Period

silence might speak truth, scared she quickly killed it by inserting a cd of (unaware whose) Kishori Amonkar into the player. Amid the alaap of marwa, she raced through her day's past happenings including handling sucked-up fellow journalists day by day with despise. But.

A glimpse of another woman in another vehicle with tired eyes on the traffic signal pushed a memoir into her eyes as she saw scenes of herself being exploited from step to step to be where she was. Only her heart knew where it hurt. Period.

was that necessary ? Whatever, but happy ? she asked herself and a smile twisted her lips as she told herself - yes.

In a moment, a question but hit her like a lightening - would that woman be happy ?? as she gets lost in chaotic traffic snarls of Chandigarh.

Around the same time, in the same city, a bunch of reporters at a newspaper office, bragging with bellyfull of laughters. ``the other day, i and my friends consumed that sweeperess and her teenager daughter together. we had latched all doors from inside and had them to their bonemarrow though they kept on begging ``veerji na...., veerji na karo, haath jodati hun''. But are we not supposed to be us... the jats'', summed up one to other junior reporters with animalish smile.

Period