Doesn’t he have a name, he said.
Aye, what makes you think the person is a he? I said.
Perhaps it’s the adjective before the noun, he said.
You would be saying the same thing, I suppose, when you meet women, I teased, stressing on ‘women’.
O K, forget about what we would say. Tell me who this guy is, he said.
I can’t remember his name but do remember his mannerisms and the way he was conversing, I said.
Then he must have been a peculiar creature, to have attracted the attention of someone like you, he said.
Aye, you are not being very complimentary, I said, annoyed.
What did he look like? Was he like a Mills and Boon hero? he said.
You know I care two hoots for so-called good looking men, I’d prefer the company of quick-witted men who always make your brains work overtime, I said.
You have still not told me who this guy is, he asked impatiently.
I would have told you if I knew him myself.
But I thought you said you met him, he said.
Not exactly, I only heard him talking with someone seated next to me. I was caught in the middle of these two jabber mouths who seemed to have a common subject and target, which was to nitpick their boss. It was amusing to watch their conversation and language, though both were talking in English. One was using extremely formal language, absolutely prim and proper like Mr. Darcy in Georgette Heyer’s novel whereas the other was outright blunt and almost blasphemous. I could make out from their conversation the extent of dislike they had for their boss whom they loved to hate.
Could you get any hint as to where these two were employed? asked my husband.
None at all. For all I know they might be employed in some multinational. Wait, I think it was…I said and was surprised that my memory hadn’t played truant for once.
I am surprised that you haven’t introduced yourself to your neighbours, after eavesdropping so unabashedly, said my husband. I noticed the glint in his eye.
How could I? For once I was on my guard, I said, inwardly congratulating myself on my wisdom.
N Meera Raghavendra Rao