Leaving office should be the best part of any employee’s work day. Except ofcourse if you are a porn star.. but that is irrelevant here. Anyways what I am saying is sometimes, and in my case, most of the times things don’t pan out the way we want them to. Here is how stressful things usually get after I pack up from work in the evening.
The first culprit here is the architect who designed my office building. Why do I have to walk all the way to the end of the corridor to go to the washroom? As soon I reach the elevator on my way, some senior staff (usually middle aged women) hold the elevator for me inviting me in. I cannot possibly tell them (while the entire crew inside the elevator stare at me) that I need to take a piss. So I hold back and go in convincing myself that there is a wash room in the ground floor as well. While in the elevator, I try not to start a conversation as again, I have to cut it short once we’re in the ground floor in order to excuse myself to go and take my glorious piss. Meanwhile the elevator stops in the 2nd floor just so the people can say one last prayer for the day to the Ganapathi statue that faces the elevator. They do it in such unison that I have to join them just so I won’t ruin their perfect sync. After what feels like 3 to 4 hours, we reach the ground floor and I run to the wash room pretending as if I am busy and late for a meeting. As I get ready to do the much anticipated, my boss walks in and takes the stall next to me.
“What man.. how’s it going?”
“Oh hehe hi sir..” my usual greeting and then there is the awkward silence. Here’s my problem. I take piss in privacy and when people, especially older men are around in public rest rooms, my body seem to disagree with my intentions. So there I am talking to myself,
“Come on man. Three of your four grand parents are respected teachers. The other is a nursing superintendent who assisted in saving countless lives and you cannot even take piss in the public rest room. Shame on you.”
It takes time for me but once it is done, I go to the sink, wash up and wipe my hands dry and just as I am about to open the door, I see the handle is wet. Goddammit!!! Why do people do that?? Can’t they dry their hands first? Idiots. But the problem here is much bigger. As soon as I leave, my boss is going to think that I was that asshole who wouldn’t wipe his wet hand before opening the door. That leaves me with one awful choice but I cannot clean that handle. That filth belongs to some idiot who might have Ebola or whooping cough. I don’t want to catch that shit. So before my boss could finish, I come back to sink and start washing my face just to save time.
“Aah the idiots who won’t dry their hands before opening the door!!” by boss says visibly irritated.
Phewww…narrow escape.
“Yeah I know sir. Lazy people.” I say giving him a cannot-change-these-people look. I quickly follow him out so that I need not touch the door myself. Mission accomplished. No wait, this is just the first 10 minutes. My god it is stressful!!
After another ten minute walk to the railway station, I wait for the local train which usually is a few minutes late. Only when I am on time that is. Come late one day, and be assured the train is on time and you missed it. That is perhaps how the universe takes revenge on me for not being empathetic enough I guess (I laugh at people who have a lisp..hahaha) So I wait there trying to ignore the judgmental looks of about-to-retire aged uncles working for various government offices near my office. I keep my headphones on looking at the pigeons fly and reflecting upon the poor choices I have made in life. Meanwhile, a couple of these gentlemen look at me strangely and keep saying something to each other. I silently pause my iPod without removing my headphones and try to listen what they were talking about.
“Kids these days… Wasting money on things like these. They don’t talk to people anymore.” I hear one of them saying. Promptly supported by vigorous nods from the other. They thought I was some college student, which I have to admit is a little flattering but then, I can be a jerk under pressure. Calmly removing my head phones,
“Listening to the same songs again and again is better than talking to people who likes judge people just by looking at them not trying to understand their story. Especially the kind of people who seem to misunderstand the difference between being wise and being old and outdated (This obviously came out much worse when I said it in Telugu.) They then proceed to throw tantrums at me which were not audible as now I have my headphones back on. By the end of two more tracks, I see people leaving the platform. The train is cancelled and the next one isn’t coming for another hour.
Love it, hate it or envy it, the biggest advantage the IT industry has provided us is the cab service. Not the kind that rapes you though. Or yes that too may be but thankfully, nobody raped me so far. I hope. So anyway I come out of the station and take a cab which will drop me somewhere close to home from where I have to take an auto. Not so bad when compared to the bus where random men crush me from all directions while intensionally or unintentionally feeling up most of my body inappropriately. In the cab, A co-passenger tries to start a conversation about computers and smart phones and how his son is asking for the latest galaxy tab saying that it is an absolute necessity and asks me for my expert advice. I feel bad for the man as his son will probably use it to watch porn only.
“Ask him to earn it by proving himself in the next semester exams.” I tell him which seemed like a fair deal.
He gets down the cab after thanking me, gives the driver 10rs and leaves quickly before the drives asks for an extra 5rs. His poor son won’t be getting that porn tablet anyway I think. I get down soon too. The thing with taking a share-auto is that no matter what, you end up sitting with the driver because… Girls. But hey I’m not a misogynist so let’s leave it there. They truly deserve the back seat. Chivalry isn’t dead ladies and gentlemen and our auto rickshaws are diesel powered proofs. After almost an hour and half journey from office to home, I get unusually hungry as usual and decide to take home a heavy dinner. I walk towards the parcel counter in one of our multi coloured bawarchis. Even before buying the token the guy sees and shouts,
“Ek chicken afghani, chaar roomal roti aur ek chicken fried rice.”
I nod in approval (as it was my regular order) feeling proud and embarrassed at the same time. Once again I wait looking at the heavy traffic on the road and laughing at mankind for chasing around things that don’t matter in this whole drama of life and realizing that everything perishes in the face of death.
“Mr. Afghani” he calls me showing me my package.
People look at me confused and at this point I don’t even have the energy or intension to give a thought to what was happening. All I want is to go home, take a warm bath, eat happily and read. After the first is over, and soon after I open the package, I find paneer butter masala instead of chicken afghani. I have not met a guy who was offered a blowjob but ended up getting a circumcision. But if I did, he would know exactly how I felt at that moment. So much for Mr. Afghani!! Too tired to go back and fight for justice, I eat the paneer curry and by the end of it, drown in some guilt induced by my weightloss plans. I try to recover with a chilled bottle of diet Pepsi (shamelessly) and proceed to make the obligatory phone calls and messages before going to sleep hoping that tomorrow is going to be better.
Love and Peace.
The Cannibal 