The Understatement

By Namitha Varma

It all began when she walked into her new workplace and saw a friendly shock of hair amid rows and rows of cubicles. And when the owner of the hair introduced himself to her as Malhar later in the day, she knew she would fall in love with him.
She slipped parts of his personality into all the artworks she did after that. There would be a random observer in a nature scene that she imagined to be him, a boy with his dimples in a rustic hut, his curly hair on an urban lass in a pub, his red Che Guevara t-shirt in a political scene… He was in everything she did, although he could never know that. Even while he admired her works, he never smelt his inspiration on the drying paint. She was elated and disappointed at the same time – she wanted equally to be found out and to keep her secret.
They went clubbing together, she took him to exhibitions he showed interest in and explained various kinds of art to him, she would find some ‘alone time’ with him even on office picnics and monthly gaming expeditions. They shared books, and conversations over coffee. They were friends, she would tell herself, not just colleagues.
She pined for him every day, and rued that he would never know. Once, after a dinner, she tried to hug him for more than 10 seconds, but he wrested out of her wrap in a jiffy, having found another friend outside the restaurant. She sent him provocative texts – “so, what are your views on casual sex?” – but his replies were always matter-of-fact, never suggestive, never taunting.
And then one day, over coffee, he said he had resigned the job.
“Oh. So you’ll be going away.”
“Duh, of course.”
“Who’ll I share my coffee with?”
“With Diya. Or Manjunath. No?”
“Yeah yeah, of course. I was just trying to pull a senti on you.”
She did not sleep that night. She painted her first abstract art – with various hues of red, and black – the next day. She spent the next 25 days in anguish – her sense of loss was profound. He would be gone – forever! – from her life. She wouldn’t see him every day, she wouldn’t share coffee and colours with him, he would never know what she thought of him!
Malhar, of course, sensed nothing. He went about his duties, in between clearing his desk and giving away to colleagues the knick-knacks he did not want to take away. She too got a souvenir – a rubber duck. Why he had that on his desk was beyond her comprehension, but she accepted and cherished it anyway.
The last week of his notice period, the office threw a farewell party for him. He was all over the party, talking to everyone, sharing old anecdotes and memories with his colleagues of four years, cracking jokes… She watched him from the corner table she shared with Diya and a couple of others, sipping on her lager. Finally, when he turned to her table, her heart skipped a beat. Maybe she should tell him now. He should know she loves him. Of course he wouldn’t approve of it – she was five years older to him after all – but he should know, shouldn’t he? Her heart was quivering in its cage by the time he took a seat next to her..
“So this is it. Just three more days,” he said, his voice laced with both hope and sadness. She was on the verge of breaking down. Everyone else smiled. “Awww. We’ll miss you, Mal! Who’ll I ogle at now?” Diya cooed.
Suddenly, she snapped into reality. As if Diya had said a magic word and she’d awakened from a hypnotic trance. She looked at his curly brown hair, baby dimples, cute smile. “Anita, I’ll miss you the most. You’ve been a great colleague,” he was telling her. Yes, we were great colleagues. She smiled. “You were great too. Keep in touch.”
Her phone rang. “Ok people, I have to go. Hubby’s come to pick me up. See you at work tomorrow!” She walked out of the hotel garden, her face set in stone, her fingers clutching the rubber duck in her purse.