by Shreya Ramachandran
[box]Anshika returns to her office after a shoot and there’s a surprise waiting for her. We bet you would want to know more. Shreya Ramachandran pens a love story representing the February 2010 theme, ‘Romance’.[/box] [box type=”info”]MONTH: February 2010
THEME: ROMANCE
CONCEPT: True to the spirit of the month, we decided to go for this popular theme. The result was an issue that explored romance from various perspectives.
FEATURED WRITER OF FEBRUARY 2010: Ramya Sethuraman, Author, ‘The Last Laugh’ – a collection of romantic short stories.
It was a leap of sorts for us from the first issue. We received our first contributions from outside the initial core team we had set up. We felt elated that people had actually found us interesting and worth making a contribution to! Needless to say, we keenly incorporated many changes into the design following some feedback from our first readers—we made the issue more colourful and needless to say, romantic![/box]
When Anshika returned to the Fifth Wall Documentary Films office at six in the evening, she found Veer, the production head of Fifth Wall, leaning against her desk.
“Hey Veer, the shoot went really well. Ratan actually finished early. There are just two or three interviews left. I’ll do those tomorrow?”
Veer stood up straight and folded his long arms across his chest.
“Veer?”
With a heavy sigh that came from somewhere deep in his gut, Veer said, “Your – boyfriend – is here to see you.”
“Vinay? What’s he doing here?”
“Just make it quick,” was all Veer said.
Ratan, the Director of Photography, entered the office room wheeling in a large lighting frame from the adjoining studio. These frames were used for still photography and indoor shoots, but were usually never brought into the office.
“Why is the frame here?” Anshika asked.
“Don’t ask me. I’m just the boss at this place. Apparently, I don’t get a say in what happens,” Veer said with an exaggerated sigh of patience.
And then the office lights turned green, red, blue and purple. Like disco lights, they blinked on and off, and danced across the walls and wriggled across the ceiling.
The 12 employees in the office room began talking in a low drone.
The lights fizzled out into darkness and then a spotlight cracked and fell in a soft, butter-yellow light on the farthest corner in the room – on Vinay, who was wearing a slightly ill-fitting grey suit, his hair gelled into quiet submission. He buttoned his blazer and cleared his throat. The office drones were silent; everyone in the room was watching him.
Clearing his throat again – this time, one notch louder, Vinay knelt down on one knee. The drones whirred; the girls began the excited, elongated syllables: ‘Ooooh’, ‘Woooow’, ‘So sweeeeet’.
And then Vinay spoke to her for the first time that evening: “I have something to give you.”
The drones were louder now, and they were sure they knew what it was. Kavita, the financial secretary, told Anshika, “It’s a ring!”
“What’s a ring?”
Kavita’s expression in the minimal light looked almost ferocious. “HE’S GOING TO GIVE YOU A RING!”
But when Vinay held out the object, it wasn’t a discreet velvet box; it was a large black tape recorder. When Vinay pressed the ‘play’ button, the song that played was generic enough that the drones thought it was part of the romance of the scene, but Anshika listened closely and smiled because the song was a special secret.
“I hope our few remaining friends give up on trying to save us…..”
When Anshika was one day struck by the overwhelming realisation that she might possibly be in what people call ‘love’ with Vinay, she had dedicated this song to him. It wasn’t a traditional love song – or a love song at all, which was what added to the beauty of it all.
“I hope I lie and tell everyone you were a good wife….” Anshika now had a cheesy grin on her face.
Vinay walked across the room and held out a hand again, and Anshika took it.
“And I hope when you think of me years down the line, you can’t find one good thing to say…” The song swelled louder. “Anshika, will you marry me?”
“OH”, Anshika realised slowly. “Hence the disco lights.”
“Hence the disco lights.”
“Yes Vinay, I shall marry you. You clinched it with your song selection.”
“You are coming with me, hand in unlovable hand….” That was the last line of the anti-love song they heard before the lights went off and were replaced by the ordinary, obscenely fluorescent lighting. The music player was turned off.
Veer stood in the middle of the room. “ENOUGH. RATAN, PUT THE LIGHTING FRAMES BACK IN THE STUDIO. EVERYONE GET BACK TO WORK.”
His footsteps echoed in the tiny room as the drones settled back into their work positions. Anshika and Vinay stood at her desk.
“TAKE AWAY THE FRAMES. THIS IS A WORKPLACE. AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO REALISES THAT?”
“Didn’t Veer give you permission?” Anshika asked Vinay.
“He did…,” Vinay frowned.
Veer stormed past the cubicles and towards his cabin at the end of the room. “Excuse me Sir…” Vinay stopped Veer when he passed.
“When I gave you permission, I didn’t know you would make such a spectacle. ENOUGH OF THIS!”
“Sir, I…”
“Sir?! Call me Veer. And please leave the office. WE ARE TRYING TO GET WORK DONE. I’m sure whatever you need to do can be done better when you’re home alone.”
“I’ll see you later,” Vinay muttered to Anshika before taking the tape recorder and walking out.
Veer resumed his swift stride towards the seclusion of his cabin.
“Veer? VEER!” Anshika intercepted his path before he could enter his cabin. “What was that?”
“That? That was a TAMASHA. It was a spectacle.”
“He was just trying to propose… I mean, even I realised only later… But it was sweet.”
“He made a spectacle in front of everyone. He asks me if he can borrow the lighting frames for 10 minutes, I agree, and he turns the office into a Bollywood set.”
“Veer, it was just 10 minutes. Why do you have to ruin it?”
Veer looked straight into Anshika’s eyes and took a quiet, long breath. “I’m not the one who’s ruining it.”
“Veer, what are you even trying to say?”
“I’m saying I don’t think you see the real romance here. You see only what’s lit up by disco lights.”
“What is the REAL ROMANCE?”
“You know exactly what I’m trying to say, Anshika. Don’t pretend I haven’t tried to tell you a thousand times before.” He covered his eyes with his palms, then released them slowly.
“Anyway. Congratulations to the happy couple. I hope you try and keep the honeymoon out of the office.”
With that, he entered his cabin and shut the door loudly behind him. The slam echoed throughout the tiny office room.
Shreya Ramachandran is a 17-year-old girl from Chennai who attempts to write about the world – or what she knows of it, always obsessed with saying things in her own strange simple way.
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