Smoke on the Water

I have noticed a peculiar-est thing at work of late. But before that, I need to tell you about a peculiar-er thing I noticed at work. There are only 2 washrooms on our floor, set a mile away from where our workstations are.

But within each of those 2 washrooms, there are 4 washbasins, 2 thrones, and enough space to let Shoaib Akhtar practice his run-ups. Very Peculiar. Considering the fact that people at work generally have not been witnessed practicing Shoaib Akhtar-ish run ups while taking a leak, especially with deadlines snapping away at their feet like a dysfunctional flush button.

I digress. The peculiar-est thing I noticed last week was the fact that every time I had the urge to let the river flow, and half-ran, half-walked a mile to the 2 washrooms, they happened to be occupied. Every time. EVERY FUCKING TIME.

After doing the needful, post a mini Kathhak Tap dance for 15 minutes outside the washrooms, I trudge back to my desk. And I instantly know it is some unholy nexus at work to keep me off the corporate success (B)ladder.

For every time I drag myself back from such emotional ordeals, I find 2 of my colleagues sniggering and looking at their respective watches.

This was what I could figure out with my intense psychoanalytical skills I have acquired, while trying to block out the psychoanalytical invasions of my Missuj after being late on a date.

Colleague 1: Haha, 20 minutes. I think we had Pal.
Colleague 2: LOLMAX. 5 more minutes, and we could have had an exPALosion at hand. 
Colleague 1: There’s always a next time.

More sniggering. 

Enough of that bitchezz. I have already hatched a counter-plan and put it to action.

Now each time Colleague 1/2 gets up to let the fairy out, I run and beat them to the washroom. Oh yeah! #FunFunFun

If I find the door unlocked, I walk straight in and slam it shut. Then I pull out my iPod, listen to ‘Smoke on the Water’ and execute the song. Yes. I am Da Man! And then walk out and snigger at my Tap-dancing Colleague.

If I find the door locked, I still win. I walk back, tap-dancing, and snigger at the Colleague. Piss off mate! Oh no, wait, you can’t. More sniggering. 

The plan is working.

And that, folks, is that.  

Story of a Budding Entrepreneur

I was about 9 then. Or maybe 8. An ordinary boy living an ordinary life in an ordinary town. Along with Typo (my non-evil twin, in case you forgot), I was content with life unraveling at a languid pace – cornflakes in the morning, school in the day, cricket with 3 other guys and a dog in the evening and homework at night.

Now, all of these activities seemed real hard when you were at that age. I mean how can any kid put up with Math and an agonizing wait to relieve himself simultaneously in school? And playing cricket with 3 guys, using the dog as the wicket, is not very easy. Try proving that you bowled the batsman out, with your wicket running, screaming in an odd voice, like a dog hit in the rear by a heavy rubber ball. Very hard, I tell you. And pretending to finish homework while slyly catching up on the latest fashion on FTV at night is even tougher.

Anyway, point is, life was hard. At least for me and Typo.   

However, like all Bong kids, it was mandatory for us to take tuitions. Now in 21st century, it is easy to say hah, big deal! But back then, what made taking tuitions, & life in general, hard for Bong kids was the tuition teacher – who was not exactly the online voice-over, giving lessons like serenading a monkey.

Ours was no exception. And after 3 months of being pummeled with formulas & equations, we gave in and scored a neat Jhiro on 30 in a Test de la Grande. Yes, me and Typo both did ‘Aryabhatta’ proud.

However, Mr. Tuition Teacher was not a fan of Aryabhata, but admired Sarah Palin instead. This was evident from his ‘red-eyed’ refudiating of everything good that Mr. & Mrs. Pal could have envisaged in their boys.

And so, we ran away from home. Into the wild. Or as Bongs call it, to the Math of the Tepantaur (can’t help if it sounds like a bad breed of the Minotaur). 

Almost-Gone-Missing Aryabhatta-Fanboy

Unlike what you’ve heard in stories, running away from home is easy. All you need to do is this – Sulk > Think of buying a gun & kill Mr. Tor-mentor > Realize it’s not possible > Suicide > WTF? > Talk to Typo > Run away from home at 12 pm post-lunch > Climb over barbed wire fence of Campus > This.Is.Freedom.!!

In our case, all went smoothly except the fact that Typo’s pants got caught in the barbed wire and he has been experiencing man-problems ever since. Rest was all good.

We made our way over mud dunes, paddy fields, passed by a Bata factory & also ogled at women bathing in a nearby pond (Typo insists he did not. What a liar!). We were also stared down as potential kidnap/extortion victims by 4 weird men playing teen-patti in a hutment. One of them was a Steve Jobs-look alike, smoking Dhania-chhaap beedi. Come to think of it, maybe he WAS Steve Jobs - considering the fact that he’s got pancreatic cancer now. Yeah, Dhania-chhaap beedis are not at very good terms with the pancreas, last I heard.

Whatever. We got traced down by the CBI (Chanchal Bhushan Ishmail, our gardener), who had been alerted by terrified ‘gaaowaalon’ about a bear bathing in their village pond. Turned out it was actually yours truly having some harmless topless fun in the sun. Blechh.

By now you must be outraging over the title of the post, and what the fuck am I trying to prove here – with a misleading Title et al. Well, there’s a twist in the tale here.

Yours truly, being a genius sans parallèle, had not run away from home on an impulse. After all, we had planned to set up camp in another city and build an empire ala AOE III. Hence, like a true-blood, nifty entrepreneur, we had made plans for a business first.

We handpicked the choicest of ‘Hot Wheels’ from our collection, some of the rarest books and some easily saleable stuff like pens, chocolate and Femina Miss India posters (wink wink nudge nudge). We were planning to sell off these and make a living till Google or Stevie hired us for one of their sweatshops in Bangkok.

And like a quintessential entrepreneurial partner, Typo chickened out, almost jeopardizing the venture. However, telling him that chickening out may ruin the chances of radio silence on his barbed-wire-man-problems helped sort it out amicably.

And like a quintessential entrepreneurial venture, we lost all of the investment; lock stock and barrel.

There. Explanation complete.

However, the upside of the whole story is that we learnt 2 valuable lessons that day.

Lesson #1 - Running away from home is overrated.
Lesson #2 - Nothing can beat gorging on home-cooked food, especially after learning lesson #1 the practical way.

As I said, life was hard back then. But it was also great, in parts!

P.S.: You really thought this was another ‘Steve-Jobs-is-so-awesome’ story, didn’t you, you bloody Apple fanboys?!