My youngest co-worker

'J' has big wide eyes, is short and stocky and almost always wears a smile. She talks in a robotic-tone, and speaks only when necessary. She scampers about, filing attendence sheets, making folders, tidying tables and at 80, is the oldest person I know who wants to learn how to use a computer. She's learning, sometimes peering over her thick glasses to find alphabets on the keyboard and cursor on the screen, but the mouse manages to evade her grip.

I am most curious about J. I want to know why, at 80, she walks into office three days a week, all the way from West London, 10 tube stations and a thousand flights of stairs away. So one afternoon, during a lull, I walk upto my boss and coax him to tell all about her. "She's always been a part of this organisation. Perhaps ever since this place started, 30 years ago. I think she considers this home," he says.

I imagine a 50-yr-old J, without her white mop of hair, and much less wrinkles. I learn that she lives alone, even at this age, and is so attached to this office because that's all she has. I can see why she does what she does with so much passion - filing papers, photocopying for others, laminating certificates... - she considers this and so many other so called "mundane" tasks her duty. This is her way of getting on with the rest of her evening years, her way of keeping up with the new-age fast track world.

One day, I'm leave my workplace the same time that she is. She's carrying two bags but walks without the slightest of limp. I still ask her if she needs help, but she shakes her head. "You should go ahead, and dont you wait for me." She isn't rude, but there is a firmness in her voice that makes me give her space. She looks like a grandmother, but does not behave like one. She isn't soft, mild or even delicate. She is self-sufficient, and proud to be so.

I wonder what makes her tick at this age. I wonder if she has had a family - parents, husband/s, kids, siblings, - where are they? What is it that makes her more attached to the office than to her own blood? Is there a sad, lonely old lady under that tough exterior? I don't know. And I hope not.

But as her colleague, I want to see her every day. I smile when I see her stooping over the keyboard, typing random words on the notepad. I wait for that quiet knock on my desk at 3 pm everyday, and that tender voice saying, "bye anjou - see you tomorrow."

I want to continue admiring this tough little cookie.