The Delhi Chapter : Page 51

Before I could blink, the watch was done.

My first week at Ogilvy was over.

[ Easily my best week, in many a day. ]

On Friday, I wore a black churidar, and a Khari printed Emerald kurta.

A pair of silver jhumkas, a lenient line of kohl.

And some bangles to garnish the hands.

Purnima and I, (like I mentioned before) were as different as it got.

Chalk and cheese.

Water and oil.

The first week, being the first week, and us not being acclimated to the pace of the place, left us hamstrung with a zillion tasks to do, through the week, around the clock.

And stuff to even carry back home.

Copy books and notes and assignments and things.

Which of course, meant no hanging out, post office hours.

[ A process, as it were, to internalise Advertising literally into our systems.

An exercise to virtually inject the craft into our veins. ]

Purnima was set her own assignments.

I was given mine.

A few happened to correspond.

More often, they did not.

Which of course, meant we couldn’t ever brainstorm together.

Or help each other with ideas.

Bodhi was very strategic, like that.

And caught us, instantly if she ever directed my script.

Or I, helped her crack an idea.

[ Holy mother of God knows how ]

The Delhi Chapter : Page 50

I can't lie I wasn’t terribly distracted that day.

Especially since he caught me studying his frame from a distance.

And smiled me back a small (but warm) smile.

Which accentuated his strikingly high cheek bones.

I kept, down the day, wanting to turn around.

Go up and talk with him about things.

[ But when a guy who looks like the way Khurram did, it wasn’t a cake-walk to muster up the guts. ]

That day passed like quite a sweet flash.

With more cool campaigns.

With more new assignments.

And more advice from Bodhi’s watchful shadow. 

That kept manifesting at my terminal.

Every now and then.

To disapprove my arduous blood and sweat.

Crumble and toss my thoughts in the air.

But most of all, to smarten me up.

[ Something I always knew.

In one flap of my heart.

Notwithstanding his stick and tongue. ]

****

He somehow always made me feel like a bookstore.

Round the bend of some narrow, old street.

Where the ones that cared, no matter how occupied.

Would always steal a moment and come to stop by.

And spend at least a minute at the shelf.

Before they slipped back into their hyperactive lives.

Because they could tell that if they did not come visit; the bookstore would terribly miss them, that day.

The Delhi Chapter : Page 49

As I reached the office, my corner looked strikingly fuller.

Seemed like a bunch of them were back from some shoot.

Then I suddenly remembered Jonathan’s advice to me.

To 'catch hold of' someone by the name of Khurram.

To take me through the different softwares.

I remembered the seat he'd pointed at.

Diagonally behind mine.

And as a reflex, I happened to turn around.

And check if the seat was still untaken.

As a matter of fact, it was not.

A boy (maybe I could call him a man) wearing an apple-green, bleached pull-over and royal blue jeans was sitting on it.
Chit-chatting with the others (presumably from his team).

A Tissot watch with a chocolate brown strap, and a pair of beige suede shoes, clearly gave away where he came from.

[ Not to say that it didn’t speak volumes about his terrific taste. As well. ] 

So a + 1 to him was justified.   

He wouldn’t be a day older than 26.

Had an open face.

Easy-to-read eyes.

A general air of intelligence.

A stunning smile.

And a rather sharp assertion of a nose.

So yes, was the best-looking boy I saw in Ogilvy.
Or in all of Delhi, since I came.

Even that.

[ And if a boy who looked like that, sat diagonally opposite you in your office.
It clearly didn't help your case.

Or any of your campaigns, for that. ] 

The Delhi Chapter : Page 48

My dad always wished I turned out just like maa.

[ As it so managed to happen, like a lousy xerox. ]

With a dab of a nose.

Clear brown eyes.

Straight black hair.

A big, hearty smile.

He wished me to become a little bit of him.

Head-strong.

Sporty.

Emotional.

Animal crazy.

And yet.

He always gave me the freedom a perfect dad would.

Wishing me to become, mostly me.

****

I realised, perhaps for the first time since I came.

That we were separated by much more than meridians and map lines.

They in their lives. Me in mine.

[ Since I was three, I had my own room, they theirs.

And then when I grew up, I went away to Bombay. ]

And yet.

To know that we were still this close.

And yet.

To know that I could go back to them any day.

And yet.

To know that they were always there for me. [ Even if I was not. ]

And will still continue to be there. No matter what.

Just makes me feel blest.

Always.

****

Truth is.

We're all magpies looking for shiny, new things.

But when the old ones that really matter the most.

Tend to stay tight, and keep close.

Makes me feel, it’s all good.

This life is alright.

We’re getting to where we should.

We’re on the right flight.

The Delhi Chapter : Page 47

The next day, I woke up early again.

And took my time, own and sweet, to get turned out for the day.

[ As I was always comfortable doing. ]

So I poured myself in the direction of my balcony.

And felt a rich, golden slant of sunshine.

Trickling in to warm me up.

A November morning.

A thick, cool breeze.

A jar of crackers.

A cup of tea.

I sat cross-legged.

With a sun-burnt dream.

That, of becoming a writer.

Some day.

Like a paper rocket softly singeing the sky, my thoughts somehow always tried to mount up.

Ride the winds, and fly.

It has a strange congruence with neatly stacked words.

A rhythm of notes; now low, now high.

****

As I got dressed and started walking through the service road to take the tube, I looked up at the sky.
There was this quest (as it were), to reach the top of the world, through the crosshatched veil of trees and shrubs.

I started thinking, for the first time in a while.

Of the merry-go-round of a childhood gone by.

Of my mother.

And dad, of course.

My parents and I, have always been thick.

And when I was small, my relations often used to ask me these two chronic questions:

-  "So who are you closer to? Mum or dad?"

-  "Who do you think you look like?"

[ Questions, I never tried to answer. ]

The Delhi Chapter : Page 46

I went up with him to his terminal.

He set me my next assignment.

My first ever Ad campaign.

He: "Why don't you work on a mouth-freshening gum?

Which is your favourite?"

Me: "Umm.. Center Fresh, I think."

He: "Cool. So go ahead. Knock yourself out. Think up a series of three print ads on Center Fresh by the end of the day.

Brief basically is, it's a mouth-freshening gum. So think of how you'd put an idea, and lace a thought around it.

To tell people how the gum camouflages all the bad odours from your mouth. And so on.. You know.. You get the drift.."

Me: "Ah.. Ya.. I should think so.."

****

He turned back to his laptop.

His spine, like a hard stick of discipline.

I started ambling towards my desk.

The string of his words hanging loosely in the air.

****

I kept going to Bodhi, every now and then, down the day, with my basket of ideas.

And he kept slashing my pages, with the knife-cuts of his words, time after dizzying time.

"Think about the brief," he softly said.

The brief.

Which felt like a tangled wire looping out of my head.

****

I stopped draining my ideas onto my laptop.

And took a walk to the end of the corridor.

Looking on blithely at the world inside.

And the afternoon office sizzle.

And spent the rest of my day in the library.

Away from the noise and bustle.

And sundown later, after a deluge of crummy ideas, 'the one' good one whizzed out of my head.

Rocketing and exploding.

Like a ribbon of gold.

Burning a hole.

Into the blackness.

Of a tired, labouring mind...

The Delhi Chapter : Page 45

I stepped out.

The day smelt good.

I’d maybe even call it beautiful (if only it wasn't for the topsy-turvy start).

I knew I had landed myself into a pickle.

And had no idea what I was going to tell Bodhi.

The man was not one to let slacking pass.

And every excuse that came to mind, seemed like a bloody bad save.

****

Anyhow.

By the time I reached office, the man was already in.
Of course.

I was expecting to be admonished and yelled at in front of the whole office, for showing up late on an important day.

[ Actually had a good mind of sprinting in like Usain Bolt, and slinking into my dark corner before he could lay his eyes on me. ]

But Bodhi already seemed to know I was a wreck that morning.

Asked me to first stop apologizing, ‘calm the fuck down’, take a deep breath, and then take a walk with him, down to the canteen for some lemon tea. And some fresh air. [ In that order. ]

[ I never really fancied lemon tea. But when your boss offers to make you some (especially on a day when decide to oversleep and show up late) you don’t exactly have the gall to say no. ]

He chit-chatted with me about my backstory.

Spilled out some of his own, on the table.

Guessed I’d hardly had any breakfast.

And then bought me a chicken and cheese sandwich.

Basically, did all a perfect senior would do, on an important day for a young starter.

To calm her down.

To open her up.

To start a bond.

To smile her up.

*****

Honestly, I still have no idea why he’d done that instead of scolding me.

But well, that’s Bodhi for you.

[ His mind to me, always seemed like a metaphysical riddle.

Something I just couldn’t crack.

Like a song within a song within a song.

A thing unpredictable, from the start. ]