Words: Glass, freeriding, Mumbai, separation
This was the curse of IT firms. They had offices in Bangalore. And many of those who worked in the glass-kissed buildings were from places like Mumbai and Delhi. The ones from Madras were alright. They had a right to be in Bangalore. But the others annoyed him. The girl on the desk ten feet away from him, constantly reminded everyone that it was Bombay and that she would never call it anything else. She would talk about Bombay, how beautiful Marine Drive was. All he wanted to say was, “Who fucking cares?”
Freeriding on the vocabulary of the locals, the North Indians had picked up words like Machhan. Or they randomly suffixed “Da” at the end of every sentence. Especially when talking about philosophy. Like when his flatemat Gurjeet said “Separation of coding and testing is so superficial da“.
Now everytime his sister called him on the phone and used the word “da”, he wanted to bang his head on the table. This corruption of the mundane. Something as lyrically insignificant as “da” had been turned into an assertion of engineering identity. A term of endearment now ruined forever because instead of reminding him of a Sunday afternoon as a child, it reminded him of an uncomfortable chair in a wannabe pub in the city. Surrounded by the overnight Machhans.
Well Gurjeet … fuck you da.