Analogikal

Here i stand. In this long line of misfits. People from all walks of life trying to move ahead just for a glimpse. A glimpse of the holy grail of air traveling folk. The ticket counter. The serial paan addict, seems to be chewin his own gums and soaking it in the blood of tiny critten that stay in his forever unbrushed mouth. The infant and the mother, who are there purely to annoy the living bejeezus out of you. The mom points to random useless crap and says son look at that as the son gladly looks into te gaping mouth of the pan chewin bozo right next to him. To him this is the closest equivalent of the dragon he had seen in movies and read in folklore. Whilst i enjoy the landscape in my never ending quest to find random crap to laugh at, The airport equivalent of indiana jones jumps skips and whizzes past me. He trips on unattended baggage, takes a somersault, crashes past three passengers and falls on his face with the elegance of a young shrek eating porridge for the first time with chopsticks. He stands up and acknowledges the crowd’s applause and says he is ok. In the pandemonium everybody forgot the fact that what he had indeed tried to achieve was to save a couple of minutes of waiting jumping the line. But the society spoke. They asked him to grab his hind and report to the back of the line.

I started thinking. What could have prompted this thought and behaviour. Was he being chased by ghouls, goblins and golem. I am pretty sure he was not carrying the ring. Was he a captain India who just woke up from deep sleep after having  fallen into a gutter with an open manhole.Did he  receive a memo on the impending zombie apocalypse before any of us and was making a dash for the nearest secluded island. Could it be?… But then i took another look around and realised he is not alone. There are more like him. The same people who make you feel like you are in the climatic scene of an apocalyptic movie every time you drive on the roads of bangalore with their blaring horns and finger flipping in stagnant traffic.  The ones exit movie theatres as if they they let one rip and wanna leave before the stench hits. These are the premature evacuators. They are the produces of hurried loin smushing and premature ejaculation. The men who are perennially in a hurry ; the ones who never reserve tickets and never reach anywhere before time. After all from conception to contraception, nothing about them was planned. They have this constant need to keep moving. It is the open roads and the keeda in their ass that keeps them going. Where to, they don’t know. And it does not matter either. For it is not the journey nor the destination, it is the undesired, unparallel rush of being needlessly busy that gives them the kicks. Next time you come across one of these, acknowledge their presence with a tip of your hat or a flip of your finger. For without them life would be easy, serene and comfortable. And who in their right minds would want that?