The real proof that intelligent life exists in the universe is that they have not yet contacted us.
- Anonymous.
The realer proof that intelligent life doesn’t exist in the universe is that maybe they already have.
- Me.
The scene is this. It is a station called Eluru, in Andhra Pradesh. We (Me and colleague) had arrived at the much delayed flight from Bangalore to Vijayawada airport (if you can call it that. Its like, you get out of the plane, your luggage is thrown at you, you pass a door, and you are out. WOW). We had to travel a distance of about 42 kilometers to reach the said station to catch the train to Vizag. We had an Internet ticket. The cabbie was fast, I give him that. We reached a toll gate. There were three roads out of it. The one in the middle was the biggest, smoothest, bestest. Which, perhaps explained why it was blocked. And also had a guy for effect. The other two roads were blocked by huge monstrosities called trucks or trailers or something. It was so long that if in case the driver forgot his cell phone in the back of his truck or trailer or something, and his wife was carrying, he would have a three year old son or daughter by the time he gets out of the steering, walks down to the back of the truck, and finds his phone all dead and battery leaky. And yeah, I drink a lot of water during any flight from anywhere to anywhere because my ears are extra sensitive to any pressurized environment. So we start a woozer with this guy and try to explain the situation to him. He nods his head in total, utter, agreement to our 4 minute 32 second explanation about why it is imperative for him to let us go, and then says this masterpiece which I shall treasure. He says, “Yes. I understand. But rules are rules.” WOW. And I mean WOW. You got a road, which is clearly empty, where there is nothing going on for the next 40 kilometers (I am quite sure it must be so further up, but our sojourn ended after the said distance.), and you wont let us go because rules are rules. WOW. What, in the name of heaven, are those rules, my man, I ventured. The reply to this was even better, “Rules, Saar.” Experience has taught me that in southern India, when someone says “Saar” with that extra a in between, they usually don’t know shit and expect you to do what they tell you. In northern India, they just say, “aapka problem kya hai?” The end result of all this was that my bladder was full and I needed to relieve myself real bad. We reached the station twenty minutes late, but were before time. Here, I would like to add that if you thought this world was 3D, you are mistaken. The fourth dimension is the Indian government and anything connected to it. It works on the improbability theory, which means, just when you were expecting something to happen, it doesn’t. At the station, we still had about ten minutes for the train to arrive. There was something called “Upper class men’s waiting room”. Because of my self esteem or otherwise, I believe I am an upper – class man, and the fact that my ticket was for the AC chair car, helped in the reassertion. So the scene was this. My colleague was standing on platform No 2, I was on platform No 1, the ticket was with my colleague, and I wanted to go to the loo. And then it happened. Soon as I entered the “Upper class men’s waiting room”, there was this guy who stopped me from going any further because he wanted to see the ticket. I ran all the way back to the second platform and climbing over bridges with a full bladder is exactly not my idea of a fun life. So I got the ticket back and then showed it to him. He looked at it, looked at me, and said, “I want your ticket”. I said that was my ticket. He said the ticket is a small piece of paper and this was a complete A4 size sheet. I said it’s an Internet ticket and that’s how those things look. After a lot of he said and I said, he abruptly asked me for the PNR number, which I gave. He asked me my name, which I gave, he then asked for kilometers. What? Why, on earth or anywhere else, would I need to give a kilometer reading to go take a leak? I pushed him aside, went in, and just did what a man does in dire desperation. I pissed. Phew. But can somebody please help me with the question?
The scene is this. It is a station called Eluru, in Andhra Pradesh. We (Me and colleague) had arrived at the much delayed flight from Bangalore to Vijayawada airport (if you can call it that. Its like, you get out of the plane, your luggage is thrown at you, you pass a door, and you are out. WOW). We had to travel a distance of about 42 kilometers to reach the said station to catch the train to Vizag. We had an Internet ticket. The cabbie was fast, I give him that. We reached a toll gate. There were three roads out of it. The one in the middle was the biggest, smoothest, bestest. Which, perhaps explained why it was blocked. And also had a guy for effect. The other two roads were blocked by huge monstrosities called trucks or trailers or something. It was so long that if in case the driver forgot his cell phone in the back of his truck or trailer or something, and his wife was carrying, he would have a three year old son or daughter by the time he gets out of the steering, walks down to the back of the truck, and finds his phone all dead and battery leaky. And yeah, I drink a lot of water during any flight from anywhere to anywhere because my ears are extra sensitive to any pressurized environment. So we start a woozer with this guy and try to explain the situation to him. He nods his head in total, utter, agreement to our 4 minute 32 second explanation about why it is imperative for him to let us go, and then says this masterpiece which I shall treasure. He says, “Yes. I understand. But rules are rules.” WOW. And I mean WOW. You got a road, which is clearly empty, where there is nothing going on for the next 40 kilometers (I am quite sure it must be so further up, but our sojourn ended after the said distance.), and you wont let us go because rules are rules. WOW. What, in the name of heaven, are those rules, my man, I ventured. The reply to this was even better, “Rules, Saar.” Experience has taught me that in southern India, when someone says “Saar” with that extra a in between, they usually don’t know shit and expect you to do what they tell you. In northern India, they just say, “aapka problem kya hai?” The end result of all this was that my bladder was full and I needed to relieve myself real bad. We reached the station twenty minutes late, but were before time. Here, I would like to add that if you thought this world was 3D, you are mistaken. The fourth dimension is the Indian government and anything connected to it. It works on the improbability theory, which means, just when you were expecting something to happen, it doesn’t. At the station, we still had about ten minutes for the train to arrive. There was something called “Upper class men’s waiting room”. Because of my self esteem or otherwise, I believe I am an upper – class man, and the fact that my ticket was for the AC chair car, helped in the reassertion. So the scene was this. My colleague was standing on platform No 2, I was on platform No 1, the ticket was with my colleague, and I wanted to go to the loo. And then it happened. Soon as I entered the “Upper class men’s waiting room”, there was this guy who stopped me from going any further because he wanted to see the ticket. I ran all the way back to the second platform and climbing over bridges with a full bladder is exactly not my idea of a fun life. So I got the ticket back and then showed it to him. He looked at it, looked at me, and said, “I want your ticket”. I said that was my ticket. He said the ticket is a small piece of paper and this was a complete A4 size sheet. I said it’s an Internet ticket and that’s how those things look. After a lot of he said and I said, he abruptly asked me for the PNR number, which I gave. He asked me my name, which I gave, he then asked for kilometers. What? Why, on earth or anywhere else, would I need to give a kilometer reading to go take a leak? I pushed him aside, went in, and just did what a man does in dire desperation. I pissed. Phew. But can somebody please help me with the question?
4 comments:
Wow this guy at the Upper class men's room had some knowledge man. Internet ticket in Eluru!! its not a modern place, they won't find people walking in with A4 sheets claiming to be tickets. So he is checking the ticket information. distance to the destination in Kilometers is mentioned in the Railway ticket... U should have said " drove 40KM to take a leak"
It must have been a Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
I still don't see why you had to get the ticket on an A4 sheet of paper saar. THe least u cud have done was cut it well to look like a ticket. In my defense, it was a bad day, I had a little too much pot, my wife's brother's neighbour was having a bad day, u looked like a "B grade ka C category person" and yes, I think it was a Thursday.
-- The Guy from the upper class men's room. ( I dont know what the internet is but our local chai tapri guy keeps the best hyderabadi blogs for our reading pleasure )
Hello Ramkiran, big fat man, and anonymous (billy_beetle_dilly),
It was not a thursday. It was Wednesday. But as you all know, time is an illusion, and lunchtime doubly so.
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