Labor and Creativity Theme Analysis

‘Oh, sit down,’ said Sharma. ‘Even my boss is after my life. They are all like that, these managers. They think that only they work. Just because they stay here after office hours they expect people to believe that they work. Ha! All that is to impress the general manager. How else can they get their promotions? All maska.’

Gupta sat down.

‘Jagdish,’ called Sharma. ‘More chai.’

The third round of tea arrived.

The electricity went off.

‘Bas,’ said Sharma. ‘Now who can work? These power cuts will kill us all.’ He sat back in his chair.

‘My boss says that it is no excuse,’ said Gupta gloomily. ‘He says that if a power cut lasts three hours it doesn’t mean that we don’t work for three hours. He says that we are here to work.’

‘He can keep saying that,’ said Sharma contemptuously. ‘Does he think we’re animals? They all think that we have no feelings. Work all day, work when the electricity goes off, work without increments, work without promotions, work, work, work. That is all they care about. No concern for us as human beings.’

Sharma was silent. He shook his head. He looked sadly at Mr Borwankar. He said, ‘Borwankar sahib, why are you taking this tone with me? You ask me questions as though you have no faith in me. This is not a detective agency. Why must you interrogate me in this manner? All right, I was not in my department, but that was because I had work in other departments. Still, if it is your wish, I will not go to other departments even if I have work there. I will sit at my desk and work only at my desk. Yes, yes I will do that. The company does not want me to consult other departments. All right, I will not consult other departments. You will see, work will suffer, but why should I care when you do not? I have been in this company for twenty-five years, but no one cares. For twenty-five years the company has bled me, sucked me dry. What do you know? You have been here only two years. You know nothing. Twenty-five years ago I joined as a clerk. Today I am still a clerk. Why should I work?’

The other workers listened, rapt.

With his hand on his chest, Adesh said, ‘Madam, what you have said has hurt me here . . . right here.’ He drew a shuddering breath. ‘You think we have no feelings, no hearts. You think that only officers have feelings. But madam, believe me, our hearts are more vulnerable than ours. We feel . . . we feel. Sharmaji, chalo.’

‘They say I do not work. They say people should not mix with me. I, who was one of the first people to join the company twenty-five years ago. If I did not work, why did the company give me a special award for excellent work twenty years ago? You look surprised. You do not know. Of course, they will not tell you. They know you are intelligent. They know you will ask, what has happened to this man? You wish to know madam, yes?’

With great dignity he sailed out of the room. A minute later he returned. ‘Madam,’ he said with a slight shrug, ‘I was wondering, you wouldn’t be interested in reading some of my poetry would you?’

‘I would very much like to.’

Sharma smiled. He nodded. ‘I will get them tomorrow. Madam, I wrote these poems many, many years ago. Since then I have written nothing, nothing at all. Still . . . they are very philosophical, very deep, very complex. Tomorrow, at 9 a.m. I will share them with you.’

She replied, ‘In the lunch break.’

He frowned. ‘There will be another power cut in the afternoon. How can I read my poetry to you, drenched in sweat?’ He considered.

She smiled.

He capitulated. ‘If you insist, then, the lunch break.’

Sharma sat on his desk. He took the paan out of his pocket and carefully removed its wrapping. He put it in his mouth. Chewing, he opened his drawer and took out a sheet of paper. Lovingly, he placed it on his desk, licked his pencil and began a new poem.