The Engineer

via Wikimedia

I lay in my bedroom, the space I occupied in a rented portion of a house in posh Vasant Kunj in New Delhi. It was dark because I had switched off the lights. The AC was whirring at the window. It was Friday night and I had just returned after watching a movie, B.A. Pass. Life, which had seemed utterly hopeless until yesterday, looked full of possibilities.

Though the movie genre was advertised as film noir, to me it seemed film clair or film blanc. It threw floodlight on Delhi women. For a while, I browsed the FB profiles of lots of aunties and decided to stop chasing that office colleague, who showed a lot of bhav. Loved, loved, loved the movie! Sarika Aunty was fab—bold and beautiful. Why, in the beginning she absolutely resembled Savita Bhabhi. What a coincidence that the aunty who lived two houses away on the opposite side of the road was named Sarita. But I corrected myself that I shouldn't call her aunty, as I wasn't a student anymore. Should I call her bhabhiji? Sounded old-fashioned, so I decided to stick to Sarita ji.

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