Keep Reinventing, by Suvonil Das, Kolkata
Born, raised, and currently living in Kolkata, West Bengal, Suvonil is a curious youth trapped in the body of an adult who loves to tell stories.
“But I told you, all stores are closed! And I can’t find a technician, either!”
“Then there’s nothing I can do, bro. My hands are tied. I guess you’ll receive that email soon.” My boss hung up.
I stared long at my phone’s screen ‘til it went black. I could see my face on the shining surface. The stress and worries of the last couple of weeks had left a permanent mark on my forehead. Irritated, I chucked the phone on the couch while I adjusted my hair to cover the wrinkles.
It was the end of April, 2020. India was completing its second month of complete pandemic lockdown.
What have I got to worry about? I consoled myself at the beginning. There are people who are out of work and in the streets. At least my office allows me to work from home using my own device till they procure one for me. Just switch on the AC, type-type-type all day, and I get my full paycheck! Thug life!
You see, the key to happiness is optimism. Because the universe is conspiring!
But from the beginning of April, my old laptop began to conspire. It would freeze and completely go black. Then I had to slap it back to life. The AC did not feel cool anymore. I typed several emails with my sweaty hands, imploring everyone to expedite the delivery of my new laptop.
They all kept forwarding the mails to each other like a football, ‘til one replied, “We are doing our best, sir!”
The Bengali new year arrived, giving birth to 1427. Two days later, my old laptop died, followed by my optimism, and left me parting gifts of more stress and anxiety.
“Get it fixed or get a new one,” was my boss’s eulogy.
Laptops were not categorized as essentials, and strangely nobody was fixing one then.
The universe was probably constipating. Thug got no life!
If Tarantino gave us Winston Wolf, quarantine gave me my former boss. I dialed him, my brother-figure, to sulk and accept defeat. He heard me and hung up. Flabbergasted, I flushed with guilt for dragging him into this. After all, we’re all having a hard time.
The phone buzzed after an hour. “Speak to this chap,” my brother-figure’s text read.
The next day, an emergency medical supplies vehicle stopped in front of my house. I was waiting at the doorstep. A mysterious man wearing dark goggles got down and walked towards me. I immediately put on my N95 mask and backed up a couple of steps. He stopped at that and adjusted his face cover.
“Package?” I wasted no time.
“Cash?” he replied.
I felt inside my pocket and he reached out his hand. Then I poured a generous amount of sanitizer.
After the payment was complete, he opened the back of his van and fished a flat, rectangular cardboard box out from among a bunch of medicine boxes. I took the box in my hands. It read, HP: Keep Reinventing.
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(This story was prepared for an “Imagine Another World” online storytelling workshop held December 12, 2020.)
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