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My Life is a Lie

by Arjoyita Roy
(Durgapur, India)

"As a kid, my parents taught me that, ''honesty is the best policy'' but is it? How many of us are honest with ourselves? I doubt even if our parents practice what they preach all the time. On that fine day, they had a long discussion mutually decided to make a few modifications to the first episode. Little did they know that would alter the course of a short story into a never-ending web series!

I was penning my thoughts when my cell phone rang, and I had to take this call. It was the cab driver who drove me to my workplace. I fail to understand the local dialect; the language barrier is still a problem here in Bangalore for a few people who hail from the Northern parts of the nation. You know I have lived here for over two years now, and I happen to be an interpreter by profession, yet still, I never tried to learn the language of the locals.

Alright, enough of honest confessions. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, changed my footwear, locked the room, and went off to work. I usually avoid eye contact while taking the lift to the 17th floor, but today some of my colleagues insisted on shaking hands, and I could not resist; I replied with a polite thank you.

Unlike other days, I rushed to the restroom to check if my concealer had creased. I was anxious, and suddenly, I started feeling older, and then I looked at my watch, and without wasting any more time, I found my way back to the workstation. I wonder what made my father do

it on that fateful day, what is the worst that could have happened? I may have had to study in some other school, but everything ceases to matter in the long run. Dare to lie just for once, and an entire generation is entitled to cover up until death.

I sound confident in public, but that day, he made me wonder if I must stay silent and walk away. I keep social media at bay to avoid conflict nowadays. As per the norm, a few of my team members were devising plans for the grand celebration; I pretended not to notice on purpose. After lunch, we decided to go for the classic cake-cutting ceremony, and I tried my best to merge with the crowd. His intentions must have been good, but I have to live with guilt and fear for the rest of my life; although I have been advised to go with the flow. Sometimes, I question myself if my life is actually a lie.

I was drowned in deep thoughts when the celebration began, and, as is customary, I had to cut my birthday cake. I admit that I liked all the attention and gifts I received at my workplace. I had mixed feelings, like I wearing high heels. It feels beautiful on the outside, but it’s hard not to accept that deep down my heart, I yearn to change into flats! Later on, after reaching home, I complained to my mother about not receiving any gifts on my “official birthday” on call, to which she laughed and politely responded that I shall receive my gift on time on New Year, on my “real birthday."

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