– Mohammed Khadeer Babu
Shall we go, Mr. Senior” she asked, with a smile.
“Sure, Ms. Junior”, he joined her.
They chose the first table in the third row, their favourite among the beautiful tables designed in patterns of orange and yellow. Usually, their visit 
lasted fifteen minutes. Sometimes it stretched to thirty minutes. The brief interlude provided a relief from the utterly repetitive tasks that constituted their office work.
But that day was special. It wasn’t like their regular breaks. Picking up the menu, she stated, “I will pay the bill today. You cannot say no.”
“Sure”.
She ordered chata channa and aloo pattee. Also for a coke can that they would share at the end.
“So”, she said.
“So” he responded.
They stared at each other. Words failed. They had been seeing each other for three years. They had known that this moment would arrive and tried to act as if they were prepared for this situation. She spoke to him as she were talking to a child,
“Try to get a proper lunch box in your new office. Keep some dry fruits in your desk to munch as a snack. Reduce the number of teas that you drink. Don’t grow a beard as you did now. Get a health check up done at least once in six months. Remember, I will not be there to remind you of all this in the new office”.
He nodded, unable to look into her eyes.
“Most importantly, stop all the mails, Whatsapp and Facebook messaging. It is difficult to do so gradually which is the reason you should stop them right away. We are all adults here, right”
He nodded again.
“Lift your head and look at me”
He obliged.
“Oh my god. Don’t you cry now.”
She began to laugh. After a while, he too recovered, wiped his tears and tried to smile.
She had wept when she joined that office, unable to cope with demands of work. Not that she was new to the field. She had worked in the software industry before her marriage. But once she got married, she could not think about a job for seven years. In these years many things had changed. Her earlier familiarity of software industry and her prior experience were of little help. When she sought help in the office, the team leader told her to approach her senior. She had assumed that a senior would be an older man, at least forty five to fifty. He turned out to be younger than her, hardly thirty years old. But he behaved very responsibly. He cleared her doubts and taught her things. Even in the midst of a busy schedule he did not get annoyed. Endeared by this character, she took to calling him ‘Mr. Senior’. He too began to call her Ms. Junior in response. It brought a smile to their faces.
Every day, at eight in the morning they took the cab from different corners of the city to travel to work. It was a terrible journey that lasted an hour and half . Office was another hell. One could not get up from one’s chair and return journey to home was equally tortuous. Even though the air conditioning worked well, one was constantly gasping for fresh air.
When she got terribly bored, she came to say hello to him.
“So, what did your wife cook for lunch today?” she would ask, while settling down near his seat.
“She didn’t. She finds it difficult to get up early in the morning because of our young son”
“It is okay. I brought something. Let us share.”
But he was reticent and did not accept her offer.
“Let us go to Subway and eat something”, she offered then.
The Subway outlet was at a short distance from the office. Many of their colleagues went there regularly. They too got into that habit.
Most people have childhood friends. There is nothing new to share with them and one has to fall back to the same old topics. In fact, such friends are even unaware of one’s current disposition. Or one had colleagues. But one could not share everything with them. You need to feel safe and secure. Someone has to knock on your door, calling you out.
“Your husband is a nice guy, right?”
“Very nice. Your wife?”
“Oh, she is a goddess.”
After some time, the conversation took a different turn.
“You know what, my husband is so prone to bursts of anger”
“I know. My wife is such a nag.”
In fact, she discovered what her husband’s problem was within the first three nights of marriage. He suffered from performance anxiety. It never left him. To cover it up he behaved in a domineering way during the day. But she couldn’t possibly share that with an office friend. So, when he inquired about her husband, she gave a simple answer, “Each one has one’s own troubles” and stopped at that.
Not that he didn’t understand. His wife, he felt, did not really love him, respect him nor spoke to him lovingly. He often wondered why she did not.
“Yes, you are right”, he agreed with her and did not probe further.
The tortuous cab journey now became bearable as they spent it chatting on phone or messaging on Whatsapp. They went to coffee together. She brought an additional box of lunch for him so they ate the lunch together. They went to Subway for a snack and chatted about nothing specific. If he got fever, she got him medicines. If her workload increased, he shared it. Colleagues noticed their special bond but behaved as if they didn’t. Male colleagues did not bother her now. Nor did female colleagues show interest in him. Some were quite curious about how deep their bond was but others were not.
“You don’t want anything beyond this, right?”
She looked at him.
“I thought I should ask. It didn’t seem right not to ask”, he murmured.
“No”
That issue never came up again. Now, he had got a better job offer in a bigger company and was about to leave.
She paid the bill. It was dark now. Both of them avoided getting into the office cabs.
“Shall I drop you home?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
“No, I will take the bus home.” she replied.
They looked at each other.
“So”, he said.
“So”, she answered.
She waved her hand. He stretched his and shook hers. It was their last handshake.
Tomorrow would be another day. Office would be open. However, they wouldn’t remain the same people. Perhaps others might not remain the same. Subway would continue to serve such people.
****
This story was taken from Metro Kathalu, Mohammed Khadeer Babu, (2018), Kavali Publications, Hyderabad.
Translated from Telugu by A. Suneetha