Woe-man!

            “Saar, may I come in?” When our first division clerk, Shri. Srirangaraju steps into my room with the drawl on sir, he signals that he is bringing along trouble with him. And when he stands at the door instead of coming to my desk, I know that he is expecting fireworks from me in return.

            “Yeah? What’s it?” I am at my curtest best, determined to make it more difficult for him.

            “8^th March-Women’s Day, saar” he croaks. Oh no! Not so quickly! There must be a way out….

            ‘Mmm….so?” I pretend absolute incomprehension.

            “Office  celebrations……” He glanced down at the desk the same time as I groped about it. All the hurl-able objects had mysteriously disappeared and I was left clenching my fists instead. And in the next magical moment my eyes settled on the calendar and a huge sense of relief washed over me translating into a broad grin.

            “Why Mr.Rangu, there won’t be any office celebrations this year. March 8^th 2009 is a Sunday,” I cried jubilantly. Visions of the grand celebrations of 2007’s women’s day were indelibly etched on my ego-stripped psyche. The women had a whole day off at the office and got paid for it! That left all the men to do double the work in half the time. (Twice the number of females than males in our office) Adding insult to injury was asking the men to be extra polite, wish and present flowers to their female colleagues. I had almost wept myself to sleep that night. My male ego too rued the conspicuous absence of a single Men’s day in all of 365 days! Couldn’t it at least have been 29^th February?

            Anyway this year, a blessed Sunday had indeed saved me of further heartburn and humiliation.

            ‘Saar…” When he drawled with his hand on the door knob, ready to dash out, he meant he expected me at his throat. He knew I hated this particular celebration.

            “The Women’s lungi company had a clause….” I always enjoyed his blatant mispronunciation of lingerie. Woman’s Lungi sounded chauvinistically delightful! “…As our eshteemed cushtomers, they esspect a mandatory celebrations of women’s day…” The hawk eyed idiot! He sure doesn’t miss minor clauses like that!

            “But it is Sunday, man. We are ALL not working!”

            “Saar…” he had opened the door just a little as I began seriously inspecting my bare hands, wondering how they would feel around his bullous throat. “ The women want to pre-pone the celebrations!” he said.

            ‘What? This is ridiculous! And besides, 7^th is Saturday and it is everyone’s weekly off too,”

            “Saar….” He had begun to sweat but did not bother to wipe it off his neck fearing it could trigger a visual innuendo for me. “The girls want to celebrate it on 6^th, Friday!”

            “But that’s unfair!” It was my turn to croak, visualizing all the work the girls would leave this time. They were extremely studious in bettering their records yearly and this year they would surely keep several files pending from Monday itself! He was half out of the door sticking only a sweating, bald face when I suddenly jumped towards him.

            ‘No…No....No…” I stressed my words with a prompt action of firmly keeping my hands behind me. He then stepped in. “Rangu, can’t we cook up something on paper for the companies?” I whispered conspiratorially.

            “Cooking sir? The girls won’t like it. They keep doing it at home daily.” The imbecile! “And the ‘Phit and Preeti’ bosses, they ask for a written report from our women employees!” I had forgotten that. So, the celebrations stayed. So did my hands behind my back.  Suddenly I remembered having had generous helpings of garlic pickles for lunch and decided to try a never-once-before-one on this harbinger of irritation.

            “OK. Sssso whhhhaaat khhhaaaan we do fohh thhhhem?” Unleashing a deliberate volley of successive hisses, I punished him, as he squirmed and shrank against the wall at the garlic-gust.

            “Vegetarian lunch on 6^th, Friday…sir.”

            “Okhhhayy! Inform the canteen to bring in the food here. Okhhhay?” I retraced my steps for the fear he would faint of over-inhalation and hypoxia.

            “Saar….” It was a full minute before he came back to his senses, but normal smells would still take an hour. “They will want something better than the routine canteen food. How about from the three star restaurant across the road?” Which side did he really belong to? Outwardly he looked like a man, but…he was batting for them! He presumed my silence for consent.

            “Mr.Rangu, make it a quick lunch. It mustn’t last for over an hour.”

            “Saaaaaar…..” I envied the emperors of yore who beheaded the messengers who brought them unpleasant news. “The women plan to come in at lunch time and want to attend a Khadi exhibition later saaaaar….” It appeared the blueprint was already in circulation and only needed my cursory signature. The women knew how to treat themselves, indeed!

            “OK, go ahead.” I simpered, lowering a sagging shouldered frame on to my Manager’s chair.

            “Sir!” The crisp address signaled he was about to unleash a gossip. ‘Sir! 8^th, Sunday! Women’s Day celebrations for your Madam at home sir?!” With this he was gone with a chuckle.