chapter 3

Chapter 3A son to flauntThe nature of the magazine changed, and classified advertisements became the main stay. Anu felt redundant and all her efforts come to naught.“Who wants to read?” Arya asked her contemptuously, quite aware that this would aggravate her further, and then went on to dictate five-page letters to prospective advertisers about the new strategies. She found her situation impossible.“Sir,” she ventured once when she could get a word in edgeways. “If you do not plan to put up content online, then maybe I should quit?”He glanced up, then said, “Yes, yes…we will discuss that. We cannot do away with content altogether, can we? Acha, so what is the editorial plan for this week?”She lamely told him of the stories planned. He waved, “This won’t do…not at all. Chintan is coming this week and he will tell you what to do. He is a lyricist and a writer. Brilliant boy, great ideas… You will know what real content is…” he said, giving her a rare smile. “My son,” he said with unmistakable pride.Anu sat back and breathed in deeply. Two Aryas under one roof! “Why sir,” she said with heavy irony, “that would be a great idea!”“I thought you would agree. You are a sensible girl.”The compliment made her skin crawl. Did he believe she was his yes girl? Her soul rebelled. She returned to her seat in disgust, throwing the print out of the latest version of his letter across her table. She buried her face in her hands, flustered by the way she felt helpless in front of him. The man had a steely gaze that would turn any spine into jelly. She had no armour against it. But she had to fight to keep her spirits up. Otherwise, where was the difference between the typist and her?She turned to the computer with renewed vigour. She must find another job before yet another Arya sat on her head. Curious, she opened a window on her browser to look for Chintan Arya, assuming that that would be his name. She found nothing about Arya the lyricist or the writer, but there was a link to his blog. Most of his posts were on farming, organic at that, its advantages, problems, etc. His writing was good – chatty and casual - but nothing indicated his inclination for writing prose or penning poetry. There seemed to be no other blogs in Chintan Arya’s name. She wondered if he had a penname, to showcase his lyrical life. The blogs, though well written, were all so prosaic! Was ‘Industry Matters’ now to carry poems on technology revolutions? Despite her foul mood, she giggled.Though it would be amusing, she barely wanted to be here when the magazine went down the drain. She tweaked her resume and applied to as many publications as she could think of. Wouldn’t there be an opening somewhere? “Don’t do anything foolish,” her mother warned when Anu got around to telling her about Arya and some of the problems at work, after much debate. “Your job is our only security,” she reminded her.“Yes, ma,” Anu said dutifully. She was only too aware of it. And there was no way she could communicate the tension she felt every day at work to her mother. If Mr. Arya was in a good mood, he merely pointed out mistakes. If he was in a lousy mood, he was like Satan, banging her head repeatedly with the error as if that were costing the company a billion dollars. She really wished he would take off. Didn’t his political friends need him at all?