The Circus

No am not talking of the Charlie Chaplin film, nor am I talking about those tented spectacles involving clowns, acrobats and trapeze artists.


What I am talking about is my office.


In fact, truth be told, it is more of a museum or even a freak-show.


You wanna know why?


Well, to star off, the boss is gay....and a sexually frustrated one at that. All day he goes around touching the backs of various men.



Doesn't bother me since, with me, he uses different tactics.


He keeps touching my shoulder, that too the one injured by She Who Must Be Obeyed.



Next we have a marketing lad who confuses women with chicken and persists in calling the former as chicks.



Then we have a 3D animation guy who openly has both a wife and a girlfriend and spends all day trying to sell his land to businessmen.



Then there is the graphic designer who operates under an alias.



Then there is the female dwarf.



Talking of females, there are 2 relatively hot looking ones in office. Unfortunately, one of them has the voice of a donkey with bronchitis and the other is so shrill that an emotional Sanchetttttti is Darth Vader by comparison. There is another female whose voice is so low that probably only dogs are able to hear her properly.


We also have a Muslim lad who is becoming a disciple of Brahmakumaris and keeps chanting 'om shanti'


Then we have the hermaphrodite.


How do I know he/she is a hermaphrodite you ask?


Well, to begin with he pretends to be a guy though he/she has not facial hair. Plus he never uses the urinal.  She/he may be shy you say. Of course he may be but then again I might understand if he shies away from using one of the urinals when the others are occupied but not using them even when all of them are free, hell even when the whole rest room area is empty?? I think not. He/she does not have boobies, so he can't be one of them cross-dressers, so hermaphrodite he is.



We also have a commie hating HR guy, an alcoholic driver, a failed lawyer, a lad who only eats at KFC, an aspiring MBA who bursts into palpitations when asked her name in English,  an office boy obsessed with Farmville, an office amma who keeps pestering me for biriyani recipes and a finance guy who haven't got around to the concepts of basic mathematics.


Then there is my deaf mute friend who has decided to fall in love - but only after inquiring about the marital status of the object of his affection.



And then - like the big ass tip of a humongous iceberg, like the chocolate chips in a chocolate ice cream, like the bling on Mr. T,  like Anduril in the hands of Aragorn - there is me.