Dear Stranger,
I see you.
I see you from my window.
I see you out with your mask and other paraphernalia, selling stuff, running, walking your lucky dog, listening to the silence outside and being the only one frolicking in gay abandon. When Dad comes home, I feel like Frodo asking Bilbo Baggins, ‘what be the news of the outside world?’
To be honest, I feel like a teenager again. A grounded teenager racking my scarce brains at books (read laptop) all day, preparing for an exam that never seems to end.
I heave a sigh of relief.
Not for too long, though. My zoom call brings me back in focus. Have to tame my unruly mane to appear not homeless-despite-being-home.
The Dark Lord starts with his directions. Yeah, I report to the Dark Lord. He runs a profitable organization amidst all the chaos that the universe is going through. And I am a poor shabby thoroughly disgruntled stormtrooper. A rogue stormtrooper, but.
I switch tabs and start searching for designer masks that won’t make me look as ugly as Darth Vader while providing protection all the same. Tyntra has begun peddling colorful stuff that I feel may look decent on me. I click on a glowing pink one. Eye makeup is going to become a compulsion now, lest people should make out what I am high on.
I look for my sizes. Shucks. Isn’t that always the case? When will this inequality end? I need a mask my size. Not one that would make me resemble Hanuman. Anyway, I don’t need a mask for that. I easily resemble the mythical monkey god when I am not able to swallow or chew in the middle of a zoom call.
Shocking pink. Killing blue. Flashing ochre. Scintillating red. Burnt sienna.
I like the range. I click order.
The Dark Lord has been repeatedly telling us to go out into the wild, sell stuff and get some profits for the Death Star. He is always highlighting how badly I am selling stuff. Sitting at home.
‘What are the trends? What are the buyers thinking?’
Trends. I would love to dress as per the current trends. But I end up in my oldest tees and the most boring spaghetti tops, looking even worse than I used to in the pre-lockdown era.
‘Are you even on the call?? What are the buyers thinking?’
Maybe that they would love to be left alone and not barged with calls while they are cleaning the floors of their house and bickering with their worse half?
‘Sir, I will get back to you with some insights by evening.’
That’s me, making promises I won’t keep.
By evening, I have to whip up something.
My fingers are getting so much exercise from all the typing, they are lean af. I should put my finger pictures on my bumble profile.
But there is one thing I will surely get done. I am going to buy the masks anyhow.
I love the idea of masks, by the way. Have never liked my teeth too much, to be honest. But I am worried about the tan. The separate skin tone that will result once I am out in the May scorch will not look great on me, I am quite sure.
Because The Dark Lord has already issued a decree. Markets on every alternate day. The commercial areas are opening up. So much opportunity to grab. So many profits to be made. The stormtroopers have to be in action.
Rogue Girl One will report.
Trying (and failing miserably) to work from home,
The Rogue Stormtrooper
