Fiction
The Chair
Translated from Bengali by SHAMSAD MORTUZA
How could you make handles like these?
Sir?
What's the deal with this 'sir' business of yours? Can't you see how fat I have become? Do you think I can sit with my legs clung to each other for ten straight hours!
No, Sir!
You guys lack common sense, which by the way has become so uncommon.
Sir!
If these handles were a bit slimmer, I would have been able to stretch out a bit. That's what I have been trying to tell you.
Sir! The carpenter's wife has been suffering from some sort of girly sickness. He is off to Diamond Harbor … on leave for the last fifteen days.
Let him go to hell! This is not a job for old haggards anyway. Do you know that three-fourths of a working man's life are spent in his office chair? Is it too much to ask for a boss to ask for a comfortable chair?
Sir, I will return in another two weeks, and cut these handles down to size.
Thank you. You don't have toby that time fungi will grow in my crotch. Please leave.
Sir!
Haripad!
Big Boss presses his calling bell. Haripad appears.
What's the deal with you guys?
Sir?
What 'Sir'? For how many days do you think I need to strive for a single chair? The chair for an officer is everything. He does things sitting in his chair, and if that chair is not okay nothing is okay. You can't even fix that chair. See… As Big Boss tries to sit in his chair, one of the chromium plated wheels rolls away and he falls out of balance. Goodness me! He springs to his feet.
Haripad does the same. Everyone in the office knows Haripad as the shadow of Big Boss. Haripad jumps when his boss is jumpy, Haripad cries when his boss is sad, Haripad laughs when his boss is happy. Haripad wears safari suits just as many other big officers do in the office. They would have done what Haripad has just done; it is their duty to tune themselves to the whims of Big Boss. But Haripad is an artist in the art of flattery. Big Boss knows it all too well; yet he enjoys falling prey to the flattery.
Even God demands flattery; and he is just a big boss of an office.
For the last one year, Big Boss has been trying to get a comfy chair that suits him. These Nilubabu-Filubabus of yours are worthless! They don't even know what they are selling. If the producer doesn't know his product, he is going to be alienated. That is why Bengalis never succeed in business. The owner and his salesmen are full of airs while the workers are gone to Diamond Harbor.
Haripad!
Sir.
Is there any Chinese carpenter around?
There are some in Teritybazar.
Call Mrs. Sen, and ask her to send an orderly from our Park Street branch to get some brochures for chairs. Go to the Chinese market as well. See if you can find me a decent chair. A company that cannot give a solid chair to his top man is bound to go bankrupt. Big Boss reaches for the red light button, meaning no one was allowed in anymore. He is very upset. The chair keeps on leaning to its right whenever he tries sitting in it. After all, he is a leftist intellectual. What will people say if they see him tilting to the right? Disgraceful!
Within an hour, Haripad enters with a bunch of brochures for executive chairs. Some of the chairs are as big as thrones. Even by sitting on the front of them might give you the feeling of being a pigmy. That's the problem with modern management systems --- the lesser the internal material, the bigger the external chair. Big Boss is a plump man, and if he sits in one of those he surely will be lost. There is no way he is going to get one of those chairs in the flyers. Haripad! Get the Chinese carpenter. The Chinese carpenter shows up in an hour, and he measures up the vital statistics of Big Boss like a seasoned tailor. Big Boss instructs Mr. Chung Fing to make such a chair that will give him comfort for the next eight years. Mr. Chung Fing thanks him and leaves.
The date of the arrival of the chair comes. Big Boss thinks of the chair while shaving. His thrill is akin to the excitement of going for a tryst.
On his way to his room, he orders his secretary, Mrs. Sen, to attend to the Bihari clients with whom he has a meeting in the conference room at 11 am. Give them something to eat or drink and keep them busy for a while. I might be a little late. He enters his room. There it is: his chair with foam and leather upholstery in faded yellow that reminds one of autumnal leaves.
The chromium-plated wheels roll nicely. The back of the revolving chair swings back and forth quite smoothly too. He just needs to sit in it and feel its comfort.
The intercom buzzes at the wrong time. Shut up! No call for me for the next half an hournot even internal calls!
He orders his staff.
He looks at the chair as if it is his newly-wedded wife. He stands in front of it and gives it a formal salute before turning his back to adjust his huge anterior to the posture of the chair; he attempts to plunge into his chair just as ducks do in water.
Stuck, Big Boss gets stuck! The Chinese chair clings to him like an octopus. This must be a conspiracy of Mr. Chung Fing. He frantically reaches for the calling bell.
Haripad storms in. Pull me out.
Sir?
Pull me out. I am stuck in the chair. H-a-r-i-p-a-d. The lanky man tries his best, but in vain. Big Boss is absolutely stuck. His face has turned pale as white paper. There is no way he can be pulled out. Turn the chair, make it face the window. The boss calmly orders Haripada, and Haripas obliges. The revolving chair moves rather easily. Leave me now, Haripad. Don't say a word to anyone.
Sir?
Don't tell anyone that I am stuck in my chair.
No, sir. Big Boss looks out of the window. The air-conditioner is humming. Down at Camac Street, a trail of cars is wheeling by. The company is quite big, involved in the export of iron, steel, tea, marbles and what not. His salary is quite fat, too. Besides, there are many perks: commissions, visits, treats, fees, extras here and extras therevery sticky business, indeed.
The cry of the kite flying above the sky cannot reach the office room. The sky of Calcutta is still blue; only people do not have time to see it.
What could possibly have gone wrong? He personally made sure that the chair was tailored to his size and customised to his taste.
He probably has thought of himself as being much bigger than the chair.
Sir?
What's the deal with this 'sir' business of yours? Can't you see how fat I have become? Do you think I can sit with my legs clung to each other for ten straight hours!
No, Sir!
You guys lack common sense, which by the way has become so uncommon.
Sir!
If these handles were a bit slimmer, I would have been able to stretch out a bit. That's what I have been trying to tell you.
Sir! The carpenter's wife has been suffering from some sort of girly sickness. He is off to Diamond Harbor … on leave for the last fifteen days.
Let him go to hell! This is not a job for old haggards anyway. Do you know that three-fourths of a working man's life are spent in his office chair? Is it too much to ask for a boss to ask for a comfortable chair?
Sir, I will return in another two weeks, and cut these handles down to size.
Thank you. You don't have toby that time fungi will grow in my crotch. Please leave.
Sir!
Haripad!
Big Boss presses his calling bell. Haripad appears.
What's the deal with you guys?
Sir?
What 'Sir'? For how many days do you think I need to strive for a single chair? The chair for an officer is everything. He does things sitting in his chair, and if that chair is not okay nothing is okay. You can't even fix that chair. See… As Big Boss tries to sit in his chair, one of the chromium plated wheels rolls away and he falls out of balance. Goodness me! He springs to his feet.
Haripad does the same. Everyone in the office knows Haripad as the shadow of Big Boss. Haripad jumps when his boss is jumpy, Haripad cries when his boss is sad, Haripad laughs when his boss is happy. Haripad wears safari suits just as many other big officers do in the office. They would have done what Haripad has just done; it is their duty to tune themselves to the whims of Big Boss. But Haripad is an artist in the art of flattery. Big Boss knows it all too well; yet he enjoys falling prey to the flattery.
Even God demands flattery; and he is just a big boss of an office.
For the last one year, Big Boss has been trying to get a comfy chair that suits him. These Nilubabu-Filubabus of yours are worthless! They don't even know what they are selling. If the producer doesn't know his product, he is going to be alienated. That is why Bengalis never succeed in business. The owner and his salesmen are full of airs while the workers are gone to Diamond Harbor.
Haripad!
Sir.
Is there any Chinese carpenter around?
There are some in Teritybazar.
Call Mrs. Sen, and ask her to send an orderly from our Park Street branch to get some brochures for chairs. Go to the Chinese market as well. See if you can find me a decent chair. A company that cannot give a solid chair to his top man is bound to go bankrupt. Big Boss reaches for the red light button, meaning no one was allowed in anymore. He is very upset. The chair keeps on leaning to its right whenever he tries sitting in it. After all, he is a leftist intellectual. What will people say if they see him tilting to the right? Disgraceful!
Within an hour, Haripad enters with a bunch of brochures for executive chairs. Some of the chairs are as big as thrones. Even by sitting on the front of them might give you the feeling of being a pigmy. That's the problem with modern management systems --- the lesser the internal material, the bigger the external chair. Big Boss is a plump man, and if he sits in one of those he surely will be lost. There is no way he is going to get one of those chairs in the flyers. Haripad! Get the Chinese carpenter. The Chinese carpenter shows up in an hour, and he measures up the vital statistics of Big Boss like a seasoned tailor. Big Boss instructs Mr. Chung Fing to make such a chair that will give him comfort for the next eight years. Mr. Chung Fing thanks him and leaves.
The date of the arrival of the chair comes. Big Boss thinks of the chair while shaving. His thrill is akin to the excitement of going for a tryst.
On his way to his room, he orders his secretary, Mrs. Sen, to attend to the Bihari clients with whom he has a meeting in the conference room at 11 am. Give them something to eat or drink and keep them busy for a while. I might be a little late. He enters his room. There it is: his chair with foam and leather upholstery in faded yellow that reminds one of autumnal leaves.
The chromium-plated wheels roll nicely. The back of the revolving chair swings back and forth quite smoothly too. He just needs to sit in it and feel its comfort.
The intercom buzzes at the wrong time. Shut up! No call for me for the next half an hournot even internal calls!
He orders his staff.
He looks at the chair as if it is his newly-wedded wife. He stands in front of it and gives it a formal salute before turning his back to adjust his huge anterior to the posture of the chair; he attempts to plunge into his chair just as ducks do in water.
Stuck, Big Boss gets stuck! The Chinese chair clings to him like an octopus. This must be a conspiracy of Mr. Chung Fing. He frantically reaches for the calling bell.
Haripad storms in. Pull me out.
Sir?
Pull me out. I am stuck in the chair. H-a-r-i-p-a-d. The lanky man tries his best, but in vain. Big Boss is absolutely stuck. His face has turned pale as white paper. There is no way he can be pulled out. Turn the chair, make it face the window. The boss calmly orders Haripada, and Haripas obliges. The revolving chair moves rather easily. Leave me now, Haripad. Don't say a word to anyone.
Sir?
Don't tell anyone that I am stuck in my chair.
No, sir. Big Boss looks out of the window. The air-conditioner is humming. Down at Camac Street, a trail of cars is wheeling by. The company is quite big, involved in the export of iron, steel, tea, marbles and what not. His salary is quite fat, too. Besides, there are many perks: commissions, visits, treats, fees, extras here and extras therevery sticky business, indeed.
The cry of the kite flying above the sky cannot reach the office room. The sky of Calcutta is still blue; only people do not have time to see it.
What could possibly have gone wrong? He personally made sure that the chair was tailored to his size and customised to his taste.
He probably has thought of himself as being much bigger than the chair.
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