Caught Between Two Worlds

My heart skipped a bit when I saw a pair of shiny formal shoes by the unofficial SOS zone- the secret place wedged between the office staircase and corridor, a tiny cozy cave probably born out of an architectural defect.  It’s the zone where everybody slinks into – to lick wounds of defeat, to take a breather from stressful meetings/ conversations and the best part is, it’s only you there.  There are unconfirmed reports of hearing soulful bawling there only to find the occupant walk out fully composed with a beatific smile. It’s even better than the office loo where you could get interrupted by sounds of flushing and other olfactory turn offs.

So I break the unspoken office rule and peer inside to find the owner of the shiny shoes. I catch her in the moment just before she could let the tears flow; her eyes were flooded but contained by the lusciousness of the lids. She was appalled by my audacity but I had a ready hostage negotiator kind of a smile – non-threatening and somehow comforting.

And I ask the obvious, “What are you doing there? Are you upset?”

“Yes” she whispers, trying not to let the floodgates of the eye open.

“Why?”I ask.

“I am caught between two worlds,” she says.

Probably an extramarital affair, caught between two worlds. Or some love affair or both. My mind calculates in permutations that could even put Shakuntala Devi to shame.

But she was quick to my doubts to rest.

“I am caught between the two worlds – the BRAND me and the REAL me.

I try not to look disappointed. I was expecting a more exciting answer.

She continues, “you know what I mean right?, the BRAND me is what I project and the REAL me is what I am beneath it at all”

I look at her stoic. A nerve twitches by my eye. It’s not a good thing, if I were a real hostage negotiator, I think randomly.

“I have worked so hard, controlled my temper, been a faithful follower,  forceful leader at times. I have achieved it all. My brand /market value is so high today. I get at least three calls from head hunters every day. I am a cash cow”

“Isn’t that a good thing,” I quip.

“No, it’s not because that not the REAL me. Did you know I used to be an amazing painter? I painted on every canvas I could find - even the walls of my bathroom, on the leaves that fell on my balcony. And every painting had a story to tell, they were so pulsating - alive. But I was a good daughter, I killed my dreams to go a fine arts college instead I did engineering. I was very average but I made up for that by working doubly hard. I stood outside the staff room to clear doubts when others watched movies. I followed the same mantra at work. Today I am a brand by myself- but sadly it’s all a  %^&*() projection.”

“Please try not to swear. It only increases your anger. Also why are you thinking about all this today, after all those years” – I ask.

“Today I was going through my old personal email id and I saw some of my very first mails. Some to my old boyfriend, who by the way was a world renowned painter but unfortunately is no more but that’s another story.”

I control the urge to ask her the name. Could it be MF Hussain, I think lamely. Couldn’t be, would have been too old for her anyways.

“And among those mails, I saw my earliest painting of myself which is without doubt my masterpiece- the layers, the depth in my eyes was so intense.  I looked at the girl in the painting and had breakdown at my desk. So I came here to compose myself. I have decided I am giving all this up. I want to be true to myself – to be the girl I was. The REAL me.”

So I ask a practical question. “Didn’t u just buy a new car with customized interiors and power woman spoilers?

“Not just the customized interiors but also the colour . It’s the colour that you wake up to at about 5 AM in the morning. I had to get special permission from the company to get it done not to mention the money I had to shell.”

“So now you will have to give that car away right? I ask her. May be you would be more creative walking to the bus stand. Public transportation in Chennai can be little challenging.”

Her face changes. “I don’t think I will give the car up.”

“Also don’t you have EMIs? How about your home loan?

“Yes, I have a beautiful apartment in the 18th floor and in the kitchen,you can actually see the sea. So it’s sort of sea facing.”

“So now are you planning to sell it ?  You have to explore the REAL you right?”

“No! No! I don’t think I will sell it. I love it too much .”

“So I guess you will have to remove your hair extensions as well. Aren’t they really expensive to maintain?”

“No, not my hair extensions. I look really ugly without it. I spend about one third of my salary every quarter to maintain it.  It’s so much part of me.”

“Hmmm . So you can’t give any of this up to actually explore the REAL you?” I ask, a little perturbed.

She then hugs me. I was caught off guard.

“Thank you”, she says. “You opened my eyes.”

To what, I wanted to ask but keep quiet.

“I didn’t realize that over the period of time The BRAND me has become the REAL me, so I am not giving up anything”, she says conveniently.

And we smile at each other like sorority sisters

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Three hours later, the suspense was killing me too much. So I walk to her desk and ask her meekly if I could see the painting - her masterpiece- the one that reflected her in all its starkness.

“Of course”, she says proudly.

It takes a few seconds to buffer. I am watching the computer screen with such concentration that my eyes start to ache a bit.

Finally there it was.

I was transfixed.

I just stared and stared

And then started squinting a bit.

All I could see was a shriveled mango- sort of badly shriveled too!

“Unmm…but this is a mango”.

“Yes, this mango symbolizes me”, she says.

“Definitely, your masterpiece”, I tell her.

She gets emotional.

I walk away, patting my back. It was a good thing that I asked her to stay back.