Of Mice and (Wo)/Men

New Delhi, Indira Gandhi International Airport.

Two school buddies, Prashant and Amit, bump into each other.

'Prashant? I knew it was you when I saw you at Immigrations. You haven't changed one bit!'

'Neither have you. So what's up? Anything new? Still with Morgan Stanley and Sisters?'

'Brothers, not Sisters. But no, me flying for an executive meeting in Geneva tomorrow evening. Where are you based now? I heard you got a great deal from that Italian chain?'

'Oh, that was a long time back. These days I do the odd bit flying in between Delhi and Singapore. Two weeks in Delhi, and then two weeks in S'pore. Today I am flying to Toronto though. We are trying for a collaboration with a French oil company drilling in the North Sea. Let's see if we can buy them out.'

'Listen, I am in a bit of a rush right now. Why don't we sit down for lunch the next time we are in Delhi? Or maybe coffee and biscuits or that sort of thing? Maybe we can even do some tying up between our companies?'

'That will be really cool. You have my cell number? Just give me a buzz when you are around.'

East Berlin, somewhere in the Western Sector

Two college buddies (?), Priyanka and Amala, (wives of Prashant and Amit), walk into each other.

'Priyankaaaaaaaa! Oh my gosh! What the hell are you doing in Berlin?'

'Well, you know what Prashant always keeps on saying everytime he is shunted off by his Spanish bosses from New York to Berlin.'

'Prashant? You are married? You never told me?'

'How could I when I am meeting you after ten years?'

'Well, I know. *Sigh*. Things change so fast these days. So what does Prashant say?'

'He complains that the Wall Street may be going up in New York but the Wall is forever down in Berlin.' (She rolls her eyes to indicate the upward versus the downward movement of the Walls.)

'Ha-hah-haah.'

'No, no, no, don't try to laugh. Don't even try. Please. That's just what Prashant is like. Always throwing sick jokes at people.'

'No, no, no, that's not sick at all. That's actually rather cute. Really.'

'Anyways, whatever. So what about you, Amala? What are you doing in Berlin?'

'I am trying to exhibit my art at the Indian Embassy gallery on Mozartstrasse. It's a sort of mix between indigenous Bengali rural art and contemporary modes of French iconoclasm. Are you into that sort of thing?'

'You mean art? Oh, come on, pleaaaase. You should just come and see our house one of these days. I don't mean the one in Chicago, the one in Casablanca that we bought the last summer. It is cluttered with el Grecos, Rembrandts, Goyas, and Matisses right upto the doorstep. But what do you do when you are not with your art?'

'Well, Shreya demands so much attention these days. And Amit is rarely in, his bosses are always driving him to the wall and always burying him there with piles of work. And as for myself, *sigh*, I hardly have any time left to myself. And tell you what. If that is not enough, my in-laws are coming over next month. Eeeeks! Aaaaargh!'

'Shreya? Is that your daughter? Oh my gosh, why didn't you tell me that you have a daughter?'

'Here we go again. You know what, I think we need to do some serious catching up. What about meeting up for dinner tonight?'

'Ok, cool. But I will need to ask Prashant first.'

'Whatever for?'

'Well, you know. He gets rather angry when I just go off like that without first taking his permission.'

'Priyaaaankaaa! What the hell are you talking about? Are you serious or you just kidding me, huh? You need to take his permission?'

'*Sigh*. Perhaps we all have our little prisons hidden away somewhere.'