I was in the conference room along with two of my team mates, waiting for our meeting with the new manager. It was our first meeting, and he was visiting from Bombay, where he is based. He had joined us recently and although I was on some group emails he was marked on, we were not formally acquainted yet. There wasn't much time even now - this was supposed to be a meet and greet followed by a client call. But his flight from Bombay was delayed and it was almost time for the client call.
I'm 32 years old, and I've spent the last 10 years working at the Delhi office of this firm. I joined very young, with no prior experience and a Master's degree from what will be regarded as a tier-2 university. I was not overly ambitious, was comfortable with the slow pace of my promotions. I worked hard but I was not the most confident or natural choice to be in leadership positions - I was shy, overweight, and very far from the 'corporate babe' positioning other girls were vying for. I did not speak up and was more comfortable doing what I was told to do. I was happy to be out of the rat race.
I normally wore Indian clothes - loose fitting and fully covering my body; today, on a whim, I wore a dress, given it will be my first meeting with the new manager. It was a black dress, landed a couple of inches above my knees, and since I bought it two years back, had grown a bit tighter. I saw myself in the mirror and wasn't pleased with the bumps around my waist, or the cellulite on my thighs that were showing when I sat down. I have a round, chubby face that people find cute - but today somehow I looked tired because of the long night I had spent preparing notes for today's client call.
I somehow wanted to impress the new manager, Pramit, and so I didn't mind the extra effort in doing the notes. I hadn't met him before, but there was a buzz around the office that he was very smart. I like smart people. I also picked up at the water cooler that he wasn't married - which made me wonder why. He must be doing well financially as a manager, and I found it odd he wasn't married. I assumed he must be in his late thirties or early forties given typical promotion cycles - I'm two levels below manager.
It was three minutes to 10 AM, the time of the client call, and Neha, Karan and I were wondering if we should get started. Neha was wearing a sleeveless, V-neck dress, amply showing her cleavage and it was clear she was angling to impress Pramit. I was hoping that my notes and hard work will be appreciated too. Neha and Karan were on the opposite side of the small square table, and I was next to the empty chair on the other side, with the polycom in the middle of the table.
Exactly one minute before 10, a dashing young man, in his late twenties strolled in. He was tall, with well defined shoulders; he wearing a suit with no tie, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone. That was Pramit and I now know that he is 28 - a good four years younger than me - and yet two levels above me. Top class academic pedigree, a passion for squash and a university debating champion. The quintessential fast-riser: I learnt my company had doubled his salary to convince him to join us. I had never seen someone with so much brash confidence and arrogance - a combination that can best be described as swag.
He walked in wheeling his suitcase in, and stood right next to me. I could smell his perfume - it was exquisite - and I imagined it was radiating directly from his body through the unbuttoned shirt. The door was ajar - he didn't bother to close it. There was very little time to introduce. "I'm Pooja", I blurted and gave my hand out. In the split second that I had his slender fingers in my hand, I felt a tingle down my spine. "It's already ten, and we should probably get started", I said.
He ignored me. And proceeded to shake Neha's hand - he was holding her hand firm
while talking to her. Neha was looking hot - and was talking with a smile on her face which made it clear that she was smitten.
Unlike me, she wasn't tongue tied and was trying to flirt: "Good to see you Pramit, hope it was a good flight in."
"It was terrible. I hate 7 am flights - they mess with my sleep and I missed my workout."
"Ouch. We'll let you get to your hotel soon today evening."
"Nah. It's alright. Thanks for looking so stunning, I'm already refreshed."
My face turned red as I witnessed this exchange - a 60 second chat and arguably one of the longest 'handshakes'. Neha's slut-act worked and given I was the only other one woman in the room, there wasn't even any real competition: she was 34C, and wore size 8 dresses; I was 36DD, and 16.
It was well past 10. Pramit didn't bother shaking Karan's hand.
"Get the door Karan, and Pooja - dial in, will you?"
He said that without even looking at us, and slumped in his chair. The client was already on the call, and I sat down staring hard at my notes, while still unable to get the image of their clasped hands out of my head. Pramit was cocky on the call - did not apologise for being late - and proceeded to give what was easily the best oral presentation I've heard. He was charming, brilliant and so utterly comfortable and confident. He stretched his legs and put them on the table, and continued with ease. I kept looking at my notes while stealing glances at his feet perched on the table, in front of me - his shoes with pointed tips looked slim and elegant - just like him - and were immaculately polished.
I was trying hard to stay focused on the call, which was due to end in ten minutes. There was a question from the client about the specific sources for our assumptions and our rationale - it was a minor detail that Pramit was obviously not across and he looked at us at once, as he put the call on mute. I quickly remembered it and shuffled through my notes and handed him the sheet and pointed with my pen towards the specific line. He took the sheet and the pen from me, and looked at me and said, "that looks right." I was relieved - satisfied that despite looking fat and clumsy, I still had a purpuse in the room, and I was glad to be of use to Pramit. He proceeded to unmute and instead of answering, he said: "Good question, and we have the details. Pooja will explain."
I suddenly went blank. I don't usually speak on calls and after the heartracing 20 minutes I've had sitting next to Pramit, staring at this shoes and drinking in his perfume, I simply couldn't find my voice. Finally I mumbled, "Sir, you have the sheet, why don't you please explain."
I have never called any of my other managers Sir before - and we were very much on first names basis in the room, and even with the client. I was embarrassed and sank into my chair as Pramit proceeded to answer based on my sheet. The pen he was holding fell and he turned and looked straight in my eye. Within a second I knelt down and picked up the pen, and held it out for him - he didn't take it back but instead handed my sheet with the notes back to me.
The call ended and he looked at me, "Why didn't you explain when I asked you to?" I told him I forgot and he chuckled, "Did you really make these notes?"
"Yes, I did. Worked all night to prepare them, but somehow forgot at that moment." He smiled and I relaxed a bit. "You must be tired, you should have a coffee."
"No no, I'm fine."
"I could use a coffee. Fetch me one, will you? Black. No sugar." He said this with his eyes closed, stretching back on the chair, hands behind his head, and feet still on the table. I had just been treated like a peon or an intern after ten years of work - no one had ever asked me to get coffee before. I couldn't say no, could I? "Sure, Sir", I said and headed out. I could have said Pramit instead of Sir, but I had already addressed him as Sir once before and it anyways seemed more appropriate given the task of fetching his coffee.
