Wednesday, October 04, 2006



I don't think you will do a bad job of it.


It has been a hectic day. Bosses all around you: different bosses asking you to do different things. However, the end goal is the common. Work towards the success of the project. Many ways, one end result. So much for management - you are up to doing your best. You are unaware of the time. Time as the concept, and time as the quantity. You are possessed, so to say.

In the middle of personal record breaking concentration, the phone rings. You wish it isn't another boss or colleague asking 'status' of the work. Status is good, anyway. You look at the display of the phone.

The number is unknown. At least to the software that runs the phone's interface.

You pick up the phone. One eye still on the screen.

And you expect to hear 'hello' a split second before you yourself acknowledge with a friendly 'hello'.

You hear some noise. Noise in such circumstances is bad. You tend to concentrate more at the noise to make some sense out of it. And in doing so, you lose out on the personal record of concentration at work. You feel it. You feel disappointed. In that disappointment, you raise your voice a bit, and say 'Hello'.

Noise continues to create sound waves in the air near your ear drums. Still, nothing is making sense.

You take your eyes off the screen, deciding to have a go at the personal record later sometime. The noise starts making some sense. It is a lady's voice. But she is not saying hello. Why? You raise your voice a bit more, and say, 'HEllo,' blaming the telephone network's poor strength.

Two seconds pass. You allow the lady at the other end to continue.

Alas. And then, at that very moment, you realize the lady at the other end is not going to say hello to you. Because the Lady at the other end is merely a recorded lady. I mean, a lady's voice that has been pre-recorded. She is pleading that you watch out for the attractive contests that will be announced during the commercial breaks at the time of ICC Champion's trophy live telecasts.

You say, almost out of habit, "No, I am not interested," and hang up.

The personal record is beckoning. You smile at the thought of how foolishly ridiculous your 'hello,' 'Hello' and 'HEllo's would have sounded to the recorded Lady; and return to the attempts of breaking your personal concentration record.

Can you imagine?

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