get about your work.

If you have not, then carry on reading to find out how to add flesh and bones to give faces, torso, limbs, toenails [please leave the soul aside] to these characters.

First step is to spot the difference in the two sentences. The word ‘packs’ is replaced with ‘prepares’.

Noticed?

Yep. Character in Scene 1 invariably only packs up. Right from the moment he occupies his chair all he does is pack.

If there is an interesting cricket or soccer match, he packs up within an hour of making his presence felt.

If he has a parent-teacher meeting at his child’s school, he packs up immediately after breakfast.

If he has a board meeting, he packs up two days before with files and projects…

PREPARED by others.

Now if the others fail to prepare, will he miss his board meeting? Probably yes. But he still does his job of packing up. He simply packs the OTHERS up.

Got the characters? Please feel free to replace the He with She.

 

Just in case you are curious to know what inspired me to write this. Well, it’s a real-life situation. I will not name the boss or the employee. The employee submits his request for annual leave thrice in six months. The Boss finds excuses ‘valid’ enough to have him postpone each time. Finally, when his leave is granted, he books a flight on his last working day so as to avail the maximum hours at his destination.

That morning: As the employee is all excited chatting up his colleague, he receives an email.

XXXXX,

Pls look into the attached files.  Also ensure the admin department’s issue is closed today.

And, yeah inform the team that I’ll be back next week. I’m off for a much-needed break.

Have a safe trip.

Cheers

XX

When my husband lifted me off my feet...

I had a nostalgic few days recently. My husband carried me (the right I bitterly gave up after our daughter came into our lives). And without me even uttering a word. Ooomy!

He didn't stop at that. He held me tight and let me lean over his shoulders as I strolled in full public view. Wow! When was the last I did that! I don't even want to recollect.

He returned from work early, without me requesting. And fed me, too. What more can I ask of my man!

Yes, 13 years into our marriage and the zing is still on.

All I did was soak it all in - with a groan!

And the moment he heard me, he also ensured the home front was perfect.

The shoes on rack; Tie on hanger; TV volume minimal; Remote controls in place...

Barbies, Rapunzels and fairies in toy boxes; paints and brushes back after use; school projects completed without a hullabaloo...

Breakfast, lunch and dinner ready before I got to plan even!

All I did was soak it all in - with a moan!

And the moment he heard me, he rushed to pick up the hot water bag.

Wonder why the moans and groans ended in hot water bags? Well, the above mentioned moments are but the wonderful side-effects of suffering a sore back. Rather a terribly ill-behaved lower vertebrae.

So even as my medic has warned me not to show up at his door for the next two years, if I intend to walk upright when I grow old, I wouldn't mind peeping in to savour the wonderful moments.

But the practical and more saner mind in me says to back off. How about faking one at regular intervals. Harm to none!

So yesterday when the husband returned from work in the evening, I let out a sigh, eager to devour those wasted romantic moments I couldn't enjoy last week.

He just sat looking at me. Gave him some time to recoup and unwind and let out another sigh! "Why the hell can't you exercise? I didn't see you exercise yesterday, nor the day before. Don't forget what the orthopaedic said. Once the pain reduces you are back to..." And so he went on and I didn't know where the romantic feelings fled to until I stopped my thought process and began to pay attention to what was being said.

When I noticed his helplessness, my guilt knew no bounds.