Pee’ing in a 5 star hotel

‘Live in Concert – Shankar Mahadevan’

The banners flashed across almost every second hoarding I passed by. Information splashed across news papers as the D day loomed within the horizon. The voice that had entranced us over the years , would finally get a face, and it was not just an image in a paper , but for that fact , it was going to be the man himself , in all his depth placed in a 3 Dimensional view. And so we waited anxiously.  But I believe for many it was something more, which drove them to watch these live concerts. I am not a heavy metal fan , but perhaps on a given day , I might also have been ready to spend around 7000 rupees just to catch a glimpse of perhaps, Iron Maiden .I  would have probably stood hours in the blistering heat, to catch a glimpse of those few individuals who had made it big it , who had broken out from the shell that bound us all , and followed their dreams. I guess, what drove people to concerts , was  analogous to the faith that drives someone to a religious place on any occasion. To find inner piece at being one with a being of supreme power. In the case of concert it’s a celebrity, a person of a status beyond our dreams.

When the papers finally announced the distribution of tickets, people yelped in relief . But their relief soon turned into sighs , when they noticed the tickets were for free. Funny , normally people would have been so happy at the sight of the words ‘FREE PASSES’. A concert of such an intensity , free of charge. And that’s exactly why people sighed. Such things meant long lines , long waits with hope of reaching out and grabbing a ticket before the distributor’s faced turned into a sorrowful frown.

On the day of the concert , people started thronging the grounds well before the band had even arrived.The number of people queued up at the end of two hours , had surely beaten the recent population census by a large margin. 2 hours of body tight queuing . 2 hours of exchanging sweat, found its redemption when the gates finally opened. Unlike a mad animal cornered , people fought against the temptation to bust through, and logically scanned for any openings and familiar faces in the queue. And when they made it through the gates , their relieved faces could only transformed into a frown. Their hopes of being close to the celebrity shattered , for ahead of them the stage stood miles away , and barricaded between them , were chair reserved for the mighty class.

 Chairs which remained empty. Chairs which teased the thousand who stood clogged without any space to move or breath , as the hours ticked on. As a whole hour passed from the designated time of the start, the chairs started gradually filling themselves, with the prime of society , who cared less about the people who had struggled so much to be there. Another passed before the elite celebrities decided to make heir entrance.

The show went on for 3 hours , the crowd swooned . And many held within the pressure of their bladder which had shot to heights unknown. But the still swooned ,to pay worship to their idol on stage. Their sacrifice meant holding onto their position from which they perhaps could get a glimpse of the shirt of their idol. The elite class had a toilet of their own. They ventured showing no respect to the songs of the idol , and yet the idol sang more to their glory. The show ended , the elite class dispersed first . and then the gates opened to us commoners.

For many the dream had been fulfilled , they would live to tell their kids about the day they had almost met a celebrity. For me it was simple , my bladder was bursting , and I surely did not want to be the one people remembered in their stories as the guy who had lost his pee in public! I rushed as fast my bladder would allow me in search of a loo. Ironic as it may be , I could find no place to relieve myself .

And then I lifted my eyes , to the large structure ahead. A hotel , not just any hotel a 5 star hotel . The home of the Gods. The temple of the elite. I could not hold myself longer, perhaps I was a untouchable in that land , but it didn’t matter. I rushed in, defiant to plow through anyone who dared to stop me. I rushed into the restroom and let myself relieved. I had broken tradition. A common man had stepped into the house of the elite and stood beside them. I didn’t need a blazer , nor did I need to curtail myself like a dog would on the streets. I was a human being with as much of right to be here. I had worked hard to get the tickets ,slogged to be there , spent hours s struggling against the cramps that threatened to implode. I felt a relieved man , perhaps I was not a celebrity , but my hard work had sure earned me the will , desire and most of all the necessity , to surpass the inferiority complex. I stood tall , brushing shoulders with giants , and now had a tale to tell my children . The day their father pee’d in a 5 star hotel!

To Trust or not to ?

As the first strands of facial hair introduced me to the transitory phase to adulthood , I could not help but expect the long journey ahead. But over the years the naive ness of a child just vanished in the struggle to survive in such a deceptive world. And just as countless as the number of hair on his face , the child found himself with as many betrayals on his path top adulthood. As an adult , every person had to be doubted. Nothing came for free, everyone had a hidden agenda. In the face of trouble , it became  more riskier to trust someone , than to be alone. Where once friends were termed as one of the apt examples of a symbiotic relation , it now took the realm of that which would be described as a parasitic relation.

 

I remember , being gifted a small action figure when I was a child. As per tradition , toys were passed on from those who had gone beyond the age of playing with action figures. My figure was named JYDOG. JYDOG was apparently a rubber figured shaped as a wrestler. Unknown to me at  that primitive stage of what a wrestler was , JYDOG took the form of every action hero I could think off. He was my compatriot , and my defense .I spent hours with him , playing and living in a fantasy world. JYDOG grew old with me , however his hair did not grey , but the turmoil of change took effect on his body. One day I noticed JYDOG’s leg swiveling around the small piece of rubber which held it together. I was old enough to quit playing with action figures. I had given away  all my other toys , but yet had held on to JYDOG.JYDOG was something more to me than an action figure. He was a being in that mystical , a friend whop took me far away when things got bad at home. He my source of relief , when my mom used to shout at me.

 

A few years later , I remember seeing JYDOG in my dad’s hand. I believe he was going to dump him in the garbage. I had stopped playing with after all , and also his leg and hand were all but destroyed. But I could not bring myself to allow JYDOG to be disposed off. He was my friend after all , I knew it seemed foolish . How could a non living object be a friend, but emotions are a funny thing. I took JYDOG under my wings. Brought out the nails , hammer, knives and tape. I was ready top do whatever it took. At the age of 14 , I conducted my first surgery on the Rubber figure. I saved his leg and his arm. JYDOG was back to being the superhero I knew.

 

Around 10 years later when I returned home , I found JYDOG missing. I learnt that tradition had taken its course. JYDOG had been passed on.   Passed on to some other kid , who was really happy with him. JYDOG was more than 20 years old, far inferior to the new breeds of figures that the world now saw. But JYDOG was still out there being the superhero in the mind of a kid who needed a friend in such a world.  It felt warm inside knowing that JYDOG had moved onto some other child’s heart. I felt proud of myself. Felt proud of bringing a change. I know for a fact that if I had not stepped out and saved his arm and leg , perhaps JYDOG today would have just remained a memory , instead of a legacy.

 

I learnt one thing from this action figure. Life is horrid , and no matter how good you are ,one day you will find your arms and legs chewed off. But I also learnt that it takes just one person’s belief for you to stand up again , to mend those broken arms and legs. It takes the trust of one person to fight the world , to move on.

 

To trust or not to ? I believe the gates to adulthood lies in accepting the horridness of the world , but yet believing that all hope is not lost. And if it truly is lost , then the candle of hope lies in your hands.