Travel- C(b)attle class!

Travel. A small word holding huge trouble. Whether it is an overnight flight to the Gulf or a rickety ride in two-wheeler to the nearest grocery shop, we love to travel- bindaas. Without hiccups. Without itching to hit the person snoring next to us in an overnight train. Without churning out the last eaten dosas out of our stomachs as the glutton sharing the aisle seat dumps his 6th drink. We love to travel, with no trouble. We are so meticulous in planning the bus ride for 2 kilometers  that would put India's Chandrayaan journey look cake walk.

Securing that coveted 'window' seat is everyone's dream. A dream pricier than marrying Aishwarya rai. If you are wedded to someone who is a 'nature lover' who ogles on the corner seat more than he/she ever looked at you, your journeys are definitely going to be in the aisle seat, glued to the iPad. If you have a child, you are going to baby-sit in the middle seat, sandwiched between the snoring husband and the animated child. If you have two children, bless your hearts dears, you are going to be the acting referee for a multi-round WWF match between the two for the 'corner seat'.

Seat secured, luggage secured, the next thing we have to secure is our torso. If you travel with family, the job is easier, it is again a normal night at bed, you being kicked, scratched and nudged by the husband dear and the children. If you travel alone, beware of that lady sitting near you who has ten liters of oil plastered to her 3 inches of hair. She will dutifully rub it all on your favorite white kurta and you can very well go home, wring your kurta for that month's oil reserve. Be careful of the male of the species, they are particularly headstrong in sleeping on the journey, rolling their heads on your shoulders and you become unfortunate 'Atlases' holding their heads. Only you wish you became Medusa that instant, snakes hissing from your head to ward off the sleepy douche bag near you.

The next thing you have to take care is your privacy and sanity. Train journeys are to be dreaded here, especially the sleeper classes that teem with senior citizens who are hell bent in knowing the where, how, when, why and what of your travel agenda. Shut your eyes, insert your head phone, or bury your nose in that proverbial Sydney Sheldon, the 60 plus aunty in the lower berth is never going to leave you alone. She starts with a seemingly obnoxious question of what time the train is supposed to reach Chennai. By the next ten minutes, you will find yourself telling her the story of how your fourth cousin's second wife's third child ran away with a no-gooder. Are men better? Nah. The questions asked are so deft that by the time you disembark, the wicked man would have pocketed your office address or mobile number. 

Then there is the biggest of all troubles- everyone intent on travelling love to bathe in sweat and use that eau-de-cologne that smells better than axe deo. They are so hellbent on raising their underarms straight over your nose. No escaping that, dear madam. Men love to hold on to the armrests that you ward off carefully or those funny shaped loops high above their heads. Those loops are  pre-planned ploys to make you swoon at the perfume dabbed at the underarms. Close your nostrils and fight for oxygen, peel a dozen oranges from your bag, smell and re-smell your perfumed hanky- nothing is going to save you from the pungent odor of unshaved underarms. 

Now wait! Your ordeal is not over. You feel your flight has landed and open your tightly shut eye lids. Only to realise to your horror that the 100 odd passengers of your flight jostle for space at the exitways. Thank your lucky stars that the flight did not nosedive into the mantle of the earth due to them 'urgent' passengers. You set your alarm at 4.00 am to get down at a station where your train reaches at 4.15 am. Alas, my dear. The whole coach is awake by 3.30 with chappals stomping and lights blinding. A howling infant and terrifying baritone of his father pacifying him, a hundred cell phones blaring simultaneously at 4.00 and by the time you reach the door to get down, there is a mini Kumbh mela crowd thronging the door way. All you can do is climb down the train and walk like a zombie to the waiting bus. It is again a nightmare to get a seat there.

How do we the cattle class corner seats in a just-arriving bus? It is a historic event worth a Guinness mention! As the bus turns round the corner, you have to make a towel/ handkerchief  your loop, ready to hoist the noose around the seat. Keep calm, concentrate, say a prayer, take aim and throw the noose. If you are lucky and lady luck smiles at you, your towel lands with a plop on the corner seat. Now, only half the process is over. The moment the driver applies the brake, all you have to so is close your eyes and elbow your way through the maddening crowd. Not for the weak at heart. No mercy, absolutely. 

Now that is one hell of a bus ride!

You got every right to stomp, kick, hit and be hit by the mob at the doorway, you pay a whopping Rs. 5 for the ride! All you have to do is focus on that corner seat where your darling towel lies, awaiting your back to seat on her. Did you fail to throw the towel? No worrying there. Jostle through the crowd, use your karate moves subtly, climb the bus and sit on someone else's towel. There...easy, isn't it? The moment you sit however, be ready for a stream of abuses hurtling your way from the motor mouth who threw the towel, yet lost the seat to you. This is where your Yoga skills come in handy. Calm yourself, close your eyes, shut down your auditory nerve system and imagine you are in Greater Kailash/ Mansarovar with clouds hanging and mist closing in. The abuses will stop eventually by the time you visit your great great grandfather in his Heavenly abode! Have a kid? The seat securing marathon is just a piece of cake. Throw in the kid instead of the towel, minus the diaper. Seat- guaranteed!

Though all these minuses weigh us down, we do love travel. We do like to wander the far off lands in the most 'convenient' way. For everyone else who likes to travel royally, you can always have a car, marry the owner/ driver or own a driver/owner ( I mean marry someone!) and buy a car, travel with ease. Cattle class or battle class, we Indians are always ready for the game!

p.s.: This is one post written after a terrifying train journey where I stood for almost 2 hours. So, I got the right to whine!

p.p.s.: Schools reopen tomorrow after vacations. Yayyy! The kids are now saved from my constant picking and yelling;)

p.p.p.s.: Sick of watching Chotta Bheem's umpteen episodes at home. Makes me wonder how do mothers cope with watching hours and hours of that laddoo eating crazy guy...by imagining him as Hrithik Roshan? ;)

A Lay(wo)man's Guide to Chamchagiri

Almost 14 years of yeomen service to the nation's wheels and its ever demanding, always demeaning customers... Looking back at the path that I have strode, all I can feel is numbness. The heart ache and sourness has happened only because I have nothing to my credit, except for a service record that screams out red brighter than Taylor Swift's red lipstick! Looking for an outstanding green entry in my service record needs a telescope the size of moon and a periscope the size of earth! 

Alas! The favorable awards that everyone seems to be receiving at official functions with smiles that outbeat Rahul Gandhi's famous losing smile remains a distant dream to me. So, that brings us to the question, how do some people always succeed in excelling in everything they do, especially scoring those extra points over the mundane and ordinary? 

You can always identify the 'award- winner' by a simple glance. He always remains the shadow of the boss in your office- never mind, your boss may fart, this shadow never leaves his back, not even twitches his eyebrow over the hydrogen bomb dropped ;) So much for his Bhakthi! Our 'butter'man or chamcha is always by the side of our 'Sup' aka supervisor, casting worried glances at the simple two line leave letter that you put on his table for his approval. He is the personal scanner cum identifier of the Sup, he scans your letter for any error- grammatical, emotional, protocol errors. Only if the scan is complete, does your letter gets through. 

A letter as simple as, "as I am suffering from fever kindly grant me one day leave" would have seen a heated debate on the veracity and authenticity of me getting a fever off season, 101 reasons as to why I ask for a leave during peak summer, including a botched abortion doing the rounds. By the time my leave is approved, our chamcha would have grown the size of Rajinikanth's cutout on Mount Road, on the release date of Kochadaiyan in the mind's eye of my Sup. Enna Rascala! MIIIINNNDDD IIITTT!!!

Mr Butter man is one crazy guy. The sup wants a soap, the fellow stands at his doorstep soaping his pet dog that poops straight on butter man's foot. Does he mind? nah! Butterman knows always what tastes the best at which restaurant. He is a connoisseur of fine dining. He knows which joint has the sumptuous biryani, which restaurant has the softest dosas and which joint has the yummiest halwas. The Babu wants a handful of jasmine for his bobbed wife, our butter man plants a basket of flowers on Her Majesty's bird's nest hair. The Babu wants to attend a temple festival, our butterman awaits him at the temple door even before Our Lord Renganatha wakes up from his slumber. 

The boss thinks of his chaai, our butterman stands by his side, fanning his piping hot chaai. The looks butterman sends to the Sup can put Marilyn Monroe to shame. If he had a tail, boy would it wag;) But in work, butterman is one awesome hard worker! He will be the one who plays dominoes while the whole office around him is on fire. Deadlines will be met, targets will be achieved, entire office will go beserk, but our butterman remains oblivious to all these, discussing his boss's 143rd love affair with his 23rd secretary who had warded him off like the bubonic plague! 

So...you want to become butterman? Simple- follow these.

1. Wake up before your sup and send him some stupid forwarded good morning message.

2. Find out what soap your sup's puppy uses and stand on his doorstep holding the soap in a basket, bit by your molars.

3. Buy freshest brinjals, not the BT variety, but organic farm grown brinjals and ladiesfingers from the local flea market and impress the Sup's wifey.

4. Clogged drains, leaking taps, stinking bathrooms- whatever smells awful, your sup must go 'dhak dhak' remembering you and your six-pack abs when you wield the pipe wrench and toilet hose.

5. Always be updated on the latest gossip in office of the who's dating who and pass on all that sensual grape vine juice to your sup.

6. Keep your nose tightly closed when the sup farts. You can instead close your eyes and remind yourself of Axe deo and angels falling from Heaven.

7. When the sup picks his nose, or itches to remove that stray piece of chicken in his teeth, be there for him with tooth pick and tissue...oops...it should be in the reverse order;)

8. Always be Gandhi's three apes. Close your eyes, close your motor mouth, close your ears and close your *hole. Your sup has the sole rights of opening all these, the last of these he always does...

9. Be the first to report anything to the boss. Be it the birthday party of the secretary's third puppy or the guys night off where alcohol flows like a river, be ready with your mobiles to catch the hottest and latest and transmit data to the boss, faster than Chitti the Robot.

10. Last but not the ultimate golden rule- Your sup is always right. His left hand is always his right hand and his left foot is his right. He has no left. Everything in him is right. He is right brained too- never can analyse and calculate. But don't you worry. When everyone is served peanuts, remember, you the butterman will receive the awards and the rewards!

P.S.: Ouch! I know it is one grumpy post, but serves someone right;)

P.P.S.: By the way, someone please tell me how to remain calm, cool and composed while sitting opposite to the person whom I am mentally thrashing to a pulp and flushing down the public washroom!

P.P.P.S.: This post is written for the genuine pleasure and happiness awards at mybheja.com :P Please comment on how you have tried chamchagiri and failed miserably. We are one bunch of losers out here ;)