All in a day's Work

Part three

“FOur columns…four columns are missing, and the paper goes to bed by Saturday," Tanjina Apa stated with an air of finality. Her angular face was devoid of its usual cheeriness, and looked pinched and grey. I dragged my sleep-starved, overworked, and red-rimmed eyes away from the monitor to regard my colleague. "It's Thursday today…there's still time…" Even to my own ears, my voice sounded hollow. Tanjina Apa pressed a palm hard against her high forehead, and smoothed back her short, curly hair in a gesture of utter frustration. I cupped the back of my neck and squeezed hard, trying to ease the growing ache. My shoulders felt heavy. I sprang to my feet in a show of decisiveness, and, deliberately keeping my tune cheerful, stated. "Let's each take a column…yes, we'll do it ourselves…we've got all of Friday to finish the footwork. Then we can take our time over the proofing on Saturday."

Friday found me struggling out of a restless night's sleep and dashing out after a hasty breakfast to cover the opening of a new store. Stifling a yawn of sheer exhaustion, I followed the PR officer as he showed me the surgically clean premises of the store. An hour later, I was back home, and preparing to step into the shower, when my cell-phone beeped. I grabbed it without checking the number, all my thoughts on the upcoming issue.

"Hi."
If there's any sound that makes time stand still for me, it's the sound of Mehryar's voice. Even when things are really crazy, just hearing that voice makes the world seem like a place worth living in. When I heard it on my cell-phone now, I felt the fatigue of a week's tension roll off my shoulders. Weak-kneed with emotion, I sat down on the bed with a thump. "Hi Mehryar."

"What's the matter with your phone, girl? I've been calling for the past two days…" With nerveless fingers, I checked the Missed Calls section, and sure enough, his name popped up. Sameera…you're finished. "Ridita?" I shook my head to clear it of murderous thoughts. "Yes, Mehryar, I'm still here. I-it's been a while…" There was a soft chuckle on the other side, and I felt a flutter in the pit of my stomach at the sound of it. "Hey, do you think we could meet up today? Say, at ________?" he named a popular teen hangout. Play it cool, Rids. Call or no call, he's made you wait two whole weeks. Show him what you're made of… "I'll be there at four!" Right…so much for playing hard to get.

It being a Friday, the crowd at the bistro was very minimal. I found a table without much difficulty. Mehryar still hadn't arrived, so I sank into my seat with an exhausted sigh, and allowed myself a few minutes of slouching at ease before I straightened to a decent sitting position. Patting my bag and pockets, I realised that I had hurried out of the house without so much as taking a comb with me. Ah bah…not that it matters anyway. He couldn't care less about the way I looked. Absently flipping through the notes I had made in my notebook, my eyes fell on the transcript of the morning's interview. If we can just make it through on Saturday…

"Hello, Miss Journalist." The voice caused my to start up from my notebook, where I had been drafting a report. The sight of Mehryar made my stomach flutter. He had obviously come straight from the golf course, where he spent his weekends. His longish forelocks had been slicked back, although a few errant strands had escaped and resumed their customary positions over those beautiful eyes of his. He slid into the seat opposite me, and smiled into my eyes. My heart was beating so fast, I was surprised everyone else at the bistro couldn't hear it.

The awkward silence between us deepened. "I'll get us something to drink," he announced, leaping to his feet. "What would you like?" "Just a Coke, please," I answered, although I had long given up the stuff. Coke has a bad effect on me; the combination of sugar and caffeine and dissolved gases making me light-headed and hyperactive. Right now, I needed the emotional high the drink would give me. While he was away, I smoothed down my hair as best as I could, and tucked my notebook away. The first draft was looking good; it would make a good enough column. If Zaiyab managed to find something for page three, then we'd all be safe. That was a big 'if', and I was struck by a pang of guilt as I thought of Tanjina Apa's anxiety.

Mehryar returned with two cups of icy Coke, providing much-needed distraction from the worries that were gnawing at my consciousness. He seemed very uneasy, as though he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. No sooner had he taken his seat, than he launched into a brushfire of small talk, bombarding me with questions about work and studies, and just about anything he could think of. I smiled and answered his questions for a while, and then commented, "Wow, I wish I'd taken you along to the interviews today. We'd have completed them in ten seconds flat." He laughed then, and the tension dissipated somewhat. He looked down and watched me play with an empty paper cup, both of us having finished our drinks ages ago. Gingerly, as though he was afraid I'd snap at him, he reached out and captured one of my hands in his. He studied my fingers my one pride. Neither of us spoke for the longest time. Mehryar seemed lost in thought as he intertwined his fingers through mine, so that our palms pressed together, his chocolate brown skin a contrast against my honey-gold complexion. The act seemed so final, I wondered whether it meant farewell.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mehryar looked up and looked me in the eye. "Ridita, I want to give us a shot."

A young girl in tight jeans bent over a pool table and angled her cue stick, ready to strike. Her boyfriend studied the movement of her round backside; his head bobbing in time to the dance music that played in the background. Two young university students lounged in a couch nearby, watching cricket on the TV monitor that hung from a pillar. The cashier counted up the bill for a middle-aged couple and their young son. In other words, business went on as always in the bistro. Only at one table, time stood still for two people.

"W-what did you say?" I stammered, not believing my ears.

Mehryar let out a sigh. "It's been a long time since I felt like this…the last time, it didn't quite work out, so I'm really new at this. But I really like you, and I'd like to get to know you better. If…if you'd have me, of course."

I stared back at him. A smile formed on the edges of my mouth, and widened into a grin, before erupting in a giggle. "Y-you had me worried for a minute. I thought you had bad news to share." I tightened my grip on his hand and became serious. "Are you sure you're ready?" He raised his eyebrows. "I'm scared, to be honest. But, yes, I'm ready." I squeezed his hand again. "Good. That's all I needed to hear."

The newspaper office was a beehive of activity when I got to work on Saturday. Zaiyab was seated at his computer, fingers drumming on the keyboard. I slid into my seat next to him, and stashed my bag away, putting on my glasses in preparation for work. The drumming stopped, and he swivelled around to face me. "Well? Got anything to tell me?" he inquired. I smiled at him, happiness radiating from my eyes. It was an unspoken message, but I might as well have blurted it out over the microphone. His grin was bright enough to light up the entire office building. "Way to go, dumbo!" he shouted, patting my head and thumping my shoulders. "Let's go grab a tea from the roadside. I'm parched." Ignoring my protests and Tanjina Apa's black look, he dragged me out of the room.

The tea-stall was located right next to a noisy construction site. We stood there, I sipping gingerly at the ultra-sugary tea while Zaiyab lit up an inescapable cigarette. Blowing smoke through his nostrils, he turned to me and raised his cup. "Love is in the air. Enjoy the ride." I raised my cup as well, smiling at him as realisation dawned. My heart full of love for Mehryar, the confusion regarding what I should feel about Zaiyab was finally gone. In that moment, I saw him for what he truly was to me: my strongest ally and my best friend. Zaiyab drained his cup and cocked an eyebrow. "Hurry up and finish off your chai latte, madam. We have a magazine to deliver."

"Great work, people," the editor beamed at us. "The issue was a success. I believe that everything just fell into place in the last minute?" Zaiyab turned back and winked at Tanjina Apa, who looked tired, but relieved that the issue had made it. He beamed at me, and turned to the editor. "You can say it was 'all in a day's work', boss." "That's right, chief," I chimed in, unable to suppress my cheerful grin. "All in a day's work.”

By Sabrina F Ahmad

Making Over the Madness

What if you were given the chance to have a full-fledged makeover? By "full-fledged" I mean the ENTIRE works. I know I would. Do you think that if I were transformed into a Kate Moss right now, I'd be working for the RS? (Just a joke DBB! nervous laugh). I know that at some point of your life, you probably get so bored with your present self that you wish you were changed to something so exciting, people would be at your beck and call. They'd kiss the ground you'd walk on. You'd go places, have a wonderful and exciting career and the list goes on…

But question is, can the fantasy be made into reality?

Sure! Oprah's doing it. Almost every special, she has a some people over who are frustrated with their looks and gets them all done by the most famous designers, hairstylists, make-up artists, what not! It's all about, "Darling, those shoes are not you! Oh dear, sweetie pie, that is not your colour. My word, you're going out with that hair?"

Then there's Style on Star World, Extreme makeover on ABC, and so on and so forth. Yes, looking pretty on television really sells. Everyone's all out to get that celebrity hair, or the celebrity look, the dress, and even the perfume! What's this world coming to? It's an apocalypse!

What is it with this makeover thing, really? What's so cool about it? Why do makeovers have people so riled up? What is this almost obsessive need to look immaculate, sophisticated and beautiful?

As I aspire to be a psychologist, one day, allow me to delve into a few theories that I have so amazingly discovered. If you will follow me, I'll show you the real reason behind the need to be pretty:

1. There's this sudden boom in the cosmetics and beauty industry, and all you people have to join in. Even the men are hyped up. Heard of Ligion's Men's Uptan? You know what I mean now? It's just so cool to be all hip now!

2. You're utterly frustrated with what God has made you into. You're even scared to look at the mirror, because you don't know what's going to stare back at you. You don't want to face the crowd. Or maybe you're just plain bored with your look. Maybe it's time for a change. What to do? I know what you're thinking. Covering yourself in a burkha and heading over to the nearest parlour, right? Thought so.

3. There's that boy you want to impress. You've been pining for him for God-only-knows how long! You're not sure how to impress him, what with all your facial hair, bushy eyebrows etc. Step into LaBelle, Nilo's, and maybe even Lucy's. It won't hurt a bit. Well, maybe not.

4. All the girls in your class are fine. All the women in your cooking club are gorgeous! What do you do to look the part? What CAN you do to fit in to society? Look smart and well dressed? One solution-MAKEOVER!

Unfortunately, my intelligent brain can come up with only so many theories. What I said could just sum up the reasons for a drastic change in your appearance. People all over are getting one of those makeovers. I mean, until recently even I got my eyebrows done and my hair cut for a more presentable appearance.

However, my fellow makeoverees, when you're examining your near perfection in the mirror, you'll get so caught up with the 'new' you, that you'll really forget the 'real' you. You know, your inner you, the thing that makes you whole and sane and all that. See, you and other people are so engrossed into this whole new image of yours, you lose yourself and somehow, with all the compliments you get, you develop an alter ego of sort, where you're all high and mighty, and above all else. Then you tend to behave badly with those whom you used to look like.

That's probably one of the disadvantages of a makeover, and the biggest one. You got the talk, the style, the look, but you lost the heart. It takes a lot of effort to bring yourself back to reality, but in the end it's probably worth it! In the end you'd rather be a much better person than a Barbie doll. Hey, you don't want to end up looking like you-know-who. You can pluck those eyebrows and that mustache, maybe trim your hair, and get some layers. Not a total do, but you know….

By Sumbal Momen