All about office affairs

I did not see Sexy Butt after that and since I had no idea who he was or what floor he was on, there was no way of finding out. So while I kept a lookout for him, I concentrated on the people that were around me. Strangely, the Anonymous Caller had started leaving jokes on the voice mail at my extension. The same nice voice and jokes, all delivered in a deadpan tone but with solid punch lines. One day, as I laughed at the latest joke, Anonymous Caller, well, called.
"You look really nice when you throw your head back and laugh…it's worth sending you those jokes, just to see you laugh," said he and hung up, as usual. Though I was really intrigued as to who the Anonymous Caller could be – he had a very sexy voice – I decided to wait it out. If he was taking the trouble to leave jokes but was not bothered about meeting… well, two could play the game.
I had always thought that office environments were very serious. I had seen my Father go for his government job at a particular hour and return home at a specified time. Socialising was with your colony people or family, and definitely not with your colleagues. Coming to Delhi and joining the media house I was working for changed my perspective about the working environment for sure. Most people walked in at whatever time they were supposed to… and left at strange hours. Often, I saw many just lounging in the canteen or the Smoking Area, even after their work was over. I used to wonder earlier why people never seemed in a hurry to go back home. And then I realised… they were having much more fun away from home!
The first week, I made three friends: Moona Microphone, Robby the Player and Uncleji. Moona – I figured within five minutes of her talking – was the office gossip, the one person who had the most boring life and therefore needed to talk about everyone else. I knew she would be important if I had to get a hang of the place before the place got a hang of me. Robby was the guy who hit on every other girl, without success. He had potential and since he had been very sweet to me, I had decided to teach him stuff… in my free time. And of course Uncleji, he was the admin guy who was supposed to help us out with everything. My first mission with him was finding Sexy Butt.

To be continued…Every Tuesday
(Published in Metro Now, New Delhi, May 1, 2007)

Love thy neighbour!

For the last six months now, I have been taking in Delhi: the sites, sounds, shenanigans and the people. And so far, things have been promising. Despite the initial hitch in finding a house, things have worked out fine for me. Especially since Delhi likes women who are fair, pretty and busty.

I first realized Delhi's fascination with big breasts – more than that of the men in my small town – when I went house hunting. The first day I was in a tight spaghetti top and jeans and from the broker to the prospective landlords, everyone just looked at my chest while talking. However, I didn't find a room that I liked enough. And then some of the landlords were a bit too keen on renting out their space to me. Now, had they been young and good looking, I might have thought over things. But old geezers scratching their balls through their Patiala salwars is not my idea of interesting. Even the easiest of girls doesn't sleep around with every man, ya?

The next day, I wore a transparent, fitting salwar-kameez with a big dupatta. I had decided that if it was a house I really wanted, I would let the dupatta just hang as a scarf; and if it were old men I didn't like, the dupatta would remain draped like a good girl. I found the place I wanted in Lajpat Nagar. It's a third floor flat, with one small room and a small balcony that looks onto a playground. The locality is dinghy, but my neighbours are four boys. Two are studying at NIIT, one is an aspiring model and the fourth works at a call center. And all four have offered to help me with 'anything' at all.

As I was house hunting and I had come up to my current place with the broker, I saw one of the boys – I learnt he was the model later – come out on to the balcony to dry his towel on the railing. He was bare-chested and wearing boxers and had the widest chest I have ever seen. The hair on his chest was evenly distributed: some in the center, slightly spreading to the side and then tapering down into the waistband of his boxers rather tantalizingly. As I had stood there taking him in, he put the towel out and saw me looking at him. He didn't look away but instead stretched, keeping his eyes on me. His arms bulged and his chest expanded further and I knew I wanted the house. Really badly.
To be continued...

Hear Delhi, here I come...

As I looked at Army Man checking out my lacy bra, the train gave a sudden jolt… and I was rudely awakened from my dream. There was Army Man across me, with his legs entwined in mine and fast asleep. I realized that while I had been dreaming about him, I did not like Army Man. There was just something about him that was vaguely disturbing. Usually, that would have excited me. But with the last two experiences I had had, I let this chance pass. After all, I was going to the city with capital opportunities. Both Punjabi and Jat men were known for their aggression and I hoped it was not just on the roads…

With some difficulty, I extricated my legs from between those of Army Man’s and climbed onto my upper berth, deciding not to descend for the rest of the journey. All this while, Army Man did not move a muscle. As he slept with his legs spread and stretched out on the seat, his short rose up tantalizingly. I almost remained sitting, waiting for the garment to give me a peek at what lay beneath… However, I was forced to avert my gaze as Army Man squirmed in his sleep and I was afraid he’d wake up and catch me staring at his crotch; this time for real.

The early morning coach-composure was broken by someone screaming, “Saddi Dilli aa gayi, chalo, chalo,” and whole families of people started lining up at the coach door. It never made sense why people were in a rush to get off when it was supposed to be a train’s last station: it was not going to chug away! As I got off my perch, Army Man was folding his toiletries in his towel, while his bedding lay on the seat, already neatly folded. He was wearing crisply, creased clothes and had even shaved. It was 6 am as the train rolled on to the platform and I wondered what kind of discipline could force a person to shave that early in the morning… that too when on a train. Even women would go around with shaggy eyebrows and a moustache if they had to wax or tweeze everyday, ya?

My first view of Delhi… was a lot of Sardarjis – in various shapes and sizes - on the platform. For a minute I panicked that I had gotten off at Amritsar; and then I saw the board: ‘Welcome to Hazrat Nizamuddin’, with the picture of a smiling old lady in a bun, a white cotton sari and a namaste, greeting everyone.

Easy cum and easy go?

As we stood there hugging, Ticket Checker's breathing intensified and the movie reached its climax. Before it 'The End' flashed on screen, he quickly led me out of the box into the still-deserted exit stairway and led me to a small door that said 'Staff Only'. We went inside, the room smelt of old newspapers, dust and rat poo with a few round cans with film spools lying abandoned.

Ticket Checker pulled me inside the room and shut the door with a clang. It was really dark and the thought of rats over my sandaled feet were giving me the creeps. Ticket Checker tried to pull me close, I pushed him away and said I needed some sort of a light first…

I could sense Ticket Checker's haste as he began fumbling in the dark. A 'click' later, a weak bulb came on and though it was not pitch black anymore, I could barely see. Ticket Checker lunged, caught my face in his hands and started kissing it all over. Ticket Checker pushed me into the wall, crushing me with his weight as he continued kissing me and rubbing his entire body against mine.

As I kissed him back, I realized Ticket Checker had managed to hitch my skirt up to my waist and we were standing against each other, joined at the hip… He was wearing jeans and as he rubbed himself on me, I felt the denim scratch the soft skin on my inner thigh. I asked Ticket Checker to control himself, but he only intensified his rubbing… And then there was a sudden "Ah" and Ticket Checker stopped moving and fell against me; I thought he had a heart attack or something. But he was alive… with a little wet patch in the front of his trousers. He looked at me, and looked away. I pushed him away, pulled my skirt down and left, shutting the door behind me with a clang.
To be continued…