She wore her finest suit, not that it was the only one, her tastes in clothes were a little unconventional. Her dislike towards Indian style of dressing was well bordering on loathe. She always felt cramped and controlled by some unwritten norms that came with the saris and salwar-kameez. But today, with her confidence and the perfect marks over her 5 years of law college, she knew she was gonna get selected for the job.
“Good morning, sir”
“Good morning Miss Mira Pi…”
“Pirzada, sir Mira Pirzada”. “Yes, Ms. Pirzada, so you are a corporate lawyer. Why Westland Group of hotels?”
“The profile of the job includes travelling, something I enjoy, and when you enjoy what you do it is not work anymore.”
If the interviewer was impressed, he did a fair job in hiding his emotions but Mira had not done extensive research on body language just for nothing. Judging people from the slightest move of the eye was her hobby and a powerful secret weapon. The interview went on for another 45 mins and she went out of the office with a smile broader than one she had come in with.
Two days later her appointment letter was waiting expectantly on her mail to be opened. She was welcomed to the Westland Group of hotels as junior General Councillor, Delhi, the only place in India where they had a hotel.
He woke up with a hungover head. Ruffled hair, crumpled shirt and practically no recollection of the past night, Daniel Westland woke up to his first, and by the looks of it his last, hangover on his solid walnut wood bed set perfectly against the plush interiors of his room, so much so to compel Arab sheikhs to find interior designers. “Can please someone get me some aspirin. My head is Mount Fiji waiting to explode” .
“So, you are up”, came the voice of William Westland and he said it like he was a father of a naval officer receiving the Navy Cross. “Dad”.
As always dressed in his Brooks Brothers custom suit and his trademark roadside Joe tone said, “What, you finally had a hangover, man you are 26, mine was at 15. I was starting to get worried that you won’t mix up with the other spoilt kids of my business acquaintances. ”
“Dad, it is a hangover, not Nobel prize, that we are comparing records”. “Here, son have this it’ll calm your nerves”, said Monica Westland, even in the early hours of the day, she was dressed poignantly enough to have come straight from a ramp. “And, please William, stop irritating him, he is already worked up over this whole thing. Aren’t you getting late for your meeting with the Korean clients of yours. honey” and gave him the roll of the eyes. “Just trying to be helpful and I am just a phone call away kiddo, if you need some man talk about hangovers.”
“Moreover, he doesn’t need those spoiled brats in the name of friends, he is Daniel Westland, my son, destined to be a successful and prolific businessman. He hasn’t got time for such……..”. Rarely things dared to stop Monica Westland in her tracks but this was something that couldn’t be helped. Daniel was snoring slightly again.
(This is a story I am working on, because of which it I did take a little time to write next. Just stay tuned for more to come. All your comments are welcome. I look forward o any suggestion you have to make. Believe me they are invaluable.)