Error 404:The Girl Is A Tomboy

The sun hid behind the thunderous clouds and the wind blew the harsh rain against my windshield. The traffic was un-moving. I pushed the stick in the first gear and steered my steering wheel to take a U-turn before my 7-year old silver Honda Accord drowned in the rising stagnant water.

“Shit!” I pressed the brake, suddenly. An auto-rickshaw swerved behind my car. Rolling down my window, I poked my head out. “Move!” I screamed at the rickshawalla in Hindi. The man in the rickshaw screamed back before he moved his auto from the spot. After what felt like forever, I had finally managed to turn my car and headed towards the main road.

I was fresh out of college when I moved to Mumbai, the city of dreams. Sure, it was a city of dreams. Dreams of almost drowning in rainfall, to shout at people and shopping on Fashion Street. But, I had never dreamed that at the age of 28, I would be up for the position of Assistant Editor-in-Chief at one of the top publishing houses in the country.

As a kid, I wanted to be a writer, but soon realised I had an imagination of a ground potato. That’s when I realised if I couldn’t be a writer, I would help other aspiring writers to reach their goal. When I had applied for InkDripp Publishers right after graduation, I never expected to get the job.

Arriving 15 minutes late, I parked the car in the basement before grabbing my bag from the backseat. I rushed towards the elevator. “Hold the elevator.” I hollered when I saw it close. A hand jutted out and stopped the doors to shut completely. “Thank you.” I panted my way inside. I looked up and instantly regretted it. It was Mr. Jayesh Kumar, the Head of HR Department. “Zahra D’Costa. I see you’re once again late. What is your excuse today?” Even though he might be entering the life of a 40-year-old, he had a notion he was my father.

I smiled sheepishly. “Traffic?” He shook his head and glared at me. “But it seems like you’re late too, sir,” I added to which he clears his throat and straightened his tie.

Luckily the elevator doors opened at our floor. Throwing a hurried goodbye, I rushed towards my cabin. My assistant, Nikita, walked into the office with a handful of brown envelope packets and a cup of my favorite caramel latte. “Late again, boss?” She smiled. Her beige pants and blue blouse had been ironed to crisp with her luscious brown hair braided at the back.

“What can I say? The traffic was insane. My car almost submerged. I barely made it alive.” I joked. I settled myself as I took the packets from her hands and took a big gulp of my coffee. I sighed in nirvana. “Meeting in 15 minutes. I think they are announcing it today.” Nikita said with a grin.

“What? Are you sure?” I asked, throwing the empty cup in the trash can.

Nikita nodded. “That’s what I heard from Reena.” Reena Merchant, assistant to my competitor, Karan Chadda. Both Karan and I, had joined the company at the same time. But he had the job experience I hadn’t. InkDripp was the first company I had worked at, except the internship at a low-budget self-publishing house I had in my final year of college. And Karan, he had worked at HarperCollins India. I don’t know why he even left that job, but his ‘excuse’ was he was too good for a job that low. Narcissistic much?