After A Day's Work

You hurry. You are pursued by the worst of working life’s enemies: Wasted Time. You skip a step or two. What if it catches up? What if you cannot justify to your manager why you are late, because you had to wait for four minutes before the next one showed up? Wasted Time does not tarry. She eats you whole. Her sharp tainted teeth suck up your future. Hollow futures await you in her tainted hollow: Mumbai. Horror futures if you miss your local.

You skip steps. You skip beggars. You see your local on platform 3. Sighs of relief all around. There are others skipping steps too. Competitors to enter the door, compatriots fleeing Wasted Time. After twelve hours of shoot, your last muscles press on. Lactic acid and Kreb’s cycle are relics Mumbai discarded long ago. The local has stopped. Will you get on before it leaves? Or will you be a relic?

The Devourer Of Work-Life Balance is catching up. It scents stress. You are dripping it. How will you wake up after two quarters of necessary relief? You have a meeting at eleven. But the train is still still. Your Worthless Life has not caught up. You push an old lady. You grab hold of the bar. You get on. Safety. Dadar is not far. You are safe until the next shoot.

Wasted Time cannot get on. You live to work another day. You are safe.

The train begins to move. A black hand stains the steel bar. Other arms grip the hanging handles. Black smell spills into the compartment.

You read, scared. Next Station: Ram Mandir. Destination: Andheri.