Just another ordinary day, ebbing into the grays of the evening. The rain pouring cats and dogs. Roaring thunder and flashing lightening. Drumbeats of falling raindrops, the caws of crows, bustle of drenched people heading home, shouts of vendors selling their wares and me amidst them. Did I need lightening to strike me?
Singing, or more appropriately humming, to myself as I was walking towards Churchgate station. I was soaked, muddy and irritated about the fact I was so. In this state of self-abuse, I got this urge. Its not one of those ordinary ones that can either be brushed or forgotten or even executed just like that. It’s a special one requiring that correct place. Not only the spot but the timing also matters and that I didn’t have. It was 20:05 and I had to catch the 20:07 Borivali Fast. I had to decide and so I did. Urge or no urge, the train needs to be boarded!
So there I was on the fast train bound towards home, hanging on the door between life (after I reach home) and afterlife (if my hands slipped of the handlebar). Still relaxed about the fact that I was still in the train and the urge struck, but this time it was more potent. I hoped and I prayed to God, and all the other known gods, so that I could control it. But it was of no use. The more I tried to distract myself of it the stronger it got. As the stations passed us, my control over the urge got weaker. And I knew that the more I tried to control this urge, it would fill me up, later, causing me a strong bout of constipation which in turn would make it difficult for me to execute my this very strong urge later. By the time I reached Kandivali I couldn’t take it anymore. I was on the verge of submitting myself to this urge. I rushed towards the cross-bridge that stood above the loo. In the process of reaching it I forgot what I was doing because my concentration was towards pushing myself through the crowd.
Happily forgotten this urge, I reached for the queue for rickshaws. Getting into a rickshaw in Kandivali east is easy but getting the driver to take one to the place where I stay is not difficult. It is next to impossible. So while I got frustrated about not getting a transport my urge reoccurred and with an intensity that had me on pins. That gave me the grit and determination to find myself a rickshaw fast. As I tried to get myself one, I held on to myself, not falling into the lure of this omnipresent and now nagging urge. As soon as I got a rickshaw, I jumped in, instructing him to turn into Michael Schumacher least I create a situation. The driver, a kind man, gave into my wishes and complied. Whilst he sped through the traffic, curves, swerves, dumps and ditches I swore at the discomfort I was in. I was amazed at my vocabulary!
