Julie & Kishore Read Online Free PDF Page B

gone straight from finishing school to
working at the clinic so I was bored sitting at home doing nothing. I had
absolutely no idea what to do next, knowing only I wanted to do something
exciting and different. I even thought about joining the army, that wasn’t
boring, would take me out of my comfort zone and would turn my life around.
    As
another week went by I became increasingly anxious, I had to do something
drastic to change the course of where I was heading. Then as often happens in
these situations, a friend of a friend happened to mention she knew of a
vacancy at Office Supply Warehouse or O.S.W.( everybody
knew the jingle from the radio and TV advertisements – O.S.W … O.S.W. – your stationery needs are no
trouble, at…O.S.W!) They were looking for a person to take inventory and supply
office products to companies.

 
    I
put the phone down, I had got myself an interview and after a short meeting
they offered me the job. I decided then and there to take it. Working at O.S.W.
would be a good fill-in position until something better came along. My job
description was to visit the workplaces on the company’s database, inventory
their stock and take orders for their stationery requirements. This included
paper, paperclips, envelopes, staplers, staples and even
post–it notes. The clincher of the deal for me was any additional sales above
usual orders would result in me getting a commission.       
    A
few weeks after starting work, I wondered why I had accepted the role in the
first place. It wasn’t, in reality, my ideal job. But, with a clenched smile I
carried on, biding my time, waiting to be shown the yellow brick road…the next
path in my life.

 
 
    CHAPTER EIGHT

 
    The Hindi word for heart is dil.

 
    The
day after arriving in his new country Kishore again eagerly scanned the
Situations Vacant columns in the New Zealand Herald. He nearly
missed it too but there in the small print was an advertisement for a junior at
McAllister and Co . Accountants, it
sounded promising. Kishore quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number.
After waiting a few minutes he was put through, to his surprise, to Mr Colin
McAllister himself and fate stepped in.
    Kishore
arrived at the office of McAllister and Co . ,
the day after. Ready for his interview he wore his best suit, in fact the only
suit he had brought with him from India. Clutched in his hand he held a folder
that contained his certificates and resume. Approaching the front desk he was
greeted by a smiling receptionist who introduced herself as Gillian. With the
click-clack of her heels on the wooden floor she led him to Mr McAllister’s
office. As Kishore stepped inside, Gillian left , closing the door behind her. Mr McAllister rose and extended his hand to shake
Kishore’s. He was a mature, stout man, with balding grey hair, a bushy
moustache and even bushier eyebrows but his eyes
were kind.
    From
the moment Kishore sat in the seat offered by Mr McAllister the interview was a
blur. He barely took more than a gla n ce at Kishore’s
credentials, being more interested in telling Kishore, he too was an immigrant
but from Mother England . That he was
a soldier in World War Two and had served in India. He happily regaled Kishore
with yarns of chai wallah’s and punka wallah’s .
    With
Kishore barely saying a word other than “Hello,” Mr McAllister again stood and
was pumping his hand. Giving him back his file of certificates he declared,
“Well, Mr Patel, welcome aboard, we look forward to seeing you raring to go
Monday morning.”

 
    For
two years Kishore happily immersed himself in his new life in New Zealand and
new employment. He had fared much better than some of his fellow immigrants who
had believed the message given out on the video about New Zealand being the
land of milk and honey. They were struggling to find work and understandably
anxious about their prospects.

 
      One quiet unassuming day at work, he noticed a
fresh