Friday was our last day at the Worli office. Where the average workday consisted of three parts talk, two parts gossip, one part serious work, one part PriyankaBalls (no, don’t ask me to explain) and about five parts elaborate pranks. A place of tropical canteens (see pic).
The wonderful place where an unrecognized, practically faceless team got a room to themselves. A room where we let the rest of the office be damned, and did what we liked. A room that we will sorely miss, seated in a row of cubicles.
On our last day, we sat in that room for over an hour, just talking. Not about work, not about anything in particular. And when it came time to leave, we dawdled. None of us realised how strongly we felt about that room till that minute.
I was looking at my phone as we walked out of the building for the last time. As I reached the gate, I got a wi-fi notification that broke my heart.
Disconnected.
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Talk, my friend. Now that you've read this section, the urge to speak has increased. I know. It's all right. It happens...
Stop fighting it. Talk.