She walked down the parking lot, the tick-tock of her heels echoing loudly. Her hair was perfectly done, not a strand out of place. She wore a suit and pearl earrings, carried a file of important papers and a no nonsense attitude, and talked on her mobile phone officiously. Tock-tock-tock-tock went her shoes. Tock-tock-tock.
From the other end of the corridor, I half-ran towards my car, already late for a meeting. Fachak-fachack-fichak went my chappals, my hair flew wildly into my face, momentarily blinding me, my t-shirt rode up my growing midriff and my jeans felt too tight. I juggled with my bag, my water bottle, the car keys, my mobile phone, a large bundle of un-ironed dhobhi clothes and my nerves.