Mr. Heartless CEO

01. Teju

        “Teju, wake up, beti.  You will be late for work if you don’t wake up now.”  My mother shouts from outside my room. No doubt while she waves her favourite incense sticks around the house.

       I groan and extend my hand in search of my phone and finally take it from the nightstand after a few seconds.

      Narrowing my eyes against the glare of the offending sunlight streaming through my room, I use my fingerprint to open my precious Samsung, which I have used for the past three years.  And a notification awaits me from my remainder app from the night before.  Exactly at midnight.

         ‘Raghav’s birthday, today.  Gift him the perfect gift that you have been hoarding for months now. And dress cute.’

          I spring up from my bed and throw the sheets away from me. 

         “Shit, I forgot!” I make my bed and run to my closet. Choosing a set of dresses, I go to my bathroom.

        “Don’t panic. You have a lot of time to get ready and be cute.”  I give myself a pep talk while looking back at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I smile, which bordered on creepy, and stop immediately.  It took me 30 whole minutes to complete my morning rituals and dress in my forest green slacks and my favourite white button-up. 

      I sit down on my desk and start to loosely curl my hair and put on a little bit of blush, mascara, and my mocha brown lipstick.  Puckering my lips in a cute pout, I pull out the wrapped gift I got ready for Raghav’s birthday and practice my wishing style while extending the gift from my hand.

        “Happy birthday, Sweetheart.”  I shake my head and try again. “Happy birthday, my love.”  I frown.  “Happy birthday, sweet cheeks.”  I grimace.  “Happy birthday, Raghu.”  I nod.  “Better.”

       I pack it in my bag and hustle outside. It is a chaotic ground in the rest of the Ahuja’s household, but the aroma of my Ma’s ginger tea was a forbidden temptation.  So, I move to my kitchen and greet my dad on my way there. He sits on the couch like clockwise every day and reads his daily edition newspaper.

          “Good morning, Mumma.” 

         “Took you long enough to get ready.”  She scolds but then offers her signature tea in her other hand.

        I smile at her gratefully and take a much-needed sip.  I groan in utter disbelief.  “As awesome as always, Mumma.”  I take another mouthful, temperature be damned.

         “Yet you never learn to put it yourself.”  She tuts and starts pouring dosa batter into the hot tawa.

         “But it never is as amazingly awesome as yours.”  She raises her eyebrows at me when I say this, but then she gives me a smile, which makes me break out into the happiest of grins.

         “Rascal, don’t sweet talk me. Go get everything prepped. I’ll finish making breakfast.” 

        “Okayy.”  I take another delightful sip and exit the kitchen.  It took me a whole 5 minutes to get my scooter key, my ID, my handbag, and my black cut-out heels.  I already put on my watch and accessories, so I complete my tea and help Mumma carry the breakfast to the dining table.

       “Yuvi! Harsha! Breakfast is ready!”  I shout.

       We live in a two-storey building, and both my younger siblings have their bedrooms up there with an entertainment hall.  Downstairs contains my parent’s room and my bedroom with a kitchen, Hall/Dining room, and a concealed shelf full of our favourite gods, which my mom opens every morning for puja.

       I sit down first and start digging in.  Because, if I wait for everyone to come, I will not reach my office in time. Everyone follows a different schedule in our home. 

       I peek at my dad, who is on the last page of his newspaper.  My mom is wiping the kitchen slab, and I hear a set of footsteps clamber down the stairs. 

      It’s Yuvi, short for Yuvraj Ahuja, the youngest of the bunch and currently in his last year of high school, aspiring to be a Chartered Accountant and excels at everything numbers  Fun fact:  My dad himself stuttered while teaching him maths.  Simply put, Yuvi is brilliant.

        “Hi.”  I greet and stuff my mouth with the buttery dosa.

        “Good morning, Didi.”  He is already ready in his uniform and has his bag slung across his shoulder.

         Mom comes out of the kitchen and beckons my dad to come to eat, who is currently taking the last sip of his coffee, from the way he slurps it.

      “Ready for the exam?”  She asks Yuvi and looks upstairs through the steps directly across the dining table. “Harshini! Come down here, immediately.”  She yells at the same time.

       Yuvi sighs, but this is a daily occurrence, so he answers Mumma without missing a beat.  “You know, Mom. I’m well prepared.”  He helps himself to a serving and sits down.

        “I’m coming!”  Harsha shouts while stomping down the stairs to show her anger.  The basic middle child tendencies are always angry at anything and everything. She sits at the table without as much as a glance at us.  She is wearing her infamous pajamas, which our parents hate. But then she loves to make our parents break into hives on a daily basis. Papa gives a heavy sigh, but then both Mom and Dad sit at the table.

         It’s Harsha, short for Harshini Ahuja, the middle child, who was given too much freedom when she was little, so she got a little too independent for our parent's tastes.  Nonetheless, she is in her final year of college, studying fashion like it’s her god while doing a correspondence course in Business Administration courtesy of my papa’s strict orders. Fun fact:  She dyed her hair blue when she was in her 1st year of college and gave Mumma a brain aneurysm. To simply say Harsha is very talented and sometimes very scary.

       Mumma and Papa started their love story years after their marriage. It was an arranged marriage, and Mumma wanted to study environmental science, so she refused to marry. But my Grandpa forced her to get married. But then somehow Mumma and Papa separated their differences and started caring for each, which transformed into something beautiful.  My dad always waited till my mom started eating and then only started, and then woke up before her to tidy up the home a little bit from the day before messes.  It’s the little things in life that matter the most.

        “Thank you for the brekkie, Mumma.”  I grin sweetly at her and clear my plate from the table.  After washing the dish and my hands, I go back to my room to spray some perfume and go back to the living room and collect my belongings.

         “Bye, guys,”  I shout and leave through the entrance.

        I open the gate and push my scooter outside, and close the gate back. I wear my scarf and helmet and start the bike.

         And then there is me, who is on the verge of getting rid of her scooty because it takes her five full tries to get the thing to start.  Teju is short for Tejaswini Ahuja, the oldest child, rule follower, and respects my parent’s wishes to the dot. My motto is that when my family is happy, I am happy.  I completed my B.Sc. (Computer Science) and got top of my class, placed first in the campus interview, and joined ‘Soft-i-tech’, shortly called SIT, and working there for the past three years. Fun fact: My dad lent me his car to practice driving, and I crashed into a street light and damaged the half side of the car. He never gave me his car again.

…….

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