Wait, wait. Before you start reading, pinch your nose tightly and keep a bottle of sanitiser ready (you'll need it to wash your hands if you manage to survive this piss, I'm sorry, piece). Mind you, it's going to stink like a 'mardana' toilet at a small-town bus stand, because my topic is none
other than 'pissiculture'.
No, no, I won't be writing about fish (that's pisciculture, silly), the smelly stuff which Punjabis avoid in the summer season but Bengalis don't in any season.
When nature calls. HT Photo
This one's dedicated to the great men who have elevated the ordinary bodily function of urination to an art form. It's awe-inspiring to see these Peeing Toms relieving themselves on the roadside, in full public view, without a care in the world.
They are the ones closest to nature, since they answer its call right there on the spot. Not for them are the cramped, artificial confines of toilets public or private.
These honourable alpha males don't want to be branded as traffic hazards or attention-seekers, so they keep their backs decently turned away rather than facing you and distracting the hell out of you.
A sociologist who doesn't wish to be quoted thinks that women will become truly liberated once they start doing 'it' publicly. It's up to you, dear ladies, to cross the final frontier, but Devil knows what will happen if you dare to take this earth-soaking step.
Coming back to the gentlemen, an ex-boss of mine rose highly in my esteem after I spotted him 'irrigating' a patch of wild grass along a busy road. All credit to my ethics, I never tried to embarrass or blackmail him even when he picked holes in my work. I always greeted him with a broad smirk and a tight salute, but avoided shaking hands with him, for obvious reasons.
Who says human affairs are only about blood, sweat and tears? Urine is very much part of the equation. Thanks to Monty Panesar, pissing has become the new symbol of rebellion and retaliation. If you aren't strong enough to knock out the enemy (read bouncers), better drench them with a 'water cannon' after knocking back a few stiff drinks.
For celebrations, too, the yellow liquid is fast eclipsing champagne and beer, as shown by Monty's fellow England cricketers who happily emptied their bladders on the Oval ground after their Ashes win.
Talking of the bladder, Alfred Hitchcock didn't want its endurance to be tested by a film's length. He preferred his viewers to be in their seats, and not in the loo, when the heroine was being slashed to death in the shower.
The 'master of suspense' probably didn't know that Indian films have the wonderful provision of intermission, which gives viewers ample time to ease the 'pressure' without missing the on-screen action. However, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag was soooo long that I couldn't help going out for soo-soo once in each half. That's why I neither saw Milkha/Farhan gulping two tins of desi ghee nor escaping a seduction bid in a swimming pool.
For the oldies who are wondering when the one and only Morarji Desai will make his entry, here he comes. This champion urine drinker became India's first post-Emergency Prime Minister in 1977, the year Coca-Cola left the country on a bitter note and another Desai (Manmohan) enjoyed the sweet success of Amar Akbar Anthony. Morarji, who was born oddly on leap day (February 29), remained in the saddle for just two years.
Had he stayed around for two decades, it's quite obvious which 'energy drink' our Bollywood stars would have endorsed.
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