Tick tok tick tok tick tok. I make imaginary sounds in my head, eyes fixed at the mute digital clock on my computer. Somewhere in my mind large black numbers appear. 2 and 5. 25 bloody more minutes to go. The head reels under the numbness. Suddenly, BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ and the vision takes a long angle shot. Flashback.
8:05 am. You're late. I can almost see my boss lip sync those words from across the wooden partition. Traffic David, traffic. I silently lip back. With not a sound, we somehow communicated it anyway. Never hear the words, just listen to the message. Snap on the computer, fish into Outlook and ZOOP ZOOP ZOOP comes in the emails. Suppliers, clients, colleagues with questions, queries, requests, favours, demands et al. Flow on; sometimes smoothly and sometimes not so smoothly. One after the other; like braiding a nice long plait. I run my fingers through each to smoothen the irregularities, divide them with clean partitions and then let them flow into each other into a pattern that makes the overall product seem like a piece of art. Of course there also lies the utility factor of it all, money like they say. Within every twist and turn of the plait, the beauty is really how we wound each of those to end in the last bit, as free flowing cash.
Blur, blur, blur. A couple more plaits, some food and a couple of forwarded emails that try to make the process of plait creation funny. Sometimes effective, sometimes not. TZK TZK TZK. An average day. Today or maybe yesterday or maybe tomorrow. Not that one is recognisable from the other. Is this maturity? This greyness that surrounds all memory? November 1992 I was wiping my birthday cake off my face, May 2002 I was studying insane nights for A levels, September 2004 I was wiping ice cream off Rashmi’s nose. But July 2007 I was BZZZZZZZZZ. Grey. A dreary lull of time passing unnoticed waiting patiently for its turn to be detected and taken care of. The time is now, the time to bring some colour in.
The head reels under the numbness. Somewhere in my mind a large black number appears. 0. 0 more minutes to go. My head is filled with nail curling silence. I get up to go home. It is time to change now. And it begins again. Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
8:05 am. You're late. I can almost see my boss lip sync those words from across the wooden partition. Traffic David, traffic. I silently lip back. With not a sound, we somehow communicated it anyway. Never hear the words, just listen to the message. Snap on the computer, fish into Outlook and ZOOP ZOOP ZOOP comes in the emails. Suppliers, clients, colleagues with questions, queries, requests, favours, demands et al. Flow on; sometimes smoothly and sometimes not so smoothly. One after the other; like braiding a nice long plait. I run my fingers through each to smoothen the irregularities, divide them with clean partitions and then let them flow into each other into a pattern that makes the overall product seem like a piece of art. Of course there also lies the utility factor of it all, money like they say. Within every twist and turn of the plait, the beauty is really how we wound each of those to end in the last bit, as free flowing cash.
Blur, blur, blur. A couple more plaits, some food and a couple of forwarded emails that try to make the process of plait creation funny. Sometimes effective, sometimes not. TZK TZK TZK. An average day. Today or maybe yesterday or maybe tomorrow. Not that one is recognisable from the other. Is this maturity? This greyness that surrounds all memory? November 1992 I was wiping my birthday cake off my face, May 2002 I was studying insane nights for A levels, September 2004 I was wiping ice cream off Rashmi’s nose. But July 2007 I was BZZZZZZZZZ. Grey. A dreary lull of time passing unnoticed waiting patiently for its turn to be detected and taken care of. The time is now, the time to bring some colour in.
The head reels under the numbness. Somewhere in my mind a large black number appears. 0. 0 more minutes to go. My head is filled with nail curling silence. I get up to go home. It is time to change now. And it begins again. Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
