Crazy, beautiful life.

"Wake up within five minutes or get ready for some real spanking!", Tina Mehta, 45, still slender and beautiful, screeched. Somehow, I always end up wondering how wrong these warnings sound from an otherwise angelic face. Yes, it's her, my mother and also the mother of a 22 year old boy, Raj, an engineer and as expected a perpetually "confused-about-life" one. I woke up, frustrated, tired and with the usual pounding of head. Half past eight, wow, I wondered, hopeful of breaking yet another record of getting late for work.

Looking at the figure in the mirror, I almost let a scream, oh my gosh! I look shit! There was every feature on my face which is supposed to make one look awful and who knows, maybe I had even the new ones. Baggy, dark under eyes, scars and blemishes from the terrible outburst of acne in my teenage years had left my pretty face, well, zombie-like. Just as I was about to lament about my dull hair and the extra kilos I had put on this Christmas, the screams returned. "Are you coming out of your room for breakfast or does our princess wants her food at her bed?" Though one part of me wanted to laugh out aloud to Mom's hilarious sarcasm, the other part begged if she just stuffs her mouth with the breakfast she had made. My mom is a homemaker, a damn good one and a wonderful mother. But she has started becoming really whiny and moody these days, menopausal ageapproaching maybe.

Brushing my teeth at break neck, or rather, break teeth speed, I rushed to the dining table in our living room to spare myself from anymore snide remarks coming my way. And suddenly everyone was staring at me as if I had killed a man last night and just as I started to think what wrong did I do now, everyone started laughing in unison like retards in an asylum. "She fell for it again!" said Riya, my 16 year old younger sister, so euphorically as if her profile picture on Facebook had just got 200 likes. "Not again, Shikha" Raj chirped in, while mom was still smiling sheepishly and serving the breakfast. "Give that poor soul a break, kids, shall we?" Harish Mehta a.k.a. Dad, my superhero crooned, though I already knew the prank was entirely his idea. I love my family, though it is totally lunatic. But a lot has changed in the recent days.

It all started when I got a job as the assistant secretary of Neha Khanna, the fashion designer, the idol, the goddess of the goddesses, the epitome of glamour and style and surely the WORST boss on the planet. It was a few days after I turned twenty, six months ago that I had secured this job by sheer luck, bad luck. Though I like being trendy and fashionable, I hardly understand the hype about brands and their exotic prices for a piece of cloth which must be embellished with little sequins worth a few hundreds or a grand at the most. My senior, the secretary, Divya Sharma, is a creature I don't think I will ever understand. I cannot call her my friend, neither an enemy because both the options seem too extreme, especially the former one. My workplace is located an hour and a half away from my house (in case of less traffic, or else it goes up to two hours or more sometimes) and I have to report at the office at 9 am sharp. The travel is too hectic, the job sucks but I am working just to earn some money and contacts to get into the PR sector of a celebrity or anybody as long as it's not anyone like Neha.

I hurriedly had my breakfast, took a shower and got dressed in a record 25 minutes for which I decided to congratulate myself with a chocolate doughnut on reaching the hell house--my office. I literally sprinted toward the bus stop and caught the bus to M.G. Road, panting like a dog on the crowded bus, not to forget the dozen sets of eyes watching me, pathetically. I reached the office at 10:15 am sharp and rushed inside while constantly searching the place for the sight of my devilish boss or the scent of her Christian Dior. I went to the restroom, breathing heavily and feeling relieved that I had reached there before my boss just when the Neha Khanna emerged from one of the washrooms, like a supernatural spirit, eyeing me like a lioness about to pounce on her prey. "May I know the time, please?" spat Neha, while I was dumbfounded, beads of sweat covering my almost make-up free face. My mind had an answer which was something like "Look at your fucking 200 dollar watch, you fool" but I meekly answered a "Good morning" with the most awkward smile on my face. Shit, I thought, what the hell did I just answered. Dismissing my greetings, she checked her latest iPhone for the time, instead of looking at her diamond encrusted swiss watch. I thanked God for giving me brains. "Half past ten!" she shrieked, "Why? Are you not serious about your job?" As I was analyzing my brain for answers, searching for the rare ones without sarcasm, she scowled at me and warned me, "One more time you are late and you are fired." Fuck. She walked out of the restroom with her usual air of grandeur and I was left there, looking in the mirror, a terrorized face staring back at me. Something has to be done.

The day was filled with work, which seemed utterly meaningless to me. Divya was barking at me with orders every hour while herself typing frantically on the keyboard of her Mac. One of the few best things about my office was that the secretary, the assistant secretary and a few other important people got their own Mac computers to work on. I had to send emails to Neha's clients, filled with so much politeness that it felt as if Mother Teresa had herself typed those emails. My work was to inform high society spoiled brats that the particular dress they ordered was ready and to remind the upper middle class people to make their pending payments. There were stupid things too which are better to be mentioned later. I felt like all the dirty work of the office was chucked on to me.

I once again fought the world war to get into the bus and reached home by 10 at night, too tired to even change my clothes and eat. I hopped into my room tiredly and fell on the soft bed; the cool, dark room never failing to comfort me. Something has to be done, the thought returned. I will talk to them tomorrow about it, I promised myself as I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.