The Emergency Exit by Shristi Nangalia

I am an 'Interior Design' student. This course in particular, has made me observant.  Observant of little details related to buildings, interior decor products, new materials etc. From the skirting on the walls to the false ceiling designs, I keep noticing everything, unintentionally.

The phase of internship exposed me to various sides of Indian society, the prevailing culture and ethical bonds. Some sides which are creative and extravagant but some critical and sensitive to the bone.

I joined an ID firm in Howrah. It is located in the Central Avenue on M.G. Road. The firm is part of an office building, three stories high. The building was previously a residential type, I guessed from the exterior. But now, it is transformed, old, and very old. The huge rusted metal entrance door stands on the footpath. It leads us to a big atrium, covered by a green translucent corrugated sheet, making everything green, dark and dull. Various rooms surround the atrium, some rooms used as a store, some occupied by people but still very under-nourished. The staircase is on the right of the entrance. It runs throughout the height of the building. The lift well is beside the staircase, hollow.

The firm I joined is on the second floor. A long curved corridor surrounds the atrium on all floors. The railings are not at all reliable. They squeak and sway even when the wind blows. All the rooms on the second floor are occupied by other firms- an insurance company, an offset printers and a doctor's clinic. It was when I looked around from the staircase to find my firm, when I noticed the emergency exit, right on the opposite corner. It was locked. Who locks an emergency exit?

As I walked towards my firm, I stumbled on a big piece of wood which extruded from the railing of the corridor, making me loose balance. What a start to the new day! I was placed on a table beside the window, which opened into the corridor. I was disappointed about the infrastructure of the firm but my boss was a really humble and fatherly person. From my seat, I could see the doors to other offices, the emergency exit and the extruded piece of wood from my seat.

Not many people visited the insurance company and the printers, but there was a constant flow of patients to the doctor's clinic. Dr. Ray is a very renowned physician of the area, my boss says. He even owns this building. I saw local Bengali families with their children, women from north-eastern India and old people with sticks come on a regular basis.

After about 2 weeks of my internship, I got a welcome party from my boss at office, chai and club kachori. I was enjoying the feast on my seat when I saw something familiar. There was a woman cleaning the corridor.  She was Tibetan, I guessed from her face. She was not dressed like a maid. She wore a skirt and a top, clean and tidy. That was not a usual thing to see. Boss declared a holiday that day, after lunch.

The next day, I was working on my desktop when I heard a loud thud outside the window. A cute guy, about my age, stumbled and fell on the floor due to the extruding piece of wood. That is when I noticed, the emergency door was lighted from inside, and it was not locked. It bought a sense of satisfaction because it should not have been locked earlier. An emergency exit is very useful at the time of... emergencies obviously. And about the cute guy, I wished he was working on the same floor as mine!

A few days later, my boss was out to Sealdah to a site. I was roaming about in the building during lunch time. There are offices in the first floor too. I saw the Tibetan woman climbing down the staircase from the first to the ground floor. I was climbing down too, just behind her. She wore the same skirt and top, but they were untidy and loose now. I thought of talking to her but I am the shy type. I saw her unlocking one of the rooms on the ground floor and closing the door being her.

I went out of the building to a nearby book stall that I always wanted to visit since I was in Howrah. There were not many books of my type. I bought a newspaper instead and returned back. I spent the rest of my day making an estimate for a client. I hated those calculations!

The next day I was late to office. I accidentally hit a big guy while climbing the staircase in a hurry. He was a fat guy with a big face. He had a briefcase in his hand and a stethoscope round his neck. He must be Dr. Ray. I felt as if he was staring at me as I ran past him. I carefully dodged the extruded wood piece, without stumbling. My boss never complained when I was late.

That day, I noticed something weird. I saw around lunch time, Dr. Ray came out of his clinic, opened the locks of the emergency exit door, went inside and switched the lights on. After 5 minutes or so, the lights went off but Dr. Ray did not come out. I was shocked to see the sweeper, the Tibetan woman, walking slowly towards the emergency exit. She went in and my knees started trembling. I watched, waited. After about an hour, Dr. Ray came out. The lights were still off. While pulling out the handkerchief from his pocket, he went into his clinic.

I did not see the woman again that day. I kept wondering about her. About THEM.

I was back onto my seat in office the next day. I had nothing to do. Boss was out of station again. I opened my cabinet to find my internship diary but I found the newspaper that I bought the other day. I carelessly started reading the headlines. But one did catch my attention-

Nepal Earthquake: More than 160 trafficked Nepalese rescued by India in aftermath of quake

Activists said risks were much higher after the quakes when traffickers or 'brokers' duped devastated families who had lost their homes and breadwinners to hand over themselves and their children with the promise of a monthly salary and a good job in India.

Yet the reality is very different: girls and women not recruited into prostitution are sold as domestic slaves in India and other countries, while boys are taken into forced bonded labor.

My heart sank after reading the news article. I was shivering. Something hit my head. I ran to the ground floor to talk to the Tibetan woman. She was not there in her room. I started searching, her cupboard, the table drawers, and her bag. Her bag! I found what I needed. It was a voter ID card. It read-

Name- Saili Gurung

Federal Republic of Nepal

After a few days, I bought the newspaper again, from the same stall. This time I was reading the headlines with a smile.

Two persons held for human trafficking; two girls and a woman rescued

A doctor and his wife were arrested for alleged human trafficking for bonded prostitution and labour. The two girls were found at their residence and the woman was found at their office building. The three are rescued and sent to protection home, police said.

A few days later, I was back on my table beside the window. I glanced out. The doctor’s clinic was closed in locks and the emergency exit wasn’t. Perfect!