Who feels like waking up early Monday Morning to go to office after a lovely Sunday.
Lovely Sunday included long bike rides, Pasta,Race – 2 movie (Alright, I only enjoyed the dresses and my fav song ‘Lat lag gayi’) and KFC Zing –Kong box.
But somehow, you cannot escape the whole office cycle, unless and until you are planning to go for higher studies or you are planning to leave project (or being thrown out of it – depends)
So, the lazy Monday started.
Somehow got up and prepared myself for work.
Reached office.
Opened my stupid Desktop.
Connected to Microsoft Exchange (read Outlook)
Waited for my TL nad assign me some work. (I really hoped for work today)
But eventually all failed.
No work.
No fun.
Sitting idle, a fellow team member came and we went for lunch.
Boring lunch.
The usual round of talks (read gossip, bitching, mocking) was going on.
The usual round of eating ( read snatching or envying what other had ordered ).
The usual stuff was going on.
Suddenly I felt like vomiting.
The body temperature had gone up.
I was all boiling sitting there in the shade.
(Okay, I was having a bad throat since morning anda bit exhausted too)
I decided to go to wellness room.
The forehead, the hands, everything made me believe I was having fever.
I got the doctor to check my temperature.
While the thermo-meter was in my mouth, recording the body’s heat, I was preparing in my mind to leave office early.
Fever being first reason for my TL to send me off earlier and no work being the second.
But then, the doctor’s word made it all disappear.
“It’s normal”.
I was not disappointed (I swear to GOD )
I came back to my workstation smiling (as I didn’t want to give my parents another reason as fever to worry about me today).
And believe it or not, but still the body was tired, the temperature was there but now the sad depressing feeling of fever was gone after hearing her words “It’s normal”.
The human mind is just so simple to control I must say!
We feel good the moment we are told we are fine.
And we feel depressed the moment we are made to realize that.
"Yes, Akanksha. I love you too."
"Sonu! Sonu, Sonu. SONU! Wake up. 6:30! College nahi jaana?"
"Haan? Haan!"
Waking up like everyday, I don my bathrobe, step out on the chilling tiled bathroom floor, and start to brush. And as usual get lost thinking about him. Thinking about him sort of helped me learn heightened multi-tasking. I think about him all day long without forgetting to do any of the jobs that I do. He's more like a daily routine now, than a desire.
12/12/12 9:00 am
"AKANKSHA! Where are you off to, man?"
"I'm coming. Need to wish Satya and Shiraz luck. They have their juries."
"Bah!"
12/12/12, 9:02 am
"Tambi! All the best man!"
As usual turning around to exit to the ground floor through my favourite staircase, I see him. I finally saw him, after two weeks. Two long weeks of not seeing the sole reason why my college looked pretty.
That jacket. I'd seen that jacket. On Facebook. His favourite picture of mine. He's the single most beautiful mark I'd ever seen. Of the fear of bumping into him, I turned around, and spent yet another unnecessary minutes with Satya, trying to understand her model.
20/12/12, 2:30 am, Yet another night.
After slogging myself for yet another night, I finally hit the bed.
*sounds of walls crashing, glasses breaking and trees burning*
"Have you seen him? HEY! Have you seen him somewhere? Did you find him?"
"Akanksha, don't go on the second floor. It's all burning."
"Hello! Is anybody there? Hello?"
"Akanksha? Is that you?"
And seeing him I happily flock towards him like a puppy, and jump into his embrace.
"What're you still doing up here? You could have died!"
"I was looking for you. I couldn't find you." Even with the world ending, I could only hear his voice instead of the crackling glasses. I shook my head like a confused puppy.
"What?"
"Yes. The world's ending. I wanted to be with you in my last few minutes left."
"So do I. So do I. I love you. I always have. Since the day I first saw you in college."
"As I love you."
"Really?"
"Yes, Akanksha. I love you too."
"Sonu! Sonu, Sonu. SONU! Wake up. 6:30! College nahi jaana?"
"Here, take it", he said pulling out something from his pocket.
It was pitch dark on the pavement so there was no question of making out as to what was being pulled from the smart blue shirt's pocket.
"Keep it", and a yellow flower was placed on her palm.
A flower that had earlier that day survived from being crushed under the foot of some devotee.
"So from where is this coming?", was her next question.
It was not the general category of flowers which she had received in the past.
"It's from the temple", he replied.
"Temple??", she was startled to hear that.
"Yes, the one which is near to my office, remember?", he said.
"Yea...yea...okay", she got the source of the flower.
"But you went to the temple? When ? Why and with whom?", a lot of inquiries were done. Usual nature of women.
"I don't need a company to go to a temple", he found the question way too weird to answer.
"But yaar, I don't know whose temple I visited?", he said.
"You don't know? Matlab (what do you mean?)", she was confused now.
"I mean, I went to the temple, offered the prayers, got the Pundit's blessings but I actually don't know which God or Goddess I worshipped !!", his reply was enough for her to keep laughing for next few minutes.
So Darlings, When was the last time you went for a haircut?
Well, I went for a haircut a month back.
Shortening of my black long hair wasn't what I was looking for.
I just needed the front ends to be styled a bit and the back ends, the split ends to be precise, to be cut off.
As Simple as it could be, were my demands, and I swear I explained it as simple as I could to him.
But then the barbers or wait, for ladies, it's stylists, right (wink), they will remain what they are!
Wetting my hair, making front ends to fall on my eyes, making me to bend down my hair so that he could do all that trimming on his own at the back, I was starting to understand his tricks, but too late!
After the cut was done, my hair, earlier falling enough down the shoulders were now made to reach only shoulder length. I admit, I loved the new style, hair freed from all split ends and rough edges felt smoother, but the length is what depressed me.
And more depressing is what that person asked me after showing my hair to me in the back mirror, which they usually hold after giving ladies a haircut, showing off their styles at the back,"Madam, is the length okay?".
"How do you say?",was what I thought in my mind.
He asked so promptly as if I were to reply with a "NO", then he would have returned my hair lost length back to me!
And am sure this might have happened with you too? Ain't it ;) Didn't you just felt like murdering the other person for shortening the hair length though might by just a few centimeters ;)
Oh ! We ladies will remain such lovely ladies only! Getting sad for such little silly lovely things :P
I know the title for the post is quiet funny enough to grab your attention to read the post.Hope you won't be disappointed as I won't be making it too long for you all to read.
Few months back, while blog-walking, I came across a blog post, "30 before I turn 30". It was a list of thirty things that the blogger had made, and he was ticking his list, doing a two or more thing every year. The list included a variety of things to be done. Like doing bungee-jumping to attending a rock concert, meeting Avril Lavigne to doing some nasty stuff to at a funeral. The list wasn't disclosed but some of the things were boasted there that he had checked on his list.
Now, my mind too started ticking. Every nice thing we see, we want it! Human Nature.
I have been a kind of sober, mommy's girl but then I am not one of those who would miss the fun. I just mould things my way. Hence, 30 after I am 30! I don't have a boyfriend to accompany me in the things I have planned to do nor do I have a brother or a sister for that company. I have good friends (read Best friends) but na, I have loads other things to do with them. Now what other way is left for the poor girl like me to choose ! Oh No, No, I am not so innocent as I look!
I have a list, actually still preparing it, and now that I have jotted down what all I would like to do, all I need is somebody. Boyfriend thing is a No No scenario in my life, I haven't been fortunate enough in that department yet, No Regrets, but definitely I will be married one day! Giving me License to anything I wish! ( Big Grin ) And My husband will have to have to do all that that list includes! (Devil Laugh)
Oh! I am so Cruel at times !
P.S.:I have been looking for 10 days challenge, where the blogger introduces itself to its readers through a list of 10 things, writing one every day, I have searched a lot many blogs but couldn't find one. If by chance you have it on your blog and are reading this post, please let me know :)
Yes, this is in dedication
to the big fat clan I belong to-The Arora battalion as I like to fondly call
them. I hail from a very widely spread out family tree whose roots and branches
are hell bent on spreading in as far a direction as would be physically
possible for them. Often people ask me, ‘So how many people are there in your
in-laws?’ And I say, ‘You name an in-law that should be and surely would a hand
be raised to mark present!’
If I got you baffled here just
imagine a typical Sooraj Barjatya flick with an over the top family saga and endless
characters taking up the screen space-you’d get a picture of things in my
humble abode, only a bit doubled for the members in line here go on and on and
on. After my wedding I even jokingly asked our chaiji, my father-in-law’s mother, ‘Aapke zamaane mein family planning nahi hote the na?’ We have five
generations living in the same house and all together. And hey, we better not
come in the eyes of the Population Control Board else taxes and fines would make us national headlines.
I remember the time I had
just got engaged to my dearly beloved. Before putting a tick mark on me by the
‘boy’ there had to be a preview of the ‘girl’ from the boy’s side. So a meeting
was arranged in a temple ground and my mom, me and a family friend who got the
negotiations started, waited there under the shade of a tree with bated breath,
to let them come and the on-the-display ceremony to commence. A big car came to
a screeching halt, followed by another car not so big. I was wondering if a
police escort drill is under way, when there emerged a seasoned smart lady,
followed by another and then yet another and ho!ho! another still! A pretty
young thing came out next and then another and another and more galore! Made me
wonder how just two cars could have possibly contained so many people or did
they sit on each other’s laps and in the bonnet and come?
Oh my good god! Almost the whole
jing bang had arrived to inspect whether the prospective new entrant in the family
was good enough or not. I looked here and I looked there-anywhere I looked, a
specimen of the Arora battalion smiled sheepishly at me and I smiled back. I
could sense being eyed from top to bottom and didn’t know what to do to hide my
bountiful bottom for even if I faced one-my butt faced another. The
introductions came about followed by-what have you studied beta and what do you
like to do in your free time- I mean reallyyyy, I was wondering at the back of
my mind-they STILL ask these questions? Thank god for small mercies, I didn’t
have to bring in a tray of tea and enumerate which all snacks I had made for then they would have to suffice with Maggi and
whether the tea cosy was hand embroidered by moi. I was almost anticipating the
unfurling of a scroll with some questionnaire and was gearing up with my
general knowledge and home science when soon they lost interest in me almost insulting hain na? and a
bitching and gossiping session went under way against those unfortunate members
who were not present there at that time I later realized that it was a sort of family tradition, carried on perhaps through generations-a little gossip keeps our doctors away. And my god, they were explicit-it was
as though I was suddenly transparent and so were they-I mused, ‘Kya family hain!’
Anyways, I passed the
litmus test and also finally the boy-meeting-the-girl- test which was strictly "private"-just twenty people from
the clan as against four of mine with
flying colours because my dearly beloved says he was hooked at first sight. The
‘rooka’ ceremony at my beloved’s home soon came by and yo-ho, more members and
more introductions! I was almost tempted to check the closets to ascertain if
there were few of them hiding in there because they kept tumbling out at
astonishingly regular intervals. 'Beta, yeh hain bade papa, yeh chote papa, yeh
Abc papa, yeh Cde papa and more papas and chachas and tayajis and buas and
masis and mamis' and endless list of cousins popping out and asking, bhabhi, you
remember me don’t you? Ya sure, I would say-you are the cute one, you are the
intelligent one, you are the sweet one because honest to goodness, I would be
damned if I said I remembered what their parents addressed them with yes,diplomacy is my middle name sometimes. Since the gift envelopes in my hand were doubling
with the same lightning speed, I gave up counting heads in a while for even
in utter helplessness we women tend to not lose sight of monetary delights
amassing within our reach to splurge.
After that was the toe touching
ritual. I was pleading to bhagwan ji in my mind-why can’t they all just stand in a
line so in one breathe I go about touching everyone’s feet and get over with it. I was even contemplating to suggest the flying-toe touching version like the flying kiss ones. I mean, I had to
bend and then stand, bend again and straighten up, hold the neck of my kurta from sinking dangerously low and
then bend again. I truly believe that severe back aches in women are an
indirect outcome of the toe touching rituals that they are subjected to and
also if everyone lived in joint families like these they would not need gyming never mind the fact that I still do-it proves I am exceptional
in more ways than one.
At the next meeting with
my dearly beloved, I went all armed to face the crisis-a big art sheet, a
pencil and a rubber. I drew a big tree and then a flowchart of the members and
their siblings with offspring and their off springs and any other extensions I
should know of. All names neatly written and relations enumerated for me to go
home and mug up and also tell my parents so that they do not commit any blunders that cause the words, "Baraat wapas le chalo" uttered at the mandap and me saying a long, screeching 'Naaahiinnnnn!' And here I had thought
my education days were over! My father-
in-law has four real brothers and a sister and then his father had many
siblings and thereby a cartload of chachas and cousins whom I don’t think I
would be able to humanly categorize or recognize even now or ever in this
birth!
So like this, a nuclear
family girl got entry into a big household, thronged with people of all shapes
and sizes, egos and magnanimities, sweetness and sourness-and boy what a ride
it has been!
If we could ever collect everyone at one place to be clicked, we'd probably look like this!
Each one here has welcomed
me with such open arms in their existing fabrics that I never felt that I
didn’t belong here in the first place. Being the youngest I feel so overwhelmed
when everyone pampers me to the hilt-all my eccentricities are ignored and
whims upheld as they go out of their way to show how much they care. And the
children of the house and I, have formed mutual admiration
societies. When the whole clan gets together, the guffaws
can be heard till miles down the street and the dirtiest of naughty minds were all born
and nurtured here. We can never have small gatherings or small hearts. Oh God!
I must have done something right to deserve this and hope and pray that I and
they continue to do so!
Today I just generally sat
imagining me on my death bed...
I have just turned 50 and
on the night of the grand half century celebrations, I fainted-mind you, not
swooned for I am sure even at 50, I would still be waiting for a Mills &
Boons kinda guy to walk into my whatever-is-remaining life and sweep me off my
feet*sigh!* Hey bhagwan, aakhri ichcha he samajh ke poore kar dena?
Near and dear or rather the envious ones thought it could be because of an overdose of Vodka.
They would gloat that I’ve finally succumbed to the urges of excesses. One vodka
is generally enough to get me tipsy. They must have made me drink five-one for
each decade and there I collapsed unable to see the morning glory of a hangover
in the cosy confines of the bedroom I have lived in for 28 years since my shaadi. I am assuming
we’d still be in the same house for my beloved is a mamma’s boy and by that
time he would have converted me into HIS mamma’s girl too. Whoooooooooa, now
that I am anyways dying-hey you up there, could I die before THAAAAT? Phuleeeeeeeeeeeze?
Consider that as my second last ‘aakhri
ichcha’ab at least gimme a list of last wishes. I am dying ain’t I? That should
be reason enough to let me deserve it!
So I wake up in the
morning sometime and look at the bleak white walls of the hospital and finally
get to ask the dialogue I have always desperately wanted to ask: “Mein kahan hoon?” Thank god I did not
die without asking this or else aatma-ke-shaanti
crap kaise hota and I would have to return back as a bhatakti spirit asking mortals ‘mein
kahan hoon’ and hear in reply from them, “Exactly, we can’t see you either-kahan se kaun bol raha hain?” and the bugging
hide and seek that would follow, would make me wish I were dead or rather dead
again or whatever!
Anyways, drowsy and with
no clue of last night I look around at the little crowd that has gathered
outside that room...
I assume we are in a five
star hotel room Note to Dear beloved-at least at fifty and on my
death bed, please take me to one of those ‘burn-your-pockets-here’ hospitals,
the kinds Anna went to-ab us time paisa
bacha ke bhi kya fayda, upar to mere se he milna padega na!
So my dearly beloved holds
my hand and gazes at me with the lost look that was perpetually on veteran
actor A.K. Hangal’s face and I assume the worst-
Maybe the maid
has left us...
Maybe I had a car
accident on the way and they’ve cut my legs...
Maybe last
night’s party went over budget and now they’ve kept us in the hotel suite so
that upon getting up we could do the dishes...
Maybe I have lost
my memory and he’s telling me about it and I have to now pretend that I have
not.
And he breaks into a
sob...
I offer the napkin kept by
my side and he does a good blowing job of it. Some habits die hard, old age mein bhi blowing!!!!!!! I read
somewhere that sneezing opens up the lungs-at the rate my beloved sneezes, that
is @ about 20 blood curdling sneezes a day, his lungs would have expanded
enough to accommodate Earth, Mars and half of Jupiter.
And he says,
“Baby, please be
strong...” ya right, as if that’s not what I have done for 50
years of my blessed life. I could give Arnold Swarzeneggar or whatever way that
is spelt, his run for money in this game
“The doctors did some tests
on you...” whoa, he offered me as a guinea pig? I knew it-those
damn life insurance policies in my name would tempt him enough some day to put
me up as bait.
“...And there’s bad news.
You have lukatmerokfromasia!”
I take in my saliva...
“You mean to say I have
the ‘look-at-me-I-rock-from-Asia’ attitude?”
“No baby, it is a new disease,
that blah, blah, blah you don’t want the gory details of
it now, do you? Let 2027 come and they would have come up with a definition,
till then spare me dude. Helloooooooo-I am dying, that’s the least you can do?
“You just have 4-5 days
more to live....”
And buwahaaaaaaaaaaa-nopes,
that’s not another disease or a big laugh-that’s my beloved howling at the top
of his expanded lungs at the thought of perhaps-“Who would pack my suitcases
now when I go travelling? Who would put my clothes in the wardrobe or my food
on my plate? Who would cut my eyebrow hair when they grow too long? Who would pretend to be asleep if I come too
close almost every night?” And the bawls would make the hospital staff wonder,
if not just me but the entire women-kind has been doomed to disappear in 5 days
and hence the mourning!
I look at the walls-blank
faced oh come on, how would I know how else or best to react in
this situation? Pehle kabhi kisse ne bola
he nahi ke mere pass sirf 5 din hain jeene ko...first time mar rahe hoon na!
I then sit and remember
how some twenty years ago I had bragged on a funny blog that I had created, about
how I would like to get tapko-ed or parlok sidharo-ed at the age of 50. Damn
your accounts Bhagwan ji, tabhi kaan laga
ke sun na tha ke mein kya maang rahi hoon?
Where were you
when I asked you to bring me Hrithik Roshan?
Where were you
when I asked you to make me 36-24-36 or make it 40-22-34 since we are getting
it custom made anyways?
Where were you
when I asked you to let me help a passer-by on the road from getting crushed
under a truck and he happening to be a millionaire, would sign up his millions
in my name and die the next day?
Where? Where?
Where?
Some sense of timing you
have! Hmphf, aapse to upar aake nipat te
hoon!
Phew! So I am finally on
my death bed now. After taking three pages in reaching here from the title that
you read above, I better make the destination as worthwhile as your journey mere naazuk kandhon pe umeedon ka itna bojh, still I don’t f@#$ing lose
any weight-there is no justice in this world, I tell you!
Let me see now-only 5 days
to live!!!!!!
I need these many days
just to write farewell speeches to my friends, family, students, associates and
chance encounters, my crushes and could be crushes, my relations and those who
pretended to be ones or I pretended to be theirs. Not to forget the doodhwaala
and the maali bhaiyya, the watchman oh, how I miss having
a pet now-my speech would have sounded so much more complete. And also our social Club desk ka hottie boy who always
asked my beloved, “Aaj bhabhi ji nahi
aayen?” whenever I would not come. And also suggestively, “Aaj aap bhaiyya ko chodh aaten phir!” whenever
next I would come with him! (‘chodh’ matlab leave okay) And I also always
wanted to write woh Nehru-types ‘Letters to my daughter’ giving her my pearls
of wisdom garnered through experience can’t depend on my
blog to do so now, can I?
After much calculation,
not of what to do but of how many hours are left, I put up a status on my Face
book...
“Gone in 120 hours, milna hain to abhi mil lo, waise agar 20
years of my face book life mein yeh shubh kaam nahi kiya, to aapka jeena vyarth
hain. You deserve to die before me!”
I send a mass phone text
message-“Yeh sewa 5 din baad se uplabdh
nahi hoge kyonki iska prayog karne waale bhagwan ko pyaare ho rahe hain-implying you
had your chance and lost it dodo Is liye aayen aur apna shouk prakat karen” -abe shauk nahi-shouk ya shock bhi
chalega...haye, shauk ke umar to guzar gaye hoge na ab tak!
I now look forward to a
horde of secret admirers queuing up outside the room to get a glimpse of me or
tell me before I die that they loved me as they couldn’t confess to it all
their lives ya right, you have as bad a sense of timing as bhagwan ji. Kya bhagwan,
apne prototypes he mere ass pass rakhne the? *Double hmphf!*
I imagine all my thousands
of students there whom I have served-not just with my teaching skills but also by
providing an ideal location for a date away from the zaalim duniya. They’ll come up to tell me how I changed their lives
ya rite, and also helped you brought new ones into the
world too through the relationships you forged under the tables of my classroom! I conjure up a scene where there is a stampede of
sorts outside the hospital premises and such uproar created that the media
shutterbugs soon drop in to find out what’s passing!
And to my beloved and
family members...
I gave you 50 years of my
life didn’t I? Please give me the last 5 days of it for myself- To flirt till
my little heart bursts, literally. You didn’t give me the chance to pursue my
hobby during my lifetime. Now’s the right time to do pashchaatap for it aakhir aap sab ko bhi to upar he
aana hain. Let me die a happy woman and I’ll make sure I keep good
things/breeds waiting up for you when you drop in up finally!
I really like what some
wise guy has said, “If you would not like to be forgotten as soon as you are
dead-either write things worth reading or do things worth written about”. I
have tried the former and failed, now all my money in the last 5 days would be
on the latter-just DO it!
Though my concepts of
“do”ing things is a little lop sided like I am:
Old concept: Do or die
New concept: Do before you
die
Latest concept: Don’t die
until you do
My basic concept: What to
f@#$ing do?
Okay, let’s try-may be to
eat all the food I always wanted to eat, without bothering about weight gain as if I ever bothered about it anyways,
to hand out my khoon paseene ke kamaye
hue jewellery to those who’ve been nice to me in case you haven’t, there are still 5 days to make up and technically
some 17 years actually from 2011, to give
a piece of my mind to all those who were mean to me let them suffer with my mind pieces for the rest of their blessed lives as
I have suffered with it in mine.
And then my beloved finally
asks me...
“Baby, is there something
you want?”
“Yes darling, could you
get me my beautician for a last facial. I must look good in white when you take
me.”
“But you always look good
in anything. I am sure you’d be the prettiest dead woman ever!”
“Thanks, but since it’s my
last chance, why take chances honey? I must get a new hairstyle also-one that
would look good while lying down.”
“I would miss you
sooooooooooo much”
“Awwww....I will too. But
don’t worry, I’d drop in every now and then to say “Whooo hooo, look who’s
back!” especially when you’d be doing other women.”
“Baby, haven’t you heard,
you are supposed to RIP-matlab Rest in
Peace and not RIP apart your beloved’s chances of happiness finally!”
Uffffffff, can’t even say here, “Yeh sun ne se pehle mein mar kyon nahi gaye”
coz that’s already in the cards.
So there, now I wait for
Lady Death or make it Dude Doom to come and embrace me. My signing off note:
“Ho aise maut ke yaad
rakhe yeh zamana,
Duniya waalon, mere yaad
mein aanson na bahana,
Jab zyaada yaad aaye to
upar he chale aana.
Mil kar karenge gaana
bajaana, hasna hasaane, shor machana!”
Okay firstly an honest confession, more like a life-long pang of conscience being publically posted- I’ve not had many men in my life, sob, sob, sniff, sniff arre not that Lady Dracula waala had-had but woh ‘for all their sweetness’ waala had. But then I have known men-God’s grace, because many of us females live around men all our lives and still grumble-Who can understand these men?
If we really know a man, we would also know that he is somehow very strongly connected to the washroom, to such an extent that we find ourselves always looking for a hidden bathroom-umbilical cord tugging at him into that stupid shell. Can thou, god’s-gift-to-women, please spend lesser time in this heavenly abode of thine and cut the frequency before we seriously doubt at what’s happening in there? Of course we make our super ‘wild’ guesses but your activities within surpass even our wildest imagination. Yes, someday I would actually put a hidden camera inside to monitor-what you are doing in there baba, not how you are doing it...or rather ‘how’...whatever! Chi, chi!
Based on a harmless, little, personal observation and hyper imaginative post-mortem of loo goers from obviously beyond the closed doors, I stumbled upon peculiar traits and hence my pure joy at getting the chance to classify them. So next time you spot a guy, you can assess him in your mind instead of other tiresome and sometimes frustrating options like mentally stripping. Men do have breeds proven, but that for some other day...
THE GREAT THINKER
This one is a class apart-usually well dressed in social life and boisterous to the hilt. No party gets complete without his well chosen gems of witty remarks. And where does he get them from-no prizes for guessing, they all roll up to him on the pot...cuddle and cajole and create little ripples-in his mind of course.
If my hidden camera idea materialises you would probably spot him staring at the wall with his pants down, surely not admiring the tiles or noticing that spider web which never escapes the discerning female eye. He’d be lost in deliberation, wondering and pondering, analysing and creating strategies and with a few releases down from the body an almost orgasmic discharge of new ideas gets unconfined in his mental capability or saved as draft on his mobile for eruption at a suitable juncture.
Never mind how valid or significant are those ideas to the world, even his world for that matter. So please don’t disturb this thinker at this supremely serviceable task if you want to see women-kind happy and giggling; for his whole fabric would get jarred if he didn’t spend that hour there, even if his bowels had gushed out all he had....
THE HOPELESS ESCAPIST
Everyone craves for an escape route in life. This breed delves into the loo every time you push the envelope towards him with a bit too much force-
Let’s poetically ode-fy them:
“Wife’s nagging or siblings bragging-
Market dragging or boss balls grabbing...
Better option-In the loo s___ing!”
Peace and bliss like nowhere else-I’m just guessing this, no first-hand experience there.
This guy seeks comfort in this private space much like the cope-bhavans of the ancient queens-when they would be angry about something they would go into this cope-bhavan for all to know and for the king to come begging on his knees in fear of being refused the nightly bedroom adventures. Imagine all the guards gloating when Your Highness would step her dainty feet out of the bhavan with an evil accomplished grin, that would make them mutter, ‘Damn, the son of a gun, would get lucky tonight!’
Okay back to the escapist guy-in this private zone he is the master, in control-for whenever he wants he can go pants up or down, flush for all he cares, strut the length of the loo like a commander-in-charge. Who knows he may be narrating his dukh bhari dastaan to the taps and the pot or crying in the shower like filmi heroines. Just for a while, he’s in control. So let’s not take away his peace either. Hey you, continue!
THE ADVENTURER
Oh, this one is interesting. He’s basically a risk taker in life...who has never taken any risks. So here he peers into and ransacks stuff even if he’s seen them umpteenth times- like wife’s lingerie, feels much better when she’s not in it, so as to not remind him that hers was the face he was screwing last night and not Katrina’s or the next door hot neighbour’s whose rack refuses to stay in the shack.
Or he may be a house guest checking out drawers and shelves often trying on whatever he suitably can till an allergy breaks out on his face or he ends up tearing a g-string. Tch, tch, adventure without a safety belt or a security leash can be fatal for the health of skimpy clothes and skimpier imagination. Who knows maybe on a very vella day there might even be cross-dressing! But then such specimens out in the open, without getting to satiate such curious thirsts tantamount to a catastrophe! So we have no other alternative but to let him also be!
THE PERFORMER
This one my dearies is basically an artist...who got so modern with his art that the world just couldn’t fathom him! He’s the one who would pick up the shower pipe and sing like Elvis or break into a jive with lather running down his scrubby hair like Kareena smiling and rubbing herself in that soap ad my god woman, if I look around at my body and smile so much while bathing, perhaps even my body would get really wary of my intentions. He emotes before the mirror, often in a deep conversation like in a role play. He wraps his thingy in a flimsy towel, tempting for a peek to an imaginary angel who with a gaping mouth has her every pore lusting for him. Yes, I assume Sanjay Leela Bhansali was something of this and thereby made Ranbir do that towel stint in a long forgotten Bollywood flick.
His every move inside would be suave and sexy exuberating confidence on cloud nine-he plays hide and seek with the shower curtain, hugs himself in the mirror, fondles the soap and what not till an uncharitable knock at the door breaks his trance and he rushes back to score what he came in originally for. Such skills are hard to come by and not for him but for the mercy of us all who may be dragged unceremoniously to view this tragedy, we let you go too.
And for the rest, let’s not shock the world with my terms for them and cause mini heart attacks with descriptions to boot-
The Playboy Echo,
The I-just-lost-my-bowels-to-the-pot fella,
The Bombardment-er,
The Mobile Porn Stacker,
The Sleepy-on-pot Douche,
The Hush Women’s Magazine Man and so on...
So guys, I guess it’s in the best interest of everyone that you shorten what you seem to be excelling in, while ruling the kingdom of your loo or else watch us look at you with a hereby new-found eye. However, for small mercies, please do keep that toilet seat down and just clear up the ragged remains after the battles have been lost or won.
P.S. Saw something hilarious outside the washroom of a government office yesterday, where they write ‘Mahilayen’ to indicate ‘for females’; some smart ass scratched off the ‘ma’ to make it ‘hilayen’...LOL! Oh my good god!
