Sudharma woke up at half past ten. For a few seconds he did not know what day it was. Then he remembered. Monday.
The room was quiet.
Viraj had already left for work.
A folded sheet of paper was lying near the television.
Sudharma picked it up.
Puliyogare gojju in fridge.
Milk on stove. After use keep in fridge.
Prepare dal for dinner.
There was no signature. There never was. In a bachelor flat, handwriting was enough.
He walked to the kitchen.
The milk was exactly where the note said it would be.
Utsav was still asleep.
Sudharma made coffee first. Then he stood near the window with a cigarette.
The street below was busy in the way Bangalore streets always were.
Autos. School vans. A vegetable vendor arguing with someone.
Monday had already started for everyone else.
A few minutes later he kicked Utsav’s mattress.
“Get up.”
“No.”
“Office.”
“I know.”
“Then get up.”
Utsav opened one eye.
“You have changed after going home.”
“Get up.”
That ended the discussion.
By eleven, both were eating puliyogare.
The gojju had been made by Utsav’s mother and transported across districts through a chain of relatives. Nobody remembered the full route. The important thing was that it existed.
“This is good,” Utsav said.
“It isn’t yours.”
“I am appreciating it.”
They finished breakfast. Had another coffee. Shared another cigarette.
By half past twelve Utsav was ready.
At the door he stopped.
“Today we will know.”
“Know what?”
“Whether your mystery girl exists.”
“There is no mystery girl.”
Utsav looked unconvinced.
“Call me if there is drama.”
Then he left.
The flat became quiet again.
Sudharma collected clothes from the balcony. Filled water bottles. Cleaned a few vessels that had escaped Sunday’s cleaning.
Then he remembered the note.
Dal.
He soaked it. Cut onions. Tomatoes. Green chillies.
Around two, his phone vibrated.
A message.
Reached office?
Jahnavi.
He looked at it. Then at the dal on the stove.
He typed.
Not yet. Evening shift.
The reply came immediately.
Okay.
Nothing else.
He put the phone aside.
The dal was finally done by three.
He tasted it. Added salt. Tasted it again.
Good enough.
He transferred it into a steel vessel. Had rice, dal and curd.
Put the Dal in the fridge. Then he left another note.
Dal in fridge.
At four he picked up his office bag.
Checked for wallet. Phone. ID card.
The bus stop was a short walk away.
The city looked exactly as it had looked a week earlier.
By the time he reached office it was around four-thirty.
An hour before his shift.
The security guard at the gate recognised him immediately.
“Back?”
“Yes. Back to madness.”
The guard nodded and smiled.
The lobby was busy.
People from first shift were already thinking about going home. People from second shift were arriving.
The day and night worlds crossed each other for a brief hour inside the building.
Sudharma took the stairs instead of waiting for the lift.
A few minutes later he walked into the cafeteria.
Ganavi was already there.
That was expected.
Jahnavi sitting opposite her was not.
The two of them were in the middle of a conversation.
Ganavi noticed him first.
“Look who finally came back.”
Sudharma pulled a chair and sat down.
“I was thinking of extending leave.”
“You should have.”
“Ratna Aunty would have adopted him,” Jahnavi said.
Ganavi laughed.
“Correct. Vinayak would have lost his inheritance.”
The conversation continued naturally.
Harsh was still being teased about sleeping through half the trip. Somebody had apparently filed leave for the wrong month. A new batch had joined. Someone from quality had already managed to irritate multiple team leaders.
The office had survived perfectly well without him.
Coffee arrived.
Ganavi spoke the most. Jahnavi interrupted whenever she disagreed with something.
Neither seemed to notice how easily they spoke to each other now.
Ganavi was describing an argument between two trainers when Jahnavi cut in.
“That is not how it happened.”
“That is exactly how it happened.”
“No. You are editing the story.”
“I am improving it.”
“You are making yourself the hero.”
Ganavi looked offended.
“As I should.”
For some reason, Sudharma smiled.
The break ended.
Ganavi stood up first.
“Come. I actually have work.”
“That would be a first.”
She threw a tissue paper at him.
The three walked back towards the floor.
Halfway there someone from operations stopped Ganavi.
“Five minutes,” she said and disappeared.
Sudharma and Jahnavi continued walking.
“How was leave?” she asked.
“Good.”
“Met everyone?”
“Most of them.”
She nodded.
“Village still the same?”
“Mostly.”
Neither spoke for a few moments.
The floor entrance was visible ahead.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Ganavi reappeared before the silence became awkward.
“Why are both of you walking like retired people?”
The shift began.
Emails. Reports. Questions. People dropping by desks.
For a while the office succeeded in becoming an office again.
Around seven they found themselves back in the cafeteria.
Ganavi was talking about a customer escalation.
Jahnavi was listening.
Sudharma sat across from them.
Occasionally contributing. Mostly not.
The conversation moved comfortably around him.
For a brief moment everything felt exactly the same as it had before he left.
Yet something had shifted.
The break ended.
Ganavi picked up her cup.
Jahnavi followed.
Sudharma stood and walked back with them towards the floor.
Leave a Reply