Dec 8, 2010

Permutation and Commutation

The macabre consequences of not meeting a man standing with two tickets to a movie titled Piranha 3D is somewhere along the lines of spilling hot coffee down your trousers. I can think of even worse scenarios that may involve a can of beer, an opener and an umbrella, but let us for decent purposes, keep the content "U" rated. 

It was a lovely twilight evening that found me waiting on OMR as a dark shape loomed in the distance on an otherwise empty road. As I continued squinting into the headlights of an oncoming lorry, a share auto whizzed to a stop in front of me. The bearded driver looked like he had been driving all the way from Tunisia and implored me with huge Puss-In-Boots eyes that bore the remains of a TASMAC-orgy aftermath. I felt sorry and jumped into the cess-pot. Small mistake; medium error; big consequences.

Your ability to commute in a share auto full of women of all ages is a feat that deserves an aluminum Olympic Medal at the least. Months of my bike refusing to exit the confines of an inefficient service centre had led me to analyze and effectively come up with an awesome strategy on how to travel in a share auto.

There are three geo-spatial locations within an auto, where you can sit and enjoy the scenery of other people's body parts while inhaling the fresh smell of a day's labor in the Chennai sun (Chennai's software companies' air -freshener, if your lady luck sleeps with you).

Position 1:

I call this the Titanic position. Before lewd inferences be made, I call it so simply because it is reserved for the women and children of the soil. Literally. They come armed with sickles, handbags, rakes, compacts and other items of physical torture. And they get preference over any male occupant. Sexist, I say.

Position 2:

This is the Marie Biscuit Position. Allow me to force you to participate in this experiment. You get into the auto and sit in this position for more than three minutes. Once done, get out and find a vehicle that has a good rear view mirror. And then, you are requested to kindly inspect your rear. It will, 7.89 times out of 9.81, resemble a biscuit. Flat and awful to taste. Warning: Never mix the hot coffee experiment with this one.  

Position 3:
The Tarzan position. You have a swinging view of the driver's vista which is pretty much like watching National Geographic from a RC helicopter. Except of course, if there is a hot female sitting behind you; in which case you tend to bend and flex your invisible muscles by straining against the usually, frail skeleton of the auto.

Which is where I found myself straining away to kingdom come, en route to Satyam one fine evening. The night was young and I could see with my peripheral vision that the young female behind me was taking more than just a peripheral interest as she sniffed loudly and disgustingly into a tissue. Encouraged, I strained even more at the already shredded tarpaulin that hung at the side of the auto and tore it. Suddenly, Vayu found the time and date, auspicious to take a leak. He promptly did.

Within seconds I was drenched to the bone. Fate had copulated me once more as the tarpaulin barely managed to keep a thimble of the rain away. My shirt exposed my misshapen torso and the image of a wrestler that I had so painstakingly built crumbled all around me like a masala papad in coke. In the words of the pointy-face - Ricky Ponting, "It was utter humiliation".

There is more. Right when my stop came, the rain stopped. I got off, walked to the middle of the road and yelled a few choice words to the heavens. The auto-driver empathized and came to stand next to me. He yelled a few more, better-formed choice words. At the end of the duet tirade, I understood and paid him the fare.

After a rather uneventful bus ride later with the only memorable event being me sitting and irrigating the bus, I found myself at the footsteps of the theater. My friend could not control his glee which made me sulk for some time. The moron that he was, he bought me a hot cup of coffee to cool me off, which I promptly and accidentally threw down his trousers. It was hilarious.

Two hours of visual torture later, we came out with our brains eaten alive by a director who had nothing to reveal than most actresses in the movie.

The next day I went to office in the selfsame auto; sniffing with a cold. I did not meet that girl until yesterday. She was still sniffing and was married.