The waking up ‘on-time’ does not happen. You haven’t actually had the best sleep. The ghar ka kaam, the bathing session, the ‘best clothes’ agony, the dabba, matching shoes and maybe you’re off.
It’s been over 20 hours that you have been contemplating your mode of transport to office. That shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Hell no! It is the most gruesome task you will probably face in this millennium. The train isn’t too feasible, the bus you aren’t sure about. You are obviously worried if the traffic will give up on you; will you make it on time or should you just comply with the auto-rickshaw that has been haunting at the back of your mind (read since ‘3 hours’)? Although, you forget it’s Mumbai you are dealing with here.
Auto-rickshaws are not a luxury anymore. Where are you going to find that one auto guy who will sympathetically understand your plight and agree at the tap of your foot? No one likes being rejected. You hate it when an auto guy turns you down. It’s even worse than the love of your life rejecting you amidst a bunch of friends. Have you tried to notice the looks you recieve from fellow auto guys, when they realize that you are miserably failing at your ‘find-an-auto’ task and your palpitation has reached a peak that it can burst your living veins out? You stroke your fingers, brush your hair aside. The look you have been trying to give your ‘just washed’ hair is now bundled up in a pony. Frustration now is not even close to being funny. BUT, the watch makes you feel confident (that’s a lie) again. You have an hour and a half to go. Sheesh! And just then, “Bhaiyya, Andheri chalenge?” – The typical nod makes you smile and you hop in like you’ve just missed the dragon’s agonizing flames. Has the worst gone? NO!
So much time to kill. Traffic pakka milega. Hopefully you should get there by 10:20. You’ll reach on time and will be sorted for the day. A Smile. BUT, it’s been 15 minutes and you have already REACHED?
EHH? Why the hell haven’t you been subjected to the everyday traffic? What the hell are you supposed to reach the place at 9:15 for? An hour to kill? Where? Bloody hell. Just then, MCDONALDS happens. Yes, you will have the breakfast menu, all by yourself. Alone.
You ask the auto guy to stop right outside McDonalds. He turns around, gives you ‘the look’ and asks grimly, “Yeh Andheri nahi hai Madam”. And you are like, EHH? That’s when the good Lord shouts out in your head; Yes, this is Sakinaka. You had to be at Sakinaka but you conned ‘The Auto Guy’ by saying Andheri. Shit. You pulled the feat. He is giving you the 'you-are-betrayed-to-me look’. You comply. Mumble a few apologetic type words and try running away. But, he demands an explanation. You cheated on him, remember? That’s when you hold your head up high, pride gleaming in your eyes, trying to save your self-esteem, you say, “Haa sakinaka hai, toh kya hua? Postal address toh same hai na. Ab kya faasi pe chadaoge?” And you swiftly walk into McDonalds pretending you just received a call. A glowing yet fearful smirk and a visible sweat drop trickling down your forehead. Shit!
There we are! You survived your first ordeal of the day. You wonder what’s next. Walking into McD, still pretending to be on that fake call; realization strikes and you pull down the phone. Thanking God for not having it ring in your ears.
You order your favourite Breakfast menu meal and bring your serving plate to an abandoned corner in the huge lit up section. Still 45 minutes to go! How the hell are you supposed to do that? You still gather the courage to sit at McD like a sore womanizer. 9:25….9:30….9:33…..9:41…..and now….9:55. You immediately pick your bag and run far far away from the questioning eyes of the over-friendly, creepy, forever-smiling waiters at McD.
You are blessed to have passed an hour of time by yourself. Because, for an overtly conscious person like you, it is definitely is awkward! Talking of psychologically analyzing people, you belong to that category of beings who are conscious at their very core. It’s like a feeling, wherein you know every living object around you is observing your moves.
Walking towards your building gate, you spot a Cigarette shop. Stomping towards it, you meekly ask for your brand of smokes. A slight satisfaction of having your first smoke of the day beams you up. Just then, when you thought the world was a peaceful place, you are cornered by a tall, pan-chewing Hawaldar. “Idhar aao”, he signals you to move to your right corner. “Aapki umar kya hai? Aapko pata nahi below 18 years cigarette lena allowed nahi hai?” and you, a married woman of 24 exclaims expressively (read in your head) “WHAT THE FUCK?”
There begins the task of convincing the Pandu that you indeed belong to the legal age of smokers. The Pan Card, your ex-Company visitor’s card and after a hell lot of other age-proof documents, you manage to convince the Hawaldar that you aren’t into any kind of illegal activities.
While all this was happening in your world, you notice a bunch of older and conservative men, bad-mouthing the morale and values of today’s contemporary women. Shit. You are being ridiculed. You catch pace with the middle-aged woman next to you and run away from the sight of the million eyes that you think are now judging your existence.
Moving on, you make it to the first day of work, at 10:10. Whatever you went through, only you know and nobody else has to. Never.
