If karma is anything to go by, I must have done some nasty crap in my previous birth, because in this lifetime, my arse is in the line of fire.
Firstly I would like to advise those with a queasy stomach to finish their food before reading any further. And if there are any aspiring models, please proceed, since the following words will enable you to throw up your last full meal without the aid of fingers.
All my life I have protected my bum and its hidden components from unnecessary scrutiny. This comes naturally to you if you have to spend a major part of your life as a boarder in a Boy's only school. You learn not to bend down to pick up that pencil that fell on the floor but rather bend your knees while you scoop up the errant pencil. This enables one to have a great posture, no back problems and a safe behind that did not call too much attention to itself.
Thus I survived until I reached college. While others in the same situation studied, got girl friends, smoked pot and had a life - I had accidents.
First I broke my leg. This required my first introduction to surgery and a process known as an enema.
Is it just me or does any one else out there feel that if nature intended water to go up that route, we would have had a mouth there?
Then I broke my hand. A couple of months later I had a face to face intimate moment with a milestone on the Udipi – Manipal highway.
More surgeries. More enemas. The doctors are pretty anal about this. By now I was sure that all the residents of Kasturba Medical College have been introduced to a part of me that even I haven’t seen in my entire life. They probably had a website dedicated to it and christened it tysonhole or something.
Finally I sold my bike and resigned myself to the fact that certain individuals are meant to walk. That’s if they didn’t want their expulsion unit to be more popular than them.
I left college a molested man. I felt that a certain part of me received more attention from men than Freddie Mercury’s did.
Fast forward 10 years.
I took it upon myself, on a well earned vacation, to enroll myself in one of those naturopathy centres in Bangalore. The place scared the pants off me in more than some ways. So you will excuse me for not naming it, since going by their threats to kick out its paying patrons if they swallow their own saliva, I fear they would hold my son hostage, imprison my wife and put her on a diet of kariela juice for eternity if I sully their good name in any way.
You know that you are not in the list of favorites when God has made all apparent things that are good for you taste vile. This is where I have a problem with this guy. Great creative genius but really rubbish in creative management. It would have made more sense to have all the nutrients and vitamins in potato chips and steak. No, suddenly if I have to be healthy, I have to become a cow with bad taste.
If cows were the epitome of health, it should make perfect sense to eat them and be healthy but that apparently is not the way it works. Go figure. I really don’t think this guy thought things through when he started this creation thing. But then nobody ever asks me anything anyway.
So, in the name of health, I pay around Rs.20, 000 to be starved and spend my vacation reading signs that promises dire consequences if I sample that cucumber in their vegetable garden. Normally a cucumber is the last thing that titillates my carnivorous palate, but having spent 7 days drinking water that has been chemically flavored , a cucumber begins to look, well, appetizing.
They must have seen me looking at those cucumbers in an amorous way, because the next day they introduced me to Colon Therapy.
That John Wayne swagger when I walk is not vanity, it’s a necessity.
The only consolation, according to my worldly wise father in law, is that if I think I had it bad, think of the poor guy whose job it was to do it. Now, that definitely put things in perspective.
To think that this time, I paid for this abuse. Like I said, I must have done some crazy arse shit in my last birth.
No Entry: But Who's Listening?
May 10, 2011
Bending over in Bangalore in the name of health.