The roads wear a depressing, deserted look. It is 9.30 in the morning in Mumbai, but it feels like 10 in the night on an empty Gurgaon lane. Elsewhere, maximum city must be celebrating its favorite festival with that famed and often misunderstood “spirit”, its people making a beeline for the legendary pandals in hopes of viewing the opulent badshahs.
There is a strange sense of calm around the workplace today. There are no thronging crowds in the office complex; there is no urgency, no hurried walking, no noise almost. If you have ever been to Mumbai, you know this is not an everyday spectacle.
Coming to work on a holiday always makes me feel like I have accomplished something substantial in life, even better than posting a status worthy of at least ten “likes” on FB.
It is with a noble feeling of sacrifice and martyrdom that I walk into office. “I have made it large”, I tell myself, by going to work on two consecutive big holidays of the year.
I settle down and open my once brand new, unbroken, beautiful laptop. I revel in my commitment towards my job for a few more seconds before switching it on.
I open the file. And, then, I know.
I am not in the armed forces defending the Indian border. Neither am I a fasting fighter protecting the fundamental rights of civil society.
I am just another Excel menial, a Presentation glober, working on a holiday because that is what I am meant to do.