Pieces of the Puzzle

 

The office toilets (or 'restrooms' (??) as these people call it) got revamped. Just as you do your job, and the automatic flush does its job. *Swoooosh! Gurgle!* The first time that happened, I jumped up with fright. Actually thought someone was employed to do this by standing behind unsuspecting toilet goers. Relieved to find no one staring at my butt that was open to the elements, I breathed. *swoooosh gurgle* again! I lifted my hands and waved. The pot got flushed. I winked- the same thing happened. By the time I finished up with my little activity, I might have emptied the river Kauvery. Goo-ness me! The amount of water these Americans are willing to recycle ( or do they?) for the sake non-contamination from a few non-existent bacteria just bothered me. My early training in Chennai saw me through with a coke-can of water. *swoosh Gurgle* Holy crap! Shocked, I turned around again. It must have heard my heart beat.

 

I decided the whole hype about cleanliness was going too far as I washed my hands from a motion-sensor tap, received a few drops of pink liquid from the automatic soap dispenser and placed my soapy hands under the tap again for water to come out like every magician’s ‘Water of India’ trick. Wait a minute, an automatic soap dispenser?!!! Wow! This is why I don’t get a raise anymore. Then the hand-dryer dried my hands as I wondered about good old handkerchiefs neatly folded into the pockets. Did people swoon to their death after every bathroom visit in the olden days? Human intervention puts microbes in the endangered species list just after pandas-  the headlines will read soon, if this goes on.

Disconcerted about not touching any surface (except toilet paper) and finishing my work, I walked out of the automatic door in a dizzy when my colleague pointed out that I had toilet paper sticking out of my pants. Eeeeew! Gross! Is there an automatic toilet paper remover? I’m NOT touching that thing!

I also need to use that ‘memory eraser gun’ (the one they had in MIB) on my colleague.

This mind numbing morning when I wanted nothing but empty thoughts, I was accosted by an old Chinese guy at the CTA station wearing the ubiquitous yellow Burberry hat. He walked up to me to strike a conversation.

‘You Indian?’ he asked knowledgably.

Friggin hell, how the heck did he figure out? Surely not my brown skin or thick black hair or the distinct Indian features could have given it away. No way! How come no one asks me if I am Norwegian?

'Mmm’, I nodded not wanting to encourage a tea stall conversation. Any other day, I would have shown some courtesy and found out why Chinese loved the Burberry pattern, whether it was in their tie, socks, handbag or tongue cleaner. But today was not the day.

Not at all discouraged by the cold easterly winds emanating from my direction, Sherlock Holmes proceeded to explain that he knew 3 languages, which included Japanese (He turned out to be Japanese and not Chinese- so much for my detective skills). “I don’t know Indian, too bad. But I know Geography very well. All the capitals of all countries. You ask, I will answer.’

Is he kidding me? What is this, a quiz program that I was unwillingly getting steered into? I hope he isn’t mistaking me for another Indian, Siddharth Basu. Please God, let the train come.

Train came. Halleluiah!

I rushed inside and sat right next to another hopefully sober person even though I prefer sitting on empty seats. A small sacrifice for mental peace, I decided.

But my comrade didn’t falter even for a second. He apparently got some friendly vibes from me, trotted up to my seat and declared, ‘I don’t mind standing. I will stand near you and answer your questions. I can start. You want to know capital of Armenia? It is tough one. Starts with Y.’

I couldn’t care less if it was Gumidipindi. I just wanted to cry. He was like a 7-year old, a really over enthusiastic annoying 7-year old whom you couldn’t even slap.

‘I don’t know.’ I conceded half hoping he would lose interest in the dim-witted soul that spelt M-E and move on to that bright looking blonde with green highlights in pink shoes touching up her make-up.

‘No, it’s Ok. You couldn’t have known anyway, it is tough. It’s Yerevan!! Ask some more. This is fun.’ He shouted in glee almost clapping his hands and hugging me.

We played this for 7 stations, during which, he asked and answered capitals to countries I hadn’t even heard of while I grunted and nodded and shifted uneasily. If body language was anything to go by, I might have been mistaken for someone who needed to use the toilet badly.

Anyway, there was a silver lining to this extremely dark nimbus cloud. It was the fact that he stopped showing off his capitals and moved on. ‘There are many religions. I am Buddhist. There is Christians and Hindus and Jews and… I forget one more..’

‘Moslems?’ I smiled, finally warming up to him.

‘No..no..no…mmm…wait...wait..Islam..yes, Islam!’ he jumped up in sheer happiness.

I congratulated him.

‘You know Islam religion is very violent. All these terrorists are Islams.’ He added not in very hushed tones.

I froze with shock. What the heck is this guy up to? Trying to get me killed? Jeez man!! I tried my best to salvage the situation looking around apologetically at fellow passengers, ‘No, Islam is not like that.’

Luckily for me, he decided the matter wasn’t worth pursuing. He clearly wasn’t into discussions (only monologues involving general knowledge). Phew!

‘You know there is a famous Indian man I know in History. I’ll tell ok. You don’t tell. Wait’

After a long pause and immense deliberation,

‘Wait wait…don’t tell…don’t tell’, he protested even as I sat calmly not really wanting to participate.

After more time and agony, he agreed to let me divulge the name.

‘Gandhi?’ I prompted.

No no…I’m not getting it. Starts with the letter M, I’m very sure.’

'Mahatma Gandhi?’

‘Right Right! Mahatma Gandhi. What a great man he was.’

Great man indeed! If not for him, some violence would have taken place for sure (of me hurling myself out of a moving train).

Footnote: Rhyncus has written this story from the old man's perspective. Hilarious.

I don’t know why I remembered Rajshekar today. Cute, chubby, quite and always blushing Rajshekar. Rajshekar was my classmate when I was an overzealous kid in 5^th grade. We weren’t close or anything nor were we enemies. I liked Rajshekar for his sweet disposition and he liked me for everything I stood for (actually that fact can not be determined). Let’s just assume he had neutral feelings towards me.

Poor Rajshekar was asked a very tough question (note point) in Hindi class. He stood there looking dazed and chewing his finger nails. A stern look from Balwan Singh sir had him sweating in no time turning him beet red. I felt nothing for him as I had come to realize that everybody in the world isn’t smart.

The teacher, whom I had great respect for, asked me to answer the same question. I rattled off the answer feeling very proud indeed. I looked around to see if everyone had their eyes glazed with adulation for me. I forget what I actually saw.

‘Good Alpha. Go slap Rajshekar!’ instructed my Hindi sir calmly.

‘Sir?’ I recoiled in horror. Never had I expected this to turn against me.

‘Yes, you heard me right. Slap him. That is his punishment and your reward.’

What a sadist, I thought. ‘Sir, you punish him. I can not do that and will not hurt him as he didn’t harm me in any way. Now I am feeling bad for answering a question. Not fair.’ I began my righteous speech. Poor Rajshekar was standing there, almost in tears feeling like he shouldn’t be existing at all.

‘You slap him, or I’ll have to send you out of the class. Now get out as I need to continue with the lesson.’ threatened my nut case of a teacher who was getting rather impatient and irritated about this drama unfolding.

What? Why? No way should I be punished according to any code of ethics. Unwilling to put my exalted self through any discomfiture, I walked up to Rajshekar and gave him a tight one (after the wimpy slap, which wasn't upto our teacher's standards) on his melting cheeks and he muttered something like ‘Sorry you had to slap me.’

After the slap I was very uneasy about two things

-That I had slapped someone for no reason

-That Hindi would no longer be my favorite subject and the teacher…forget it! bah!

Then Balwan Singh sir said something I would never forget in my life.

‘If you stuck by your principles and walked out of that door, my esteem for you would have gone up multifold. It is easy to answer silly questions and get A’s in class, but to secure your A’s in life, you need to stand up for your friends and yourself. You don’t have the Jhansi ki Rani instinct in you.’

What?!! This was an impromptu personality test? I had been violated! It made a bigger impact on me as we were just done with the long poem on Jhansi ki Rani that I could proudly recite verbatim while feeling the young queen’s anger and valor. I really felt that I was this close to being like her and I blew it! I felt rotten.

Rajshekar, if you happen to read my blog, dude, I am truly sorry to have put you through those agonizing “Will she slap me or not?” moments. I should have just done the deed as soon as I was told. At least Hitler would have been proud.

Every single day I wring the telephone cord around my neck and choke myself. I don’t really do that but I do something even worse. I drive everyday to work and back spending net worth of two hours. I have given myself 15 minutes slack time for all the accidents, tickets, gas-burnouts, battery downs, locking-myself-out scenarios that take place (once in a while) to combat monotony. Two hours of my life just passes by mundanely in the traffic with no notable achievements to report. The rest of day (when I am not driving), I have no motivation to achieve anything! I could have found the anti-virus for HIV in those two hours.

So here I am wasting the formative years of my life in a car when radio gets cheesy, music gets repetitive, sceneries don’t exist and I can’t sleep (why would I say that if I haven’t tried?). So to amuse myself, I got hold of Books on CD from my local library. You have got to try out new things, however preposterous. It worked out real well for me as I heard through Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Passage to India and many other such books that would intimidate me under normal circumstances. The books were classics of course (books that usually are prescribed as a supplement reader in High School), but the narrators are awesome and I didn’t contemplate about the HIV virus even once. Destination would appear sooner than usual as if I had suddenly discovered a shortcut route. To finish the particular chapter that held me in such gripping suspense, I would have to go around my office parking lot a few more times. Taking another long journey back home in the evenings delighted me immensely and I was quickly saddened as home approached. I just couldn't switch the book off. So I'd go back to the library and borrow the same books I was listening to so that I could continue reading from where I had left listening. (erm..complicated sentence that!)

Once I had exhausted the fiction titles (the library needs desperate improvement, darn those rich patrons!), I walked skeptically over to the non-fiction part and picked up some self improvement CD on finances. I knew this would be the end to my CD career and I would have to revert back to making risky phone calls while driving to keep boredom at bay. But no, I was hooked and excited to know that I was putting myself to better use to mankind (only my household) by knowing my finances. It didn’t help me in becoming the millionaire I had set my standards to be, but it did make me less apprehensive about another self-improvement CD. I enthusiastically picked the one on Hinduism. Might as well understand my religion better, especially now that I am in a foreign country.

I have lived to regret that decision. Hinduism, taught by an American professor with a southern accent, was akin to understanding the phonetics of a ‘bray’ from a coyote. It was like a guessing game; ‘kashatriyas’ was the easy one.

‘Jetti’ (underwear in Tamil) had me palpitating by the time I figured it was jati (caste). All the God/Godesses names were a holy mess. Couldn’t tell from Varna and Varuna, Somwar and Soma, Arien and Aryan… till I gave up my quest in seeking the ‘Way of Devotion’ and decided to personally meet up with Professor Mark W. Muesse, and ask him to send some fiction CDs to my library.

 

'Do you blog?', emailed my girlfriend out of the blue. Taken aback and thrown out of my coordinates for a single second, I wondered if she knew. How could she have known? That stupid whoever-told-her needs to be pulverized! Freakin hell! My identity is being compromised and I have nowhere to hide. What will I do? What will I do? Frantically, I ran through my blog for blasphemous contents about her (like big-mouth, self-absorbed, bimbo-like, etc etc.) and deleted them in a zest. Randomly pasted some nice comments (like...umm.. some nice ones did come up at that time) all over my blog.

A trap was being laid. Proceed with caution, I told myself.

‘Do you?’ I asked gingerly, trying to be mysterious and vague.

‘Yes, I do and guess what?! I have been at it for a while.’ She responded in obvious delight of a little boy who was displaying his first work of art.

So that’s the whole deal! Shameless plug, I thought.

‘You little rascal’, I breathed, ‘How dare you not tell me? How long has it been?’

‘2 weeks now! Here is my blog. You should blog too.’

Ahem. Oh well.

What can I say, we bonded on a different level. A friend turned blogger- that's a new one.

Blog on, girl! Never believe anything I say here (not that you have ever, anyway). Yeah ok, my blog is kinda lame (no true comments will be appreciated here). By the way, I be your blog senior...if seniority means anything to you. Gratisgab (trust you to come up with obscure names like this), good to know you are putting your brilliant writing to good use (like me, of course).

Today is supposedly the Free Mojtaba and Arash day. Let your voice be heard too.

(Thanks Fillerman, for pointing it out. If it is a big scam, I'll hunt you down and pulverize you.)

‘He is such a romantic. My man surprised me with candles leading from the doorstep to the dinning table on which the delicious food that he had cooked with his very own hands was laid out so artistically that I couldn’t believe my eyes. Rose petals were strewn from the dining table to the bedroom, which was decorated in red and on the bed was this big box and 2-dozen red roses. I opened the box and it was a huge diamond ring. I burst out crying. While I was crying, I could hear water run in the bathroom. I was touched beyond words to find out that he was making a bath for me complete with rose petals and candles and an oil massage. I was ready to choke.’

 

So was I… on my pizza! What??!! A single guy did all this for a single girl? The guy ought to be ashamed of bringing other women to tears too! Just the question I was dreading from my obviously smug co-worker, ‘So Alpha, what did Pi get you for Valentine’s day?’

 

The truth or the lies?

 

Decided it was Ok to lie just this once, ‘Oh Pi was such a daaaahling…he bought me a single rose from the grocery store and took me out to Mc Donald’s. Then he let me play the music I wanted on the drive back.’ *waiting for rest of girly junta to go "awwww"*

 

Truth be told, Pi announced that he was boycotting Valentine’s Day without consulting me! ‘I will not endorse any Hallmark holiday. Utter bull crap, stupid marketing gimmick. I don't have to prove that I love you once every year.’

 

Thus, the 14^th day of February came and went and no one in my household winced. We decided to put the saved up money in our grandkid’s Valentine’s day fund.

 

Mr. Saint Valentine sir, you sacrificed your life for a vain cause. I’m truly sorry for Pi’s despicable behavior. Hope your batakti aathma (restless soul- in case you don't understand) haunts him every year, a week before February 14^th.