I yanked off my headphones only to glare at the spiky haired boy who was staring down at me, a basketball in his hand. Honestly, in the history of men hairstyles I feel spikes is the most gruesome thing one can do to their hair but that is completely besides the point.

"May I sit here?" He asked in a voice that is very much like that of a teenager who is standing on the edge of puberty but having not quite entered it...hoarse and ugly.

"Why?" I rolled my eyes and retorted, for I had all the right to know the reason behind why I would be sacrificing my seat, considered no less than a throne in the peak hours in Delhi metro.

"I hurt my leg in basketball practice," he replied, motioning down to his left leg. I thought, staring up at him that he couldn't have thought of a more foolish reason to take my seat. Why, I was in deep pain too. I was suffering from the worst period cramps I had had in a while, and the pounding headache wasn't making it any better. But I couldn't really tell this hoarse voiced adolescent that I was bleeding down there and every cell in me felt broken and assaulted. Bloody fate!

But breaking the chain of thought when I looked down, his leg did have a blue and black swelling, which looked on the precipice of getting worse if one didn't rest the leg that instant.

I sighed and twisting my face in an unpleasant way, got up and bravely sacrificed my throne but that didn't make me any less angry when I reached home.

It must have been the hormones! Damn those creatures!

My home was a medium-sized 2 bedroom flat in Sungreen Housing Society in a posh neighborhood of Delhi suburbs. Courtesy of my parents, since they thought living in PGs was way too stupid when they could afford a nice and cozy apartment for me. Indian parents can't be reasoned with.

Once I had freshened up, I made my way into the kitchen, looking at the various assortments of ration that was left from the month. My eyes fell on some dal and rice, but then my stomach chose that very moment to twist in a way that only happened during periods, and I shook my head firmly, fishing for some pasta in the cabinets. Comfort food time. Feeling exhausted, I sat down to eat, still thinking about the episode that took place in the office earlier.

As I finished washing the dishes anger started fading away as sadness started slipping in, making me slump on the kitchen counter. Anger is often a defense mechanism to hide our sadness. Not my words, but Taira's, my stupid bestie who thinks life is a philosophy class and all her friends need to attend it. Not that I mind, I love the girl for a reason. But this wasn't a time to focus on my friend.

I am not your typical good girl. I am simply myself in the most possible way; ambitious, driven and uncouthly violent.

My background doesn't happen to be quite happening, just the usual conservative family drama.

I was born and brought up in Mumbai and though a city girl, I belong to a very conservative and over-protective Marwari family. But as the saying goes, strict parents raise liars and rebels, and I am by all means both of it and a lot of it. The 'drama queen' back at my school, I was the enthusiastic, overzealous friend who loved to do everything loud, and well, sometimes wild in life. Which meant I couldn't co-exist with my parents after a certain point, or I would simply go mad.

Thus, I took the first opportunity I got to leave Mumbai and live alone in a different city. I loved my parents but when you aren't given something, you crave it with all your heart, the forbidden fruit as they say. For me that fruit was freedom. That doesn't make me carefree, no, I'm what people call uptight when it comes to work. Dedicated to my career, because a woman has to prove her worth sometime in life. And for me, this was the time.

In my four years as Company Secretary, I had been waiting for this very opportunity. I had worked everything I had in me for this one promotion that would give the respect, raise and right to show off to my family that even though I was alone in Delhi, I was doing better than ever but it seemed that all those wonderful pleasures have been lost, and in the misery, I have lost myself too.

Mr. Chaudhary, my boss, a very joyful man with a very bad sense of humor, has made me grovel and lick his feet for this increment. I have been laughing like a fool at his failed attempt at sarcasm and praising his delusional belief that he would have been a good stand up comic for quite a while now. Today I have had a humongous and rather disturbing epiphany that he is indeed not only a shallow man, a chauvinist pig, a disastrous comic full of dad jokes but also a BIG. FAT. LIAR.

The fat part also being the literal case.

He promised me that post and made me work harder than a hundred donkeys combined and then handed me an envelope which was supposed to hold the glamorous promotion letter but instead had a appreciation letter summed up in two sentences which had more wrong grammar than right and judging from the vocabulary looked like it had been written by his ten year old son.

And the job that I was waiting for, would be occupied by a nobody from Kolkata, a Mr. Sen who sounded just like another old bored dork who's about to enter Mr. Chaudhary's kitty party. All my hard work, all my reform plans, just down the drains. I laid on my couch in the sitting room, staring at the white washed walls above, when the tears finally made their presence known by sliding down my cheeks. I did not like crying. Especially over a failed promotion. But this one hurt. I am not perfect. And I never strived for it. But sometimes, when your heart and soul is set upon a certain goal and you fail to reach it, that is when you hurt the most.

After sometime, the tears dried too. I hadn't realized in the process of bawling my eyes out that I had made a mess of the room. Couch pillows spread everywhere; I had even managed to tear one poor pillow apart, its cotton fillings now lying on the floor below. Me and my anger.

Instant guilt gripped me, and I set up to clean up the mess. As I was mopping the floor, a ping sounded from my phone. I peaked up from the floor at the black screen sitting on the tea table to check which person had signed up for a death wish. And sure enough, only the most stupid of the lot would sign up for it. Mr. Chaudhary's text message laughed at me through the bright light of the mobile screen. I scowled, but eventually opened the message. He was the boss after all, even if I wanted his bald head to rot in hell, and his testicles to be fried..."Tomorrow staff meeting with Mr. Sen at 8 am"

Tomorrow! I wasn't even done with sulking!

But I guess I would have to keep my high school drama tendencies at bay for the time being. And act like a proper adult. Whoever this Mr. Sen was would meet the most mature me. Even if it was a farce.

Even if instead of giving him a handshake all I wanted was to pull his hair, kick his butt and shove him out of the office. Whatever the fuss was, I would see for myself, and when I do, a pleasant string of the world's most unpleasant words would play in my mind.

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MarvariMarvar