The intercom buzzed harshly, breaking the silence. Ms. Rodrigues picked it up carefully and almost whispered in her childish voice, ‘Yes, sir.’

There was a tone of hushed reverence in her voice.

The receiver crackled - ‘Come here immediately, and bring the Star Cement Ltd. File with you.’

Her voice never failed to surprise people. It was an exceedingly sweet and childish voice in a 80 kg frame and a 45 year old woman. There was a breathless wonder in its tones, bringing to mind the tonal qualities of a five year old.

‘Oh, dear, the boss is in a bad mood again,’ she thought, walking towards his cabin.

Her thoughts were echoed by the young receptionist. ‘The boss is in a foul temper today. I noticed his tie was crooked. That is a sure indication of his moods. Whenever it is straight and bright, he is in his best mood and when it’s crooked and dark in colour, he’s always in a bad temper. I have done a full research on it and can predict his mood on any given day.’

‘He may have had a fight with his wife today,’ said the clerk, helpfully.

‘Stop talking like that. All you people do ever is gossip,’ retorted Ms. Rodrigues faithfully.

She reached the cabin door and meekly knocked twice on it with her knuckles.

‘Come in,’ barked Mr. Chandavarkar, from within.

Violet Rodrigues entered hesitantly and stood waiting, after placing the file on the table.

‘How long have you been working for us, Violet?’ He was the only one in the office who called her by her first name. She was Ms. Rodrigues to everyone else. Some of the new employees were not even aware of her first name.

‘Nineteen years, this June, sir.’

She had been a secretary to the late Mr.Chandavarkar, the father of the present Chandavarkar. Arun Chandavarkar had taken over from his father about eight months back.

‘Haven’t you learnt to draft a simple letter in all these years? Look at this letter. Is this the way it should have been written?’ he shouted, throwing the letter at her.

She felt nervous, her throat dried up and a choke rose up, blocking out her voice.

‘Do I have to dictate such simple letters to you? I think you’re getting too old to carry on.’

He was being nasty and rude. It was not unexceptional for him to fire her but today he was being extra nasty. Violet felt tears pricking her eyes and blinked rapidly to prevent them from spilling over her cheeks.

‘I’m sorry sir,’ she replied timidly.

‘I hate that word. It doesn’t explain all the wrong, does it? For you, the matter ends there. I’m seriously thinking of putting you in the secretarial pool. I could do with a new secretary, one who is half you age and double in efficiency. Now go and redraft this letter. I want it within the next 10 minutes.’

He turned his attention to the papers on his table, ignoring her stricken face. Violet slowly shuffled back to her seat. She did the letter once more, her vision blurred by the tears that flowed freely down her lined and plump cheeks, sobs racking her enormous body. She took out her box of tissues and blew her nose loudly, before proceeding to type out another letter, this time a personal one. It was her resignation letter.

In the nineteen years that she had spent devotedly working for the organisation, she had never been subjected to such humiliation. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose once more. The old Mr. Chandavarkar had never spoken to her in this manner. He had been a cranky and fussy old man, finicky about everything but he had never been so rude.

‘He should at least respect my age, if nothing else,’ she muttered to herself.

Violet was not the type to indulge in gossip with the staff. She kept to herself, never resorting to loose talk. It was out of sheer devotion that she stuck to her seat even during lunchtime although the entire staff made fun of her.

‘I’m too old to frolic around with you people,’ she would excuse herself, whenever invited to share lunch with others.

‘Ms. Rodrigues is the watchdog of the boss. She doesn’t want to move from her seat, lest someone murders him in his cabin, he is not very popular after all,’ the young typist mocked her.

They ridiculed her and teased her but she stuck to her seat the ignored them.

‘What’s the boss giving me this time?’ the typist had asked, referring to his confidential report.

‘I don’t know, why don’t you ask him yourself?’ retorted Violet angrily.

‘You are such a chamchi. No one can expect any help form you,’ she had remarked angrily on being rebuffed.

Come rain, come shine, one could see Ms. Rodrigues walking into the office with her ubiquitous umbrella at exactly 8.45AM every day. The office timings started at 9.30 AM but she preferred to be at her post by nine sharp. No one could remember when she had last been on leave. They joked about her fitness and health. Violet would dutifully sit at her seat in the evening till the young Chandavarkar left the office. Like the fixtures and the furniture, Violet was an essential part of the office.

Picking up the Star Cement Ltd. File and her resignation letter, she slowly and thoughtfully walked towards Mr. Chandavarkar’s cabin.

‘So, I’m too old now to carry on. I should be in the secretarial pool. Never. I’ll resign. I’ll quit but I will not be humiliated in this manner. I’ve had enough. After spending the best years of my life with this organisation, I get this as a reward from a young man who is young enough to be my son. His father would never have dreamt of putting me in the pool. I have been good enough for the old Mr.Chandavarkar, I’m good enough for anyone,’ she muttered to herself.

‘What happened, Ms. Rodrigues, the boss fired you? You look absolutely devastated,’ remarked the receptionist.

‘Nothing, just caught a cold,’ replied Violet, sniffing sorrowfully as she opened the door to Mr Chandavarkar’s office. ‘Have you redrafted the letter?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Yes sir, here it is.’

He went through the letter carefully. His mind was much cooler now and he was already regretting the morning episode. He stole a glance at Violet Rodrigues who was discreetly blowing her nose into a tissue. Her eyes looked red and watery.

‘Has she been crying?’ he wondered, stealing another look at her face.

‘This is absolutely fine,’ he spoke. ‘I am sorry for having been nasty to you, Violet.’

‘It’s your prerogative, sir. Here’s a letter for you,’ she said, handing him her resignation.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, surprised.

Silently, he read through the contents before asking, ‘You’re not thinking of resigning? No, Violet, that’s unthinkable. I won’t even consider it,’ he said, tearing up the letter. ‘It’s true that I was nasty and rude to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. No Violet, you won’t be allowed to quit and that’s an order. Damn it, you are an asset to this organisation. I couldn’t do without you.’

‘I’m getting too old for this job, sir. You can have someone who is younger and more efficient. I can’t keep up with your pace of working. So, I am resigning,’ she replied, blowing her nose into the tissue again.

‘Nonsense! Forgive me Violet. I’m sorry for whatever I had said. Just forget it, won’t you?’ he came around the table to hold her hands.

‘To tell you the truth, you are an asset, worth your weight in gold. I’m sorry; I’ve had a bad morning.’

He seemed to be repentant. Violet suddenly felt silly to have given her resignation. Young Mr. Chandavarkar was not a bad person. She felt foolish to have made a mountain out of a molehill. Her faithful nature came to the fore.

‘No, no, sir, please don’t embarrass me by apologising. I will not resign. It’s just that my sister is in hospital. She had a heart attack last evening and I’m very upset. That’s why I made all those silly mistakes in the letter. I’m sorry, sir!’

‘Your sister is in the hospital and you’re sitting here! Go and look after her. She needs you. The office can run without you for a day. Off you go! This very minute.’

Arun Chandavarkar saw her off to the door. Violet Rodrigues wiped her eyes as she walked out.

‘What a gentleman he is! I’m lucky to be working for him,’ she thought sentimentally.

The entire office was surprised to see Ms Rodrigues walk out of the office with her bag an umbrella.  It had never happened before. They wondered if it was a special occasion.

In his cabin, Arun Chandavarkar was biting the tip of his pencil as he thought of all the years Violet had spent slogging for the company. His early memories were a little hazy but he remembered the delicious cakes she sent home every Christmas and the Easter eggs he had eaten at her place many years back when he was in school.

As long as his memory could travel back, she had been the same plump woman with the kindest eyes he had seen and the softest voice he had ever heard.   He knew that she was the best employee, a willing worker. He felt guilty about the way he had shouted at her and ridiculed her efficiency. He knew she was good at her job and a very sincere person, a quality that was becoming rarer with each passing day.

‘Damn Shweta. She had to fight in the morning and ruin my day as well as Violet’s, he cursed. His fights with his wife, Shweta, were becoming more frequent. They quarrelled almost every day on petty matters and he was taking it out on the staff; on sincere and honest people like Violet Rodrigues.

Arun Chandavarkar felt disturbed and decided to take off for the rest of the day. It was almost lunchtime. He strolled past the high rise office buildings, towards the new shopping mall. For the first time he had left back his car and was walking down the road. He suddenly realised how delightful it was to window shop, a thing he had forgotten all about.

‘Imagine bumping into an acquaintance. It would shock him to see me staring through the display windows.’ He chuckled at the thought.

Arun felt a sense of adventure and light heartedness as he peered at his reflection on the showcase of the shops.

On an impulse he entered a large departmental store. It had been many years since he had last shopped. Shweta took care of that aspect. Acting on an impulse, he decided to buy a present for Ms Rodrigues. It would make up for his boorish behaviour in the morning. He debated about what he could buy for her.

He remembered the old umbrella she always carried. He had never seen her without it. It was, probably, the only companion she had. He suddenly felt sorry about the lonely, old and simple lady. He decided ot buy her a nice folding umbrella. As long as he remembered, she had carried a faded black, no - nonsense type of old fashioned umbrella, one which could also be used as a walking stick.

Arun Chandavarkar went up to the smiling girl behind the counter and enquired about umbrellas.

‘What type do you want, sir?’ she asked helpfully.

‘A lady’s one. The press button type of folding umbrella. Preferably with flowers on it,’ he explained.

‘Oh, yes, we have that type in the rainwear counter on the first floor. The escalator is that way, sir,’ said the salesgirl pointing toward it.

He strode up to the rainwear counter and his eyes immediately settled on a pink coloured one with little maroon flowers. It looked very pretty and cheerful. A few minutes later he walked out of the mall with the gift-wrapped umbrella under his arm.

Next he stopped at a flower shop. Choosing a beautiful bouquet, he stuck a card in it. On the card he had written, ‘to the nicest lady I’ve known’.

With an impish smile he instructed the flowers and the umbrella be delivered to Ms. Rodrigues at her home. Feeling light and happy he walked back to his office. He felt satisfied. The afternoon had been well spent.

His staff was a little taken aback when he smiled and wished them.

The next morning, he eagerly awaited the arrival of Violet Rodrigues. He had arrived early just to see her carrying the new umbrella. At 8.45 sharp, he saw her turning the corner. She was still carrying the old, faded black umbrella. Feeling disappointed, he turned from the window and sat down on his chair.

At 9 am he rang for her. Violet Rodrigues arrived with her notebook and pencil, ready for a dictation. She had been surprised t see him in so early.

‘Good morning, Violet. I didn’t call you for dictation. I just wanted to ask….’

‘Why I wasn’t carrying the beautiful pink umbrella that I received by home delivery service. Right, sir? When you reach my age you’ll realise that some objects attain a sentimental value. They are more valuable than anything else for they represent some beautiful emotions and feelings. Sir, your pink umbrella has found its place amongst my other valuables. But I can’t use it, forgive me. Please let me retain my loyalty towards my old black umbrella. You see, it was given to me by your father when he lost his temper on me, one morning,’ explained Violet, smiling coyly.

Arun Chandvarkar looked at her and realisation slowly dawned on him as he saw the faint flush spreading on her face.