A Day In The Life Of An Articles Clerk

Statutory Warning: The writer of this story is completely frustrated with his new life, particularly after having the time of his life in his college days. You are requested to bear with him and his pissed off attitude towards life.

 
Triinnnnnnnggg! The wake-up alarm screams, as if wanting to shake the bones out of me. Its 7.45 am. “Time to wake up, dude” I say to myself, only to find and press the snooze button. (I really wish to thank the person who has invented the snooze button; it lets you sleep more without forgetting about your already-delayed-plan of getting up!!). Couple of snoozes later, I finally decide it was high time. So the aching body wakes up, much reluctantly and in utter disbelief that it isn’t Sunday already. “Race against time...Oh No! Not again!!”

The time starts ticking, as it always does. I wonder if I could ever hold the Seconds hand of the clock for some time so that I can have had more time to have breakfast, read the morning newspaper and to enjoy the fresh morning air. But then time stops for no one. After 5 minutes of brushing and getting the screws of the head in the right places, it’s already late for breakfast. So all I can do is have some coffee and biscuits and rush for having a bath.

The destination is a remote place in Andheri East. Though it’s just 20 km away, the perspiration required for arriving at the desired destination is comparable with a Himalayan Trek. It begins with a journey to the railway station via bus. The bus is crowded. It always is, and more so because I have decided to board that train. I have always observed that whichever train or bus I want to board will be exceptionally crowded. This test has proved itself right time and again.

So after some perspiration in the bus, its time to board the train. The railway station has to be crowded as always. Dadar station is full of all sorts of people; businessmen, executives, students, workers, perverts, robbers and Bhaiyyas(They are found in great numbers, anywhere & everywhere in Mumbai). The train arrives at the platform, only to notice tons of people waiting to get almost like ants, crawling their way towards the lump of sugar. The mentality of people is such that even if the train is empty, they will rush in, even at the cost of the passenger wanting to get down, just to find a place to sit. If you watch it from the platform as a spectator, you would feel that they all are playing Musical Chair and that the early bird snatches the priced chair, or rather, the seat.

The train starts long after all the passengers have found their own corner. Either people don’t realise that trains do stop for a longer time at important stations or whatever it is, but there is this mad surge of impatience on the part of the passengers to squeeze in. Hence they will push the people who are ahead of them, or even pull them back if need be, will give bad words, will indulge into quarrels, and might even floor one or two, just for the sake of getting in. I manage to sneak in, sandwiched, and have to remain sandwiched as long as my desired station arrives. All I can see through the void of arms and bodies is hair, of the passengers, scanty, long, trimmed, black, dancing, swaying, sleeping, standing tall. I try a sneak peak at the window, which depicts slow traffic, lots of pollution, slums and millions of them, garbage, people pissing & shitting in the open, et al.

The Bhaiyyas are in there as well. These guys are really worth a mention. Because I think half of the frustration of a Mumbaikar is triggered due to these guys. They are mostly unclean, probably have had their last bath at their native place, they smell awful, and keep doing the most amazing things you can do in public, inter alia, nose picking, ear cleaning, tooth picking, etc. These guys love nose picking I guess, as they get so engrossed into it that they could even insert all their fingers in one nostril, if it were scientifically possible. More astonishing is the fact that they don’t get embarrassed at all, even if you keep staring at them. I had once unsuccessfully attempted embarrassing one Bhaiyya by staring at him, but in vain, as I myself got embarrassed.

The next halt is the test of your ready-to-get-squeezed-ability, cause you are going to get squeezed from both sides, all just for the sake of coming out of the train. The station is Andheri. And what follows the halting of the train is a mini-stampede. I cough out of the train, to breathe a sigh of relief, only momentarily though. I look up and there is this huge crowd trying to use the walk over bridge as fast as they can, as if they were rats trying to leave the sinking ship.

After some more perspiration, its time to enter the queue for getting the bus to go to my place of work. Andheri East is a commercial area, also comprising of MIDC. Hence all the office goers flock into this bus-queue, again to find just a corner and somehow reach their offices. Andheri is the perfect specimen of how hell would look if it came to earth. The place is just too bad in every sense. The traffic is awful, the roads are out of shape, road crossing public disrupts the flow of traffic, rickshaws claw their way out it.

The wait in the queue is endless. Though the BEST double deckers come thick and fast, the crowd is too much for it. There are three queues, first one is for all those who want to sit, the second one is for those willing to standing & the third is for all those who are willing to squeeze in. After 20 minutes of wait, I finally get the chance to board the priced bus. Its 10.15 am already and I am supposed to reach office by 10 am.

I reach office at 10.30 am, reluctantly agreeing to get my ass screwed for the rest of the day. Staple pins, Times New Roman, word documents, excel worksheets, printouts, photocopies, punch machines, bare acts, formatting, rough papers, pens, pencils, bosses, super bosses, terminals, servers, e-mails, feed back, follow ups, phone calls, fax messages dominate the proceedings. In the end, all the hard and good work is undone by one little mistake (a mistake which you have already ignored, being too immaterial) detected by your boss, and all it does is add up to your frustration.

9 Hours of monotonous work is enough to screw up your brains, only to find out that it’s not over yet, because the journey back home is hard and rough. Again the long hard journey back to the station, again the bees dying to get a piece of the hive. I keep wondering why people are in such a fucking hurry. Where do all these people go? And if they are just going home, why are they in such a rush? I even imagine that their (or their neighbour’s) spouses might be waiting back home, naked, with their legs split wide open, wanting to sexually satisfy their horny counterparts.

The horrible journey ends when you slam the door of your house on the outside world. A gruesome day in the life of an aspiring Chartered Accountant finally comes to an end. I think about doing this for three long years and the thought itself is enough to make me sleepy. The aching body & weary mind carve for relief, interim atleast.

Triinnnnnnnggg! The morning alarm goes. Life goes on!!!