𝟐.𝐎 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐉𝐢

Sending me to India?

Was this a new form of exile?

"I don't understand." I frown, wanting more clarity. "If you want to fire me, then say it right away."

"We are not firing you," Oscar said, feeling almost insulted.

"Not now at least." George cuts in.

"Lewis cracked the deal with the overseas client he has been working on for the past months. It's great news, he's done a marvelous job, we are proud of him. But that was only first step of the project." Old man explained. "Next up is going on site, carrying out a field analysis, developing a project, dealing with the labors, and all of that. We don't need to tell you how to do your job. The bottom line is that we have a proposal in mind, and we'd like you to lead this project." He finished.

"Ok. But why India? And why me?" I demand.

"It's because you have Indian roots and possible relatives as well if I'm not mistaken?"

"No, Oscar, you're not. But I have not visited the country in 20 years. I was a kid the last time I was there, which doesn't make much difference in knowledge. And I am not the only one with Indian roots in our office. Some of which have recently moved from India." I reasoned and took a pause. "So the question still holds, Why. Me?"

The question rendered a 2-minute-long silence in the room.

"Count this as the last chance to prove yourself," George said, but I chose to ignore him, keeping my eyes on Oscar who let's out a sigh.

"It's not about the ground knowledge that we are looking for. It's the proposed project itself. We're looking to restore and revamp a historical sight in one of the cities, I can't recall the name of. It's going to be similar to the work you've done in Spain and Turkey for us here."

"We shared a few details with our Indian clients of the mosque project you took up in Ankara, what your vision had been, and how effortlessly you brought alive the forgotten heritage using modern architecture techniques keeping in mind the safety. They were impressed and equally inspired. And Lewis said that is the kind of project they are insisting on. You've done a similar job before, and it has become our pride. I can't risk sending someone else to do the same, when I have my man right here, looking for his next venture."

I mulled over the idea, the wheels in my mind starting to turn. "Do you think the local crowd would be happy seeing one of the sites revamped into a modern building?" I ask slowly, voicing my doubts.

"That's for you to find out."

Bravo!

So, basically, they have decided to push me off a cliff on a paraglider with a broken harness to see if I make it out alive. How thoughtful.

"You have the weekend to think about it." Oscar piped in. "And I hope you won't let us down."

There we go with the blackmail again!

Seeing no way to carry the conversation forward, I decided to call it a day and muttered, "I'll see you on Monday." Pushing the chair backward, I push to my feet and leave the office, heading straight to the lift.

Majid meets up with me as I am halfway through the lobby of HeritageSpace Architects Ltd. I refuse to say a word, the way I usually do when something bad-exciting happens, and exit the building. I stop my march until I reach the grey BMW, and rest my hands on the hood of the car, blowing a long breath then inhaling through my nostrils. I do this a couple of times, so I don't freak out, which I generally don't but there could be surprises.

I shake my head when Majid offers me a cig, feeling slightly less overwhelmed than I was a minute ago.

"What are you going to say to George?"

"I don't-" I pause, my brows narrowing at the man I have known since secondary high. "You knew?"

"I was given a heads up by a little birdie." He shrugs.

"Oh, I know all about your 007 Sophie birdie." I snapped, feeling anger start to nip at my skin. "Didn't you care enough about giving me a heads up?"

"It's not that bad of an offer, Muaaz." Majid tried to reason, getting serious. "All of us thought Turkey was your biggest project, but this could be bigger than that if you manage to pull it off."

"If I manage to pull it off," I stress. "And what if I don't? I'll definitely be fired from the job and they'll make a laughingstock out of me in the market."

"Muaaz Taseer, kuch to log kahenge. Logon ka kaam hai kehna. Why are you being so pessimistic?"

"It's not pessimistic! I'm being nothing but practical here." I glare at him. "You know what they'll say? They'll fire me for being overconfident, too full of myself, just too ambitious for thinking he was indestructible and that he could do anything he thinks he can. They'll shred my career to pieces."

"No, they won't if you trust yourself. And your instincts. You've always listened to what your instincts have said-"

"And my instincts say, I should back off this time. Say no. It's not worth even a try."

With that said, I yank the door open of my vehicle and lock myself inside. Majid decided not to say anything to me, or maybe he did, but the windows were not down so I didn't hear a word. I reversed out of the parking spot, watching him shrink in the distance as I drove away.

There was no way I was going to jeopardize my career especially when I was already going through a rough patch of it. George and Oscar could go and find somebody else for their trial venture and I was not going to be a part of this. With this newfound resolve, I hit the motorway, heading to pick Laila up.

⚜️

The shopping bags felt heavy, a stark contrast to the emptiness in my stomach. Laila placed our Chinese to-go on the table, the scent of Mrs. Chew's noodles a cruel reminder of lunch I hadn't bothered with.

"There you go," she said, her voice laced with concern that scraped against the raw nerves already exposed. "My treat."

A ghost of a smile played on my lips. Shoving food down my throat wouldn't fix this. The day had been a relentless steamroller, flattening any semblance of good mood I might have had. My hand hovered over the chopsticks, the tips drumming a silent rhythm against the table.

Laila's chuckle was tight, like the air before a storm. "Whoa there, Moozy," she said, her eyes scanning my face. "Haven't you eaten all day?"

I grunted a negative. Hunger gnawed at my insides, a minor inconvenience compared to the inferno burning in my gut. Each reluctant bite I managed felt like a tiny act of defiance, a futile attempt to extinguish the flames.

Silence stretched, heavy and accusing. Finally, Laila spoke, her voice cautious. "Look, you know you can talk to me, right?"

The chopsticks clattered to the table. The sound echoed in the sudden quiet, startling even me. "Of course, I can talk!" My voice came out tight, barely controlled. "It's just..." Frustration choked the rest of the sentence.

"George," I finally managed the name a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

Laila's eyebrow shot up, a sharp movement in the tense atmosphere. "What about him?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"One of his 'genius' ideas again," I spat, air quotes adding a layer of sarcasm to the supposed brilliance. The bitterness in my voice could curdle milk.

"Uh-huh," Laila leaned back, a wary glint in her eyes. She knew the signs - the simmering resentment, a familiar story with me and George's brand of "leadership."

"This project," I continued, pushing the noodles around my plate with unnecessary force. "It's a disaster waiting to happen. Deadlines that belong on another planet, a budget that wouldn't buy a decent cup of coffee, and he expects me to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Like some magician, only without the fancy tricks."

A beat of silence hung heavy. Laila studied me, her expression unreadable, waiting for the full story to unfold.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" My hands fisted into balls. "He's the boss. I just..." The words died in my throat, the anger a simmering pressure cooker about to explode.

Laila met my gaze, her voice firm. "You have options, Moozy. You don't have to be his yes-man forever. Talk to him, and explain the situation. Maybe there's room for adjustment, a compromise."

I scoffed. "He wouldn't listen. Never does. It's his way or the motorway. 'Just make it happen,' that's his motto." A humorless chuckle escaped my lips.

Laila looks at me with a soft gaze, placing a hand over mine. "You need to start speaking up. We aren't kids anymore. And it's really not healthy to keep mum about everything just because you don't want to offend anyone. You should start sharing things with people. Not everybody can interpret your silence."

Like you.

I wanted to add but decided against it. As she said, I needed to start opening up. But that's a very old habit and might need a miracle for me to drop it altogether.

But as I spoke, a spark ignited within me. The anger began to morph, a steely resolve replacing the simmering frustration. Maybe it was time I took the off-ramp.

The thought hung in the air, a challenge not just to George's demands, but to the way things had always been. This time, maybe I wouldn't just shove down the metaphorical noodles and accept the inevitable stomach ache.

My hand reached for my phone, unlocks it and swipes to Whatsapp or so I thought but I find myself in Spotify instead and the current song from my Playlist flows out the speakers over the chaos of the food court.

'O Beta Ji, o babu ji,

Kismet ki Hawa kabhi naram, kabhi garam

Kabhi naram garam, naram garam,

O Beta ji.'

We laugh to ourselves at the miraculous coincidence of the song and the timing of my life.

🍜🥢

Have you guys watched the movie 'Ludo' on Netflix? That's where I picked the title of the chapter from. Idk what movie it's originally from but the song itself is just so uplifting in ways while also being unintentionally funny.

Much love, God bless 🫡