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!
