Nita’s father was a Malayalam pundit in a temple and her mother was a teacher.

One day, Shrum had told her that, “I don’t fight with everyone since I was not taught to, I don’t fight since who does not understand will never understand no matter what.” Nita had asked her as to why she did not fight with those who marked her unnecessarily to increase her error percentage.

Next few days later, Nita was saying to her cubicle mate, “I am also a teacher’s daughter. I stand for my rights.”

That evening Shrum asked me why was it even necessary to tell something like this, she reminded me that a few days back she had stated to Nita that she does not believe in standing up for her rights every time, not when she knows it won’t work.

“Di, can you make shit heads understand your point of view?”

“You can’t, but she is telling you precisely when Biyonte or else his friends mark you. Even today you were marked by his friends. Did you notice that.”

She hummed.

“I think you try get qr certified and stay away from both poles. After all this, I think a cloud has already formed and it may rain hail stones on You anytime.”

“Listen, can you do me a favour? Keep your mouth shut. Don’t talk to people in your cubicle.”

She had a change in cubicle mates once her buddy left the organisation and the other two people were shifted to different teams.

A very nice girl sat with her, the girl had morals, she played up for almost a month to their tunes but then stopped entirely and few days later, she left.

Shrum was not at all competing with her nor was jealous of her, neither did she have any inferiority complex towards her or anybody. I knew the trap was being led but she had no grips hence she could not be caught.

This was September 2010.

She did not believe in casteism or religions.

She respected all as humans, it was strange she was so perfect that humans had to attempt trapping her by building a wall of lie around her.

That is when people began to whisper,

“She would hold one or the other guy, she can’t be so strong, now see Biyonte was there, then it would be the Pure and then the King.

Mr. Pure was her third manager.

The Pure was her manager whom she avoided by all means except work and at some points Mr. Pure understood she was not a threat to his existence, worked even if he called at two thirty when she might have just slept at one after office, stayed up at nights to keep her words. Of course, many who want to retain jobs this hard way are doing the same. Mr. Pure would shout and scream at her, even in front of a big audience, she kept quiet since he was the only one who promoted her thrice. She thought and always would think it was her work, though humans rumoured it was Mr.Pure’s manager or the director who recognised her work.

The king was her colleague. He thought he was the king and was not at all offensive except twice.

I was calling my sister every week now as she had asked me to do.

I made her speak to mom even once during the month.

I was thinking further how to make things right, meanwhile Sehar was leaving for the States, she said there was a deal.