A 7 storeyed glass building with stone cladding here and there, a vain attempt to make it look aesthetically pleasant. Sorry state of 'landscape' around it. Smoking area near the fountain where the Sun makes it difficult to even walk through to stub your ciggie. Orientation was definitely looked after. "Face the main road. Let the Solar factor go to hell. The client will bear the AC load. What's there!" This seemed to be the mantra while designing this, and to that matter all the buildings these days. My office, on the fourth floor overlooks the grand bare Aravali range and another mishap of a building. Oh! and I overlooked another teeny detail, this is the firm that designed this building as well as the other monstrosity I see from my window. And I wouldn't even bother about the interiors of this skull, there's nothing to talk about. It's well...nothing except monochrome. White walls, white ceiling, white window rollers, white sheets, ash stained furniture, dull green chairs, dull green-white-carpet, white and green files, white displays.....possessed by white. The tiny splashes of colour that tried to make there way inside were strangled and thrown on the dead floor of the corridor outside. They were probably wiped out by the guy whose only ambition is to walk to and fro in the corridor with a floor mop. Even on a working saturday, when only our office is devoted enough to come and pretend to work, and the footfall in the corridor goes to around one an hour, he goes around with the same devotion. He's my inspiration to drag on. One fine day, I'll see his face underneath his weary cap and ask him about the secret of life...but till that day, I come and I go. And the white clocks on the white wall tick away the times of people's lives in New York, London and New Delhi.
It was about this time two years ago that I befriended a person whom I knew would dissolve into time. Crooked sense of humour, photogenic eyes and an infectious laughter. Perfect. But well, guess what...didn't last. And being me, I let it sink into oblivion. Until yesterday when an upheaval in the mildest of senses resurfaced a few patches of 'this day-that year'.
