The Crackled Life...

He folded his hands behind his head and looked up. His eyes were heavy, he felt like closing them but did not. Rather, he just looked up. On that bleakly white board, he could see the tiny water sprinkler staring at him with a red eye in the center.

A deep breath escaped him. Shrugging off his laze and sickness, he just got up. Everyone around him, was staring into their computer screens. It was almost a herd like precision, he thought. Other half, the ones he had known were out for a tea break. He simply refused to go when he was asked. Then, he was a part of the herd too. Slowly, he moved out of the glass door with a familiar ting greeting him as he almost unconsciously held is card in front of a funny grey plastic, with a red eye again.

It became green for a while. And he liked it. He moved towards the cafeteria, his wallet in his back pocket though he never liked that. A relief took over him on scanning the entire cafeteria, neither of them was there. He was spared awkward silly questions which he never answered properly anyways.

Tea was all over. He did not like that but dreamily, he moved for the cold milk that was available. Suddenly, with an over powering greed and a mission, he also bought himself a big Crackle chocolate. Hell, it had been quite some time. Not eating hadn't done him much good either. And it was his money, though he constantly remembered that it wasn't hard earned. 35 Rupees, he shelved out without regret. What regret anyway? After throwing the bottle in the dustbin with a kind of purpose, and pocketing the crackle, he moved towards the main gate.

Again a glass one. with an en glossed glass in middle of the door so as to keep out curious eyes. Again that plastic. Again that ting. And doors were ajar. A noxious cigarette smoke filled his lungs as soon as the 'corporate' smell of speck less corridors and coleen cleaned glass and vacuumed carpets and putrid smelling liquid soaps went out. Stair case. Corridors. People. He did not see anyone. Just moved out. And crossed the road dreamily to a vacant space near what used to be car parking area at some point of time. Found a comfortable place to sit, with the low hum of generators coming from under and an amazing breeze blowing.

The chocolate was unwrapped and looked at. Just looked at for a while. Then he saw it all, as he looked up. There were people. All shapes. Sizes. Colors. Some white too. And across the wide corridor, which once used to be the car parking, cars were fluttering over the aluminium casing for wires on the floor, making a unique sound and then immediately another as the two sets of wheels quickly zipped past. And this continued. It was almost time. All those people were leaving. Some smoking. Some with laptop bags at the floors. All of them had tags either hung on necks or clipped on side belt. Just like he had one.

He just sat there and watched them, with a crackle in his hands. He could read those tags. A large car stopped at the entrance of the building and a wide burly man quickly entered in it. His tag said Rs. 1,00,000. A happy fat lady with ill fitting clothes entered her cab. Her tag showed Rs. 25,000. An so on. The tags had all written something on them. He checked his own at the belt immediately. And there it was without doubt. Rs. 17,000.

He passed a sly smile to no one but himself. Probably the first one for the day and then looked at his chocolate once again. And this time, he bit it with malice. He finished it soon. And then carefully put the wrapper in the same steel dustbin which had cigarette stubs on their sandy tops.

And moved towards those glass gates and corporate smells and chilled grey glassy hollows and tiny water sprinklers with red eyes. Simply perfect. Rather too perfect to be perfect, he thought.