It had been not more than a month since I have started a new life in Delhi.
It hadn’t been easy for the transformation I had had undergone of course. It hadn’t been of my choice. It hadn’t been in my plans.
But then, life happened.
It seems so unreal even to me that one wrong decision of my family, one moment of trust I placed in a random person, my life tilted on the axis. Married to a wrong guy, who dumped me after stealing my dowry, my own kin trying to kill me for not letting them me marry off to somebody else before the rumour spreads out, and fleeing for life, to start afresh, life had been pretty complex and outright dramatic.
Sometimes at night, when I lie back on my bed trying to make patterns out of the peeking light from the window, I am reminded of the nights I used to sleep in my mom’s lap, when she complained about how my hair is losing all its charm. I remember running around in the fields with Rajji and everything that my lost home had once given me; memories that now are thinning in my mind’s eye.
And at times like these a tear or two roll down from my eyes.
Yet, I will be ungrateful if I do not admit I am slowly letting the bitter memories take a back seat and let only the good ones prevail. And there was one person who made me come out of my bitter past, and let me instead focus on my present.
Maan Singh Khurana, my boss.
With him beside me blasting me for my mistakes and his, every minute of the day, I had no reason to brood over my past. Instead, he gives me millions of other things to get depressed about.
He is one strange person I ever came across. A taunt when I run straight into doors, and create havoc in his otherwise perfect life, a sarcastic remark when I have my tube-light moment and ask him silly doubts; with him the twelve hours I spend in my office become as much happening as possible.
General public, who aren’t privy to work with him closely and hence had to bear the brunt of his mercurial temper, think I am super lucky to be his secretary and breathe the same air as of him.
He is a difficult person to work with and his mercurial temper isn’t the only reason for it. Some claim that his good looks contribute a great deal to it, for which I mentally snort.
He did have blessed good looks, to be very frank, with that cleft jaw, and aristocratic nose and eyelashes any girl would kill to have. But what good it is, if they are combined with a brain like that, which has the capability to produce thousand sarcastic remarks a second.
I have only seen people totally in awe of him, or being scared shit of him. There was no middle ground. He was both adored and held in high regard. It is ludicrous how he seemed almost perfect, without any flaws.
Sometimes he does seem too perfect to the point of being inhuman but at times like these I look at his eyes. There is something in his eyes. To an unresponsive, poker face like his, somehow his eyes always had a very different story to tell.
They had this strange darkness to them, and every time I look into them, I find them belong to a person who isn’t closed per se, but somebody who doesn’t want to be known for what he is.
And hence, to me his best feature is his eyes. Though with his mouth, he utters venom, and piercing words, with his eyes, he apologizes.
And for me, that is enough.