Getting locked inside somebody’s washroom

First things first – I attended Caferati`s Delhi Meet on Sunday evening (from 4.30 p.m. to 8 p.m.). I was accompanied by wife Rekha and daughter Rhea. I know it does sound like a Minister’s entourage…but I am not yet a Minister.

We landed at the meeting place at 5.30 p.m. – a full one hour behind schedule – and after the third person had read his article, a break was announced. Like the innocent boy (or should that be man?) that I am I headed straight for the washroom.

There was a queue of four people. What is with writers? Why do they always rush for the washrooms? I wondered even as I stood in the queue. The writers going in were taking so long that …I started thinking of how Charles Darwin`s theory of Natural selection (and Evolution) applies to writers.

Here is how: I think the writers of the iron-age were actually the territory markers. These good for nothing men (and later women) were sent to urinate around the territory because they weren`t strong enough for running, jumping & lifting – the three prerequisite for becoming a hunter. I am told blogging didn`t exist back then.

Over a period of time, these territory markers learnt to write “I” while they pissed. With time, they were able to write complex alphabets like “H” and “C”. With practice, they moved on to the absolute killers like “B” and “W”. Let me remind you that back then only the men acted as territory markers.

In order to write more, the ‘writers` started drinking more water from the water hole…and started to mark more territory. Eventually, they started writing whole words like “Sky” or “Goat”. As time passed by, territory markers who could hold more water in their urinary bladder were promoted as senior territory markers and thus flourished while those that failed the natural selection fell by the way side.

After a few centuries…women joined the party. Thankfully, by this time the ‘writers` had started writing ON THE cave walls.

Ever since, people with huge bladders have ended up becoming writers…and with no territory marking to be done…they end up crowding the washrooms at every writers meet.

It seemed like ages, before I got a chance to get into the Annie`s washroom. Annie (Not so sure…but I think she works for Frontline Magazine) was hosting the Caferati session at her house.

As soon as I entered the washroom, I attained nirvana – the kind that only other men can understand. If I were to give an example that a lady would understand: Imagine finding your lost i-Pill the morning after your one-night stand with a humor blogger? How relieved would you be?

Once inside, I surveyed the washroom. It was during one such survey in my earlier boss` house that I came to know of soaps – since then I have used one.

The feeling of being on your own can sometimes make you a very responsible person – so I lifted the lid, relieved myself, put back the lid again, and flushed. It was when I tried to get out of the washroom, that the tragedy struck. I had locked myself in.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen…this favorite blogger of yours had locked himself up inside somebody else`s washroom. Like the brave man that I am, I stepped back – a lesson learnt from my mom (she always said, “whenever you see the flames rising in the gas stove, step back!”) and let out a sigh. How was I going to tackle this, I asked myself.

Luck was stacked against me:

• This was my first time with Caferati and I didn`t know anybody
• Rekha wasn`t carrying a mobile, so I couldn`t alert her
• My daughter was too young so she also didn`t have a mobile

Like I have said many times before us Rajans are built to survive and keeping this in mind, I gently knocked the door. Since everybody was at the reading (writers, don`t just write…you know?) they didn`t hear me.

I repeated myself:

Knock Knock

Knock Knock

Knock Knock

Knock Knock

When there was no response. I called out….

Anybody there?

Anybody there?

Anybody there?

Anybody there?

You should thank God that it wasn`t you…for I was able maintain my cool in the buried-like-a-miner scenario only because I happen to be one of the Rajans. Being one of the Rajans comes with a big responsibility…we are forced to keep ourselves alive for the World. So I shouted:

“Somebody please save me…looks like I am going to die!”

I don`t now what happened after that. When I got up after two hours – with a Samosa stuffed in my mouth and a smiley drawn on my face with Close Up toothpaste – I was told I had fainted inside the washroom. I don`t believe them…for I remember shouting instructions at the people gathered …on how to open the door from outside…

Alternative headline for this article, which I didn`t use: Jammy dazzles at Caferati Meet on Sunday

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