Current Relationship Status
July 2019
Café Coffee Day
Janpath, New Delhi

Kiara took a large sip of the cappuccino and stared at Neeti’s suitcase and said, ‘Hey, are you heading somewhere?’ Neeti leaned on the deep maroon sofa chair and solemnly remarked, ‘nowhere.’ Kiara inquisitively looked as a pale-faced Neeti continued, ‘I was going back home. . .Bangalore. . .but then I just. . .’ Neeti’s voice grew heavier as she looked outside through the glass wall of the café. anxious, Kiara moved closer to the centre table and asked, ‘Hey, what happened?’

With a closed smile, Neeti said, ‘Relationships. . . Things fucked up, ya!’

Kiara smirked. a silent tear refused to leave her eye when she added, ‘Yeah! Tell me about it. . .’
 

A year ago. . .
Neeti

‘Left-aa?’ inquired the middle-aged auto driver as he looked at Neeti from the rear-view mirror.

She nodded firmly and noticed the casual hair knot, her go-to hairstyle that had opened during the long commute to work. But she didn’t blame herself. The pleasant weather, characteristic of Bangalore, would make anyone want to let their hair down. Having rained the night before, morning weather was a dream to step outside the house but the potholes were a nightmare! Neeti’s auto ride got bumpier with every turn. But with her ears plugged into the good old Beatles classic, ‘Hey Jude’, she could barely feel the jerks. A music enthusiast, Neeti had a list of classics tucked into a playlist titled ‘My music diary’, which she clung on to during her one-hour morning commute to work. Five years had taught an otherwise frantic Neeti how to live with the relaxed life of Bangalore. Hailing from the colourful North-Indian town of Jaipur, and having secured her Masters from the out and loud Delhi’s toprated B-school, it wasn’t an easy feat for Neeti to settle into the easy pace of Bangalore in the beginning. Although the ubiquitous debate about North Indian versus South Indian still played in the background, she managed to embrace it all. Her mind, body and mannerisms adapted well. Her language, not so much. It took her a while to decipher the local lingo and acquaint with common words like ‘illa (no)’, ‘gotilla (don’t know)’, ‘maadi (do)’, ‘parva-ile (it’s okay)’ and especially, ‘maa’. She found it really amusing when people her age and younger, addressed her as ‘maa’ during the first few weeks in the city. Now that she knew the respect attached to this suffix, she used it quite often. But that’s the only exception, she still scored herself zero in learning the local language.

Neeti looked at the time. Although her office was barely three kilometres away, she was unsure whether she could make it for the meeting on time. She thought of messaging the meeting host aka her work nemesis, Aparna, but resisted. Neeti was known for her time management skills, a habit that came naturally to her since childhood, given her father was a university professor. However, following a time schedule in a traffic dependent city like Bangalore was more surprising than uncommon. A punctual Neeti was feeling uneasy as she leaned forward and checked with the auto driver.

‘How much time?’

The driver tilted his head sideways and checked the traffic, ‘Five minutes, maa.’

His confidence assured Neeti as she relaxed on the seat. Neeti worked as the Project Manager for the Quinte Solutions in the market research division. The steel grey façade of her office was a prominent landmark on MG Road (the heart of Bangalore). After a spate of internships with global brands, this was her first full-time job. As the auto approached the office building, Neeti quickly removed her earphones, combed her hair and rolled them into a knot again. Dressed in a basic black tee partially tucked inside denims, she noticed her toes that soiled from the muddy pool she accidentally stepped into in the morning before she hailed the auto. She pulled out a tissue from her backpack and rubbed it off quickly. But the dry sand granules inside her strappy sandals were bothersome. Before she could take them off and clear the dust, the driver halted the auto. She was quick to transfer the money and get out of the auto.

The driver smiled and demanded extra bucks which she denied, calling it unfair and walked on.

She ignored the queue near the lift and took the staircase to her office on the third floor. Quinte Solutions had a relaxed atmosphere with no mandatory clock-in hours but she preferred not to be late for meetings. She rushed towards the meeting room with her backpack. Surprised to see a full house through the glass walls of the meeting room (usually people don’t step in early on a Monday morning at Quinte), she entered with an apology. Everyone looked at her. Some smiled, few waved out to her but Aparna with her crooked smile remarked, ‘A little early always helps. . .’ Aparna turned her back, scribbling on the whiteboard but her straightened hair didn’t move an inch. Such was Aparna’s precision to dress like a boss lady. Clad in a pantsuit (on most days), the vermillion sindoor on top of her forehead signified her recently marital status, glossy manicured nails that always matched her lips; she was a total contrast to Neeti. Both worked as Project Managers. Neeti’s five-year toil can’t be overlooked, but in a span of two years, Aparna managed to impress the office fraternity with her smart work. Their ‘friendly’ interaction happened only when they had to share common resources if an urgent project came. Both Aparna and Neeti reported to the 45-year-old, young at heart yet aggressive Vinod who had worked with the company for over ten years. He couldn’t be part of their morning meeting today.

Throughout the meeting, Aparna orated enough marketing gas on how her project could change developers’ careers. An hour later, when the team left, it was time Aparna and Neeti had the real conversation. The two were as quiet as stone for seconds and the yellow lighting of the meeting room added more grimness in the air. Aparna finally spoke.

‘Neeti, this project is huge for the company, not just me.’

Neeti knew how much Aparna yearned to override her. She knew everything about this project. A month ago when Neeti told Vinod to wait for her pitch for this project, an excited Aparna went ahead with a proposal showcasing that she could manage it with existing resources. And now she was faltering at her own commitment.

Aparna continued, ‘We cannot let it go just because we don’t have the bandwidth.’

‘Aparna, we can’t achieve this at the cost of existing projects,’ she responded with a calm face and looked for the laptop charger in her bag. ‘Why don’t you tell your team to work overtime?’ Aparna suggested as she bit her French-manicured nails—a habit that often pissed many folks in the office. ‘That’s not how my team functions.’ Fury begun to show on Aparna’s face as she responded, ‘We don’t have an option.’

Neeti looked at Aparna’s refuse-to-budge face and offered, ‘Just one member from my team then to work on your project.’

Aparna raised her brows as she questioned, ‘Just one! I’ve spoken to Vinod and he told me to do whatever it takes to finish this project.’

Aparna always brought the ‘Vinod’ angle to set things her way and Neeti despised her for that. Neeti refused, ‘Sorry but my plate is full. Vinod hasn’t spoken to me about this yet.’

An exasperated Aparna responded, ‘Then you talk to him because that’s how we are going ahead.’ With a disinterested look, Neeti replied, ‘Okay, only three people for a week, not more than that. And no further negotiations.’

A thankless Aparna refused to smile while an exhausted Neeti got up and left the room. As she walked towards her desk she stared at the teal grey carpeted floor just when Vinod crossed her and snapped his fingers near her head to break Neeti from her reverie. The man had a weird dressing sense but he carried it with such panache that no one ever questioned him why he paired formal shirts with cargo shorts and floaters. Quinte didn’t have a dress-code to adhere to but Vinod took it to another level. Neeti looked up and before she could utter a word, Vinod said, ‘Neeti Mathur, our star performer.’

She twitched her nose and asked, ‘What?’

‘Didn’t you read the mail I forwarded you? That pharma client’s quarterly report has been appreciated by everyone.’

Neeti thought about the e-mail Vinod referred to and wished to inquire but he walked away as he said, ‘Catch you later, it’s meeting time. But. . .good job!’

Neeti’s face lit up as she reached her desk and noticed Jenny yawning on a client call. Short and cute, funny and fearless, happily married and a Santoor mom; Jenny was Neeti’s only colleague and secret-keeper in Bangalore with whom she chatted regularly. Jenny joined Quinte Solutions a year after Neeti, as a Research Analyst. As Neeti sat on her chair and logged in, she noticed her virtual calendar flooded with meetings. Her inbox too overflowed over the weekend. In a fleet of grey and black text, her eyes searched for Vinod’s forwarded mail. She opened it and her eyes fell on the words, ‘Unbelievably good, thoroughly researched and well-crafted report. No one can ace it like Neeti.’ She leaned back on her chair with a victorious smile. She recalled how many nights she had spent to ace this report. Almost a decade ago, when she was in Jaipur, nights were always meant to be at home. Her father would not have tolerated such late nights, no matter how urgent the work was—8 pm meant home for the Mathur family. But her life now had changed everything.