The story starts with a full bladder and
obviously the discomforts associated with it. Though it is not a new thing to
happen, and, of course, everyone has undergone this grave painful and piteous
state. Ranging from a boring classroom to a bumpy ride, during a meeting or
perhaps amidst a matinee show- nature's call comes anywhere, anytime, unwarned
and unnoticed.
To start with the journey of a common man,
(popularly known as aam admi), he suffers a lot with this. Not because he is
diabetic or a urinal psychopath but simply for the fact that there are
abundance of these common men in the nation. So, with a plethora of alike
broods also comes a gush of wind. That lifts us up to the second level of the
conversation, the talks about discharge. Just because every inflow brings with
it an outflow, every lock carries with it a key similarly a common man's intake
is sure to bounce back with an outflow tract.
The first tale is of a high stature
entrepreneur who got struck in this difficulty of transaction of body fluids
way back on a first date. Oops! What a calamity. Let's know the story with
sympathy and tolerance. So here he was, on table number three-o-one of a
Chinese restaurant, dining with a new girl all set in black Raymonds. Impressive and pounding was he and the girl pulled in
on him. They dined and marched out hand- in- hand. The chauffer brought the car
and he escorted the girl in, popping behind her in anticipation. Half an hour
later on the highway, barely five minutes from the girl's stop, he felt an
unbearable urge to loosen himself, and with no options at hand, he asked the
chauffer to pull up at the side. Off he went and drained himself out till the
last drop and returned back to find an empty rear seat. Hard luck, Mr.
Entrepreneur!
In another similar account of hardship, an MLA
got loo-struck during his wait for the rally's speech. Finding it difficult to
withstand, he took off for the arroyo behind the stage. He was in the middle of
his transition when his name was called upon on stage and in discombobulation
and anxiety, he wetted his white linens. Hiding the stains he went on stage,
wiping his fingers on the bumps. With an unhygienic wet feel inside the pajama,
he started with his first words and as he signed off a few minutes later, the
committee organizers stuffed his unwashed hands with ladoos and jalebis. Oh!
poor MLA ji, you couldn't refuse the wet hands. The sweets, did they taste
different?
Now, let's proceed to a real encounter that I
recently faced. I was at a friend's office, discussing a new business venture
and laying out strategies to make profit and bag money in the coming months,
when I felt nature's secret buzz. The biological call came exactly at the verge
of contributing an idea to the discussion. Unwillingly and awkwardly, I had to
excuse myself from the room. I descended the staircase and reached a tea stall
on the road, asked a thin, fragile man the whereabouts of a toilet. He was busy
smoking and hardly gave a response. Only I knew the state of pettiness and
vulnerability. Again I mocked him politely from outside, but raging in the
boiling water from within. "There," he signaled with his chin,
tilting his head a little, "go behind that parked bus."
"There?" I asked in aversion.
"Isn't there a toilet around?"
And this is what he replied, "In India,
every man is a counselor, every direction is right and every place is a
toilet."
*Read this blog on the webpage of TOI:
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