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“What, sir”
“So what’s your age, you fool!”
“Oh, sorry, sir. Nineteen, sir.”
“Tch. Address”
“Room No. 3, Ramani Bhavan, Chiragnagar.”
“Hmm. Who do you want to meet”
“The senior Mr. Shah.”
“What for”
“I want to ask him if he has a position vacant for me.”
“Hmph. How much have you studied”
“Almost up to class three, sir! I can recite the alphabet and
I know numbers in English too. My teacher used to say that I was
very clever. Sir, would you like to hear a poem”
Large black eyes stare at him from under thick square
lenses. “Do I look like your school teacher” asks the man at the
reception, his moustache bristling with irritation.
“Hai, no, sir, not at all!” smiles Akash and shakes his head
with his tongue between his teeth. “My teacher was a woman,
sir.”
“Shut up! Mr. Shah can’t see you yet. He’s busy. Wait here.”
The man dismisses him by pointedly picking up a large register
and opening it. The name plate on his table falls off with a loud
clatter. The letters R. TYAGI stare back at Akash with insolence.
“But, sir, I’ve already been waiting for an hour.”
“I said, didn’t I, that he’s busy Don’t you understand
Hindi And use your eyes. See this long line of people They are
all waiting to meet him. Now go stand somewhere else and don’t
bother me. Next!”
“You’ll work with my men in the logistics department,”
says Mr. Shah when Akash finally steps into his office after four
hours. “They haul luggage to and from the planes. There’s just one
rule: no damage. Absolutely none, you understand” He pauses
and tilts his chin up in question. Ruthless. His eyes are so ruthless,
Akash thinks. And nods.
“In this job, other people’s possessions are our livelihood.
70 Writing Tomorrow Magazine