The Interview - Story part 2/4

Hey there! I'm back with Part 2 of the story excerpt I posted last week! (Click here to read Part 1 if you haven't already.) This one is longer, with a word count of 820 words.  Have a good time reading this...I'll be looking forward to your comments! :D

P.S: I changed my blog design again! I do hope you guys like it - I am finally satisfied with this template + wallpaper so I intend to stick to it for atleast a couple of months. :)

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Breakfast was a hasty affair, and because the nauseous instinct was still there, I decided it was best to have one slice of toast instead of two. Gulping down half a cup of tea, I bid farewell to Ammi and left the house.

I carefully mounted my bike, ensuring that my posture did not create odd creases on my beautifully ironed suit. I backed out of our narrow street, and, taking the shortest route, headed straight for Frizex Expressway. I got off the Expressway at Clifton. DHA - where the Prestige Bank’s Central branch was located - was barely a fifteen minute bike ride from here. I glanced at my watch. It read Eight-twenty. Perfect, I thought. I would arrive there at Eight-thirty five, exactly fifteen minutes before the interview would begin. I was proud of myself for managing my time so well.

Brrrrrrrinnng!! My phone rang from the depths of my jacket’s pocket. Who could be calling me so early in the morning? I asked myself, as I digged into my pocket. I pulled the phone out. ‘Farah baji calling’ it said. Stopping my bike by a lamp-post, I accepted the call and held the phone against my ear.

“Hello, Ali?” I heard my sister’s worried voice.

“Yeah, baji? Is everything okay?” I inquired.

“Well, not really - my car’s tire is punctured and Sarah’s getting late for school...can you drop her off?”

“But baji-” I said, annoyed. “I’m on my way to Prestige’s central branch - I have my interview there today - don’t you remember?”

“Ohhh..” Farah baji’s voice trailed off, and I could tell she was quite distressed. “No, I didn’t remember”

“Why don’t you ask Omer bhai to drop her to school?” I suggested, naming a cousin who lived near her house. “His daughter goes to the same school as Sarah, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah… Good idea” she replies, relieved. “I’ll call Omer straight away”

“Fine..bye..” I said and hung up. It was eight-twenty four now. Phew. Nearly five minutes wasted on a stupid conversation over dropping Farah baji’s daughter to school, I thought. Well, I’ll just have to arrive ten minutes early instead of fifteen minutes, I said to myself as I restarted my bike’s engine.

I was barely a five minute ride away from my destination, when my bike got stuck in a bit of mud. I rotated my bike’s handlebars vigorously to accelerate it forward but the stubborn thing refused to budge. I grimaced. Why did the damned thing have to get stuck in the mud today when I was getting late for an interview?!! I glanced at my watch. Eight-thirty. If my bike continued to act this way for another five minutes, I would get late for sure. I stared angrily at the  stupid creature and decided that today it would have to co-operate with me. I tightened my grip on the handlebars and turned them some more, this time with more energy and determination. For a while the bike just protested vociferously, but after a minute or two of acceleration, it finally gave in.

With a Ker-splat! the bike moved out of the mud. My smile found its way back to my lips and I gazed gratefully at the heavens. But even before my lips could move in a prayer of thanksgiving, I felt something wet on my shirt. I looked down to see what it was. I gasped. My eyes widened with shock and horror. Surely this couldn’t be true?!

My elegant black coat was literally covered with grey-brown mud stains! The mud must’ve splashed on me from the bike’s tires while I was thrusting it out, I thought. But what on earth was I going to do now?! I certainly could not go to such an important interview dressed in a mud-stained jacket. What would the bank’s CEO think? I looked down to check if my trousers too, had been muddied. There were a few mud-stains close to the bottom of its left leg, but they didn’t really show. The jacket was certainly a problem, though. I had to do something about it.

Parking my bike next to the footpath, I had a brainwave. What if the white shirt I wore under the jacket had not been stained? Maybe it wasn’t a problem after all, I thought. I would look fine dressed in a plain white shirt and black trousers. I excitedly unbuttoned the jacket and took it off. Taking a deep breath, I peered at my shirt. I winced. There was the biggest and ugliest stain I had ever seen in my life - one that was totally unignorable - smirking back at me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw a tantrum like a two-year-old. I even wanted to die. But what good would that do?

I looked at my wristwatch. Eight-forty. Twenty minutes to go.

I decided that I would have to do something. Fast.
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For non-Urdu speakers - translations to Urdu words I have used here:
*Ammi : mother
**Baji : sister. (Although my character here, Ali, calls his elder sister - Farah - baji, Urdu-speakers generally use baji to address or refer to any woman/lady elder than them, and not just sisters-by-blood)
***Bhai : brother (Again, this word is not used to address brothers-by-blood only, it can be used to refer to any elder man)

Note: Although I could have used the words mother, sister, and brother instead of ammi, baji, and bhai here, I chose to use the Urdu words here to establish the character in the minds of my audience/readers as a typical Pakistani and to help them relate to him.

I hope you enjoyed reading! I'll be back soon with Part 3, which will probably be the last part of this story, according to my estimations. Keep tuned on - I'll be back soon in a week or two, Insha Allah. :)