Public Transport for the Claustrophobic: A Spaced-Out Self Help Guide

Image Source: http://www.shutterstock.com/pic-144411286/stock-photo-crowded-train.html ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Claustrophobia is an anxiety disorder in which the sufferer has an irrational fear of having no escape or being closed-in. This book starts by assuring you that this can be a very rational fear when it comes to public transport in India. But you just have to follow the smart guidelines in this book to ensure a smooth and hassle free journey to your destination even in rush hours.

 It will all become clear to you when I explain the fundamental science that lies behind smart public travel. These insights are usually to be gained right in school. The favourite way for high school teachers to explain atomic arrangement in crystalline solids was by giving the example of how the students are seated in regular rows and columns in the classroom. But, like a wise man once said, real education beings after school, or in this case, after school hours.

 Notice how the regular crystalline arrangement breaks up and forms an amorphous mass with high viscosity and diffuses out of the classroom in a seemingly random fashion. A bunch of atoms have random motion. But, the application of electric of magnetic fields can channel their motion in a specific direction. Similarly, a bunch of people can also be manipulated to behave in a semi or pseudo random fashion by the careful application of fields. Note that the fields may be any one or a combination of coercive, enticing, physical, emotional, rational or religious. It ultimately boils down to a branch of study called applied mass psychology.

The physics of applied mass psychology uses levers. Levers can reduce the effort required to move an object. And, you will be resting your level of mass psychology on the fulcrum of repulsion.

All you need to do is to carry your phone with you. Pretend to be talking on the phone. Discuss a few symptoms that you have been experiencing for the past few days. Include stuff like difficulty in breathing, sneezing, wheezing, coughing, whatever catches your fancy. Add some MRI, X-ray and CT scans. You will begin to notice people giving you glances of sympathy. When you have attracted sufficient attention, declare in a confident tone that it is non-contagious. Pause for around 10 seconds. Then say softly “Oh is it? I did not know that”. Then slowly start glancing around at the people gathered near you. You can mirror their sympathetic expression for added effect.

The above strategy may not work in extra crowded trains where reaching your own pocket may be difficult. After a reader wrote back about how in an attempt to reach his phone, he put his hands into a fellow passenger’s pocket, a revised edition of this book was released which includes an additional strategy that can be used in crowded trains.

Pretend to be chewing tobacco. Don’t worry if you are tobacco intolerant. Just puff your cheeks slightly and pretend to be chewing. Red marks might be added around the lips for stubborn crowds. When you being to feel claustrophobic and want some reprieve, stop chewing and slowly start looking around you, eyes slightly angled downwards towards the floor. Works best in the presence of women and well-dressed office going crowd.

Inspite of all measures, stubborn crowds can be hard to handle. But, don’t be confrontational. Claustrophobia gets worse as the distance between their fist and your face reduces. Avoid physical contact. Use dialogue and reason. Try skipping brushing your teeth for one day if your words are not enough.

In case of extreme emergencies, where none of the above works, remember that there is always one seat that you will never be added to share: the toilet seat. Make your way there when things get out of hand.

Wish you happy commuting!
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Post Script

The above piece was written as part of a session in Write Club hosted by Kalansh. The exercise required the piece to be written in second person. The prompt was a visual prompt in the form of the photograph given below. (Photo credits: Trisha Salvi)

Road Rage

Image Source: http://toonclips.com/design/5386

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I hate traffic like everyone else. But it is not because I own a fancy car. I hate traffic because when it lines up in front of a traffic signal, it gets in the way of my work. It is my job to sweep the streets.

The morning started like any other normal day with the songs of the birds being drowned by the blaring of the horns. The sleek sports bike caught my attention. Not the bike but the rider, especially when I heard some angry yet ingenious vocabulary from the rider. It seemed to be directed at no one in particular. But it did manage to grab my attention. That is the thing about colourful vocabulary. It intrinsically has higher decibel values than normal conversation. Colourful words always grab attention in the black and white noises of everyday life.

The traffic moved in spurts. Starting and stopping every half a minute. The stream of expletives from the rider also seemed to synchronise with the green and red switching of the traffic signal. I was a nobody, but even I was getting uncomfortable. You can imagine the state of the family that was seated in the car next the bike. They even had a grandmother in there to add to the family’s discomfort.

 I mean, we all hate the traffic but why was he using his vocal chords instead of just honking like the others? It was only when the words reached their Virat limits that I saw the door of the car in front of the bike swing open. A 6’6” tall and broad frame stepped out and took long strides towards the vocal rider behind him. No, not another road brawl!

The broad frame spoke angrily but I don’t think he used any swear words. If he had used, I would have heard them instead of just angry growls. The rider seemed to be surprised by the sudden reaction from a fellow commuter. Well, what did he expect that he could speak his mind and not get beaten up? Like I said, he should have kept his mouth shut and just honked like the rest of them.

The rider got off the bike. He stood almost a foot lower than the assaulter. Self-preservation always trumps anger. I think that is what was happening here. The bike rider raised his hands in a pacifying gesture towards the incoming tall frame. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Apologies always sound at several decibels below normal conversation. All I could hear next was the crunch of knuckles on cheekbone. The small man seemed to be lifted off his feet for the fraction of the second that it took for him to swerve and hit the pavement with a dull thud.

I noticed three tiny objects fly and they landed near my broom as I watched with my mouth wide open. One of the objects was a premolar, one incisor and one miniature wireless hands-free headphone. I could still hear faint conversation on the other side when I picked up the wireless headphone.

I did not know which of the three objects was more precious to the owner. I was not sure which of the three could be reused by the owner. So I picked up all three and proceeded to hand it over to the small man who was now trying to get back on his feet.
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Post Script

The above piece was written during a session at Write Club on Action Writing
 

The Siege

Image Source: https://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/s/siege_warfare.asp

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“I can’t take another step.”

“I know.  I’m tired too.”

“You don’t understand. I really can’t take another step.”

“What do you mean can’t? You have to. You can’t give up now that we are so close to the end.”

“Take a close look at where you are asking me to step.”

“I see a lot of empty space. Just take a step.”

“It is not about the space. It is about the rules. I can’t take another step.”

“You mean I win?”

“No, it’s a draw.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Look, listen, the king has no safe square to move to. And he is not under attack. It is called a stalemate. It is a draw.”

“Ok, if you can’t move, then pass your turn. I will move and make the next step and turn the deadlock into a deadmate.”

“Look, there is no deadlock, there is no deadmate. It is called a stalemate and it is a draw.”

“Explain to me why it is a draw.”

“Look, the king has nowhere to go and he is in no danger. So he stays where he is.”

“Then let me move.”

“It is my move and the king doesn’t want to move.”

“Then let him move one of his other soldiers”.

“Are you blind? You killed all my soldiers.”

“A king with no army and he has the gall to demand a peace treaty?”

“I am not asking for a peace treaty. It is a technical draw.”

“But you said chess is just like life. Explain this draw to me.”

“Ok, the king is safe in his castle and he doesn’t want to come out. You can’t break into the castle. So it is a draw.”

I thought I had finally convinced him when he got up and walked towards the fridge. My relief was short lived as he came back half a minute later and sat down with a bag of chips and a bottle of coke.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I am laying siege to your king’s castle. I am going to stay here till he runs out of resources and has to make a move.”

“Look, I said chess is like life, I didn’t say it is like game of thrones. You can’t lay a siege.”

“Then make a move.”

“The rules don’t allow it.”

“Why not? I see lot of space.”

“How hard is it to understand that everything in chess is not like life?”

“I don’t care, make a move.”

I saw him grab another handful of chips and stuff it into his mouth. I have seen battlefields covered with blood and sweat and broken weapons. He was going to cover this one with chips and ketchup and spit.

“Just hold your king and move it damn it.”

I grabbed the king.

“Yes now that you touched a piece, you have to movie it. That is also a rule. I know it, you told me.”

I grabbed the king and really moved it. Further than he had ever moved in his entire military career.

He grabbed his forehead and said “What the hell are you doing? I am bleeding” and wiped the cut on his temple with the tissue.

“Sorry, I was aiming for your mouth to break the siege.”

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Post Script

The above short story was written as part of a session at Write Club on  19th September, 2015. The session was hosted by Nikita and the theme of the session was "Dialogue Writing".

Ultra Tight Security

Image Source: http://toonclips.com/600/

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I don’t know why people have this inherent need to modernise everything. It seemed like a good idea at first. I wouldn’t have to carry that large bunch of keys with me every time. Biometric access is a godsend for people with tiny pockets, is what I used to think.

But, my present predicament, I blame on one of the inherent features of any electronic device. No, I am not talking about reliability. I am talking about the fact that, the more you buy, the cheaper the price per unit goes. All the salesman had to do was to show the graph of reducing cost per unit to my managers and they decided to install the biometric lock in every single door they could find in our office. When they finally ran out of doors and couldn’t find any more, that smart ass Ashok who wanted a promotion gave this bright idea. The idea was accepted and now, I find myself standing, at 11 pm in my office, staring at a biometric access panel, outside the toilet. Biometric access is not a godsend for people with tiny bladders.

My thoughts of smashing the panel were interrupted when the call finally went through to the helpline and a polite voice that seemed to be in absolutely no hurry said, “Welcome to Ultra Tight Security Solutions Pvt Ltd. How may I help you today sir?”

I replied in an equally tight voice, “Our customer ID is SUSU7436. I am unable to open one of the locks. I think it is not recognising my fingerprint. Can you kindly let me know the password that can override this so that I can open the door?”

“I am sorry sir, we cannot tell the password to you directly unless it is a life threatening emergency. We first have to explore all other options of opening the door. Are you sure you have been holding your finger on the scanner for a sufficiently long time sir?”

“Yes I have been keeping my finger on the scanner for the past 15 minutes, which is how long it took to connect the call to you.”

“I am sorry for the wait sir. Are you sure your finger was flat and steady on the scanner for at least 10 seconds sir?”

I pressed my finger on the scanner with the maximum strength I could muster in this precarious position. I managed to hold the fingertip steady while the rest of me swayed and oscillated in an attempt to ensure that the lock opened before my bladder.

“It is still not opening. Can you just tell me the password? I am not trying to break into anything, I am just trying to open the washroom door.”

“Are you stuck inside the washroom or outside it sir?”

“How the hell does it matter? I am outside the washroom, trying to get inside.” “I am sorry sir, we have a list of emergency situations where we are allowed to reveal the override password. Stuck inside the washroom is one of the emergency situations. But if you are outside the washroom then we are allowed to reveal the password only if you are more than 75 metres away from an emergency exit and the building is on fire.”

The building was not on fire but something else was and I didn’t want any emergency exits over there.

“Why is stuck inside the washroom an emergency whereas stuck outside not an emergency” Which one do you think is a greater need?”

“I am sorry sir if you are not satisfied with our rules. You can visit our website and leave a comment in the feedback section. We take the opinions of our valuable customers very seriously. We will get back to you within two working days sir.”

I flung the phone at the access panel and hopped around a bit. Not entirely due to anger. The battery fell out of my cell phone and gave rise to a desperate plan in my head.

I rushed past the corridor towards the back of the building. As I reached my destination, I exerted great effort and self control, stretched and stood on my toes to reach up towards the fuse box. The power went off as I pulled out the fuse. I had 60 seconds before the backup power would take over. I rushed back as I couldn’t afford to spill over this short window of opportunity.

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Post Script

The above short story was written as a part of a session at Write Club on 5th September, 2015. It was hosted by Sharath Komarraju, author, founder and prime driving force behind Write Club. He is very soon going to launch his latest book " The Rise of Hastinapur" which is a sequel to his earlier book "The Winds of Hastinapur". Definitely a must read if you like mythology and enjoy reading about some lesser known stories behind the Mahabharata.

Speaking of publishing, there is another group of writers who have published a collection of short stories titled "The Ghost Walk and Tales of Terror". I am a fan of the writing of the authors involved in this work and if you enjoy short stories, I would recommend that you give this one a read. They also have a Facebook page which they update regularly (more regularly than my blog!).

I am still allergic to you

Image source: http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/FERTILITY%20DRUGS%20DOCTOR%20PATIENT_26298
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It was well past 11pm. I was hungry, tired and my shift had just started. Junior resident doctors don’t have an enviable life. Especially not when you are a working in a trauma and emergency hospital located right next to a major traffic signal in a metro city.

Damn the guy who ordered that pizza. And the thunderstorm that took down the traffic lights. The pizza delivery guy seemed in a hurry to go down, literally and figuratively. But he did not go down alone. He took down two cars and a cycle with him. Not to mention the 4 pizzas he was carrying. What a waste, I thought as my stomach growled. The entire floor was empty as all the surgeons were in the operation theatre handling the half a dozen emergency cases. I was left out to handle the other less serious cases that pop up once in a while. Am I the only one wondering about the guy who had ordered that pizza?

There was a knock on the door. My stomach churned. I looked up as Eve stepped in. I recollected that in the olden days, my stomach used to churn after I looked at her, not before. Clearly, I had moved forward.

The surprise on her face was evident as her freshly eye lined eyebrows popped up just for a second. She had not expected to see me as the duty doctor. I looked at her eyebrows as they arched over her eyes which were faintly outlined by smudged mascara. Clearly she was in too much of a hurry to carry her umbrella. I followed the raindrop that gently trailed off her wet hair onto her temple and down the gentle slopes of her high cheekbones. In addition to the usual radiance, her skin was showing signs of some sort of allergic rash.

“Oh I am sorry; I didn’t know you work here now. I can go to someone else if it is a problem”, she said in a formal yet polite tone.

Always eager to walk out on me, whether in a bedroom or in a hospital. Eve hadn’t changed one little bit in four years.

“There is no one else available right now. Pizza delivery emergency. I mean, accident emergency due to pizza delivery. That rash looks like a minor food allergy. You were always prone to it weren’t you? Do come in. I am sure we can fix it up”, I said with all the amiability I could muster. I recollected how things had ended up the last time I assured her that I could fix something.

 She walked in and sat down gingerly in front of me.

“Lie down please” I said and waved towards the recliner. I had said this exact sentence to her many times in the past in a totally different context. Except for the “please” of course. I looked at my watch as I checked her pulse. For once I was disappointed that my patient didn’t have an increased heart rate.

“What did you eat this time? Doesn’t look like olives”, I said and began to understand the importance of past experience in my profession.

“No, I think it is coconut. It was very finely grated and I did not notice it.”

She must have been on a date. She never wears her spectacles on a date. No wonder she didn’t see the finely grated coconut. Perhaps I should prescribe contact lenses to her.

“Just a minor allergic reaction. Doesn’t look like anything serious. We might have to give you an injection and things should be fine in about an hour”, I pronounced my judgement.

She sat up straight and looked at me wide eyed. She always did that when she was really paying attention. “Isn’t there anything that doesn’t involve a needle?” she asked as she tried her best to hide even the slightest hint of a plea in her tone.

I diagnosed myself with selective amnesia and said “None that I am aware of” and managed to maintain a neutral expression. I know she hates needles.

She gazed up at the upper left corner of the room. I knew there were cobwebs and spiders there. I wondered whether the spiders had caught any prey tonight. Judging by the look on her face, I assumed that she saw at least a couple of moths dangling from the spider webs. She sat and fiddled absent-mindedly with the ring on her finger. I don’t know what made her more anxious. The prospect of getting an injection or the fact that she could see a spider web in a dirty corner of a room and not shout at me for it. Reluctantly, she turned towards me and curtly nodded her approval for my treatment.

“Just wait here, while I get the injection” I said and walked out of the room all the while trying to hide the spring in my step that was just urging to burst forth. I was finally beginning to enjoy my job. I think I will have pizza for dinner tonight after this is over.

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Epilogue 

The above short story (if you can call it that) was written as part of a session at Write Club on the 28th of March, 2015. It was hosted by Ashish and the overall theme was “Memories and Nostalgia”. The actual writing prompt I had received was “The doctor puts a hand on your arm and says: We can save only you or the baby”. It was a little hard for me to imagine myself in this situation, so I decided to deviate slightly from it in my actual story.

Thanks to Write Club, I managed to meet a lot of talented writers and there were many pieces read out in that session that I happened to enjoy. I thought it would be nice to share links to those who might have an online presence.

Ashish, the host of today’s session blogs here.

Kartik blogs at tumblr and reviews books and movies.

As always, this piece cannot end without giving credit/blame to Nikita for introducing me to Write Club. In this particular session, she happened to write a piece that I happen to rate as my second favourite of all her works that I have read so far. I failed to convince her to post it online. So, perhaps it is appropriate to mention that my favourite work by Nikita is her series Cycle Chronicles. In case you have not gone through it already, I strongly recommend reading it for the quirky humour and the unique characterisation of her inimitable blue cycle.

A Gripping Dinner

Prologue 

This post was written as part of another session at Write Club. The prompt was to write something that describes emotions. The point was to “show” rather than “tell” what the characters are feeling.

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It was a fancy restaurant meant for a fancy date. Light salsa music played in the background. She sat in front of him and occupied most of the foreground. The dancers on the stage floated with grace under the expensive chandeliers. The dancing partners seemed to move in perfect synchronisation with each other.

“I want you to open up to me”, she said as she ran her fingers over his knuckles. Her lips curved in a gentle smile. Her lips glowed a luscious red and the shade perfectly complemented her ruby necklace that adorned her slender neck. The long necklace accentuated her cleavage in the deep necked cocktail gown that she wore.

Normally, whenever she looked this ravishing, he would be filled with the one primal instinct and base desires of the flesh. Today, he was filled with two primal instincts.

One instinct lay below the belt and one above. No doubt she looked scrumptious. But, the fish finger appetisers lying between them on the table looked delicious too. Piping hot, crunchy looking on the outside, hiding a tender treasure of flesh that would just melt in his mouth. The aromas in the restaurant made it even more inviting and irresistible.

But he did not dare take his hand from under her gentle grasp, especially not when she was in this “I want you to open up to me” mood. He swallowed his saliva along with feelings that he had swallowed earlier like hunger, pride, reasoning and a numb butt cheek and nodded curtly.

“Is it so hard to utter a few words in response?” she said in a slightly raised voice. He noticed the signs of the impending emotional thunderstorm. Her lips which were curved upwards at the ends in a gentle smile earlier in the evening went to being a straight line. Her breathing had quickened. Her fingertips which were caressing his knuckles were replaced by her fingernails.

He was thirsty but there was no time to reach for the water glass.

“I am listening and I understand what you are saying” he said with a croaky voice and tried to clear his long thirst parched throat.

She sat back and said, “Why are you finding it so hard to speak to me then?” The volume was the same but the pitch had more tenderness this time. He breathed a sigh of relief. The first landmine in the vast minefield of emotions that is a woman was dodged without significant damage.

Her lips went from being a straight line to a squiggly line. The eyes widened and the eyeliner outlined the enlarged contours of her eyes. He thought he saw an opportunity in the silence and tried to reach for the glass of water. Suddenly her eyes went moist and threated to do worse.

He had already reached for the glass of water. He had stepped on a mine. Bringing the glass towards himself would set off the bomb. So he pushed the glass towards her gently and said “Here drink some water, let me explain”

“Look, if you are thirsty, you can drink the water, don’t force you opinions on me like your mother’ she said, the fingernails digging harder into his knuckles. “No, I am not thirsty”, he said and dodged the trap and let go of the water glass. He moved his hand on her hand and hoped to relieve the sore knuckles on his other hand. “Look, no one is trying to force their opinions on you, if you don’t like the venue chosen by my mother, I can talk to her”

“You know that I always wanted an open air reception for our wedding with a barbeque dinner. Just imagine how delicious all the barbeque sauces and spices would smell on grilled meat”, and leaned forward on the table, adding fuel to both his desires.

Her eyes widened, the lips curved again in a smile and this time the luscious lips parted to allow a view of pearly white teeth. She sat bouncing in her seat and visibly shaking with anticipation. He could do nothing but sit with a different form of anticipation as her grip only tightened with the frenzy of her excitement.

She stood up suddenly and said, “This is why I tell you to open up to me more often. See how you melted away all my fears? I almost forgot about the food amidst all this. In fact, I think I don’t feel hungry at all right now. Do you want to dance?” she winked and swayed suggestively.

He looked at her hourglass figure and the glass of water still lying on the table between them. He wondered which one of his desires would be satiated first tonight as the light salsa music continued to play in the background.

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 Epilogue 

Acknowledgement: All credit/blame goes to Nikita for introducing me to Write Club and for encouraging me to put up my writings from the sessions on my blog.

Image source: http://www.canstockphoto.com/couple-sharing-romantic-dinner-13480654.html

Noices News

Research Student Waves at Crush While Cycling: Falls into Ditch 

India’s premier research institute witnessed its first casualty of this year’s valentine season in the form of Golu Dhol, an obese, 7th year PhD student, who injured himself by riding his cycle into a ditch, while he was attempting to wave at his fellow research scholar and alleged crush, Sundari Trilok. The incident occurred a little past midnight on New Year’s Eve in front of the new girls’ hostel. Golu was cycling on the road that leads from Nesara to the Juice Center when the incident occurred. 

 The only other real eye witness to the unfortunate event was Sundari Trilok herself. The Noices investigating team spoke to Sundari to get her view of what happened that fateful night. “I was exiting my hostel and about to take a turn onto the road that goes towards Nesara when I noticed my labmate Golu cycling down the road looking very forlorn. I smiled at him and suddenly he took one of his hands off the bike handle to wave at me. Before I could react, I saw that he veered completely out of control and went straight into one the ditches on the side of the road. I immediately rushed to where he fell and attempted to help him get up. It was difficult for me alone to lift up his heavy frame (not cycle frame). My hopes went up when I saw a security guard approach us with a flashlight in hand. But, the guard just came, shined the flashlight on Golu’s unlocked cycle and took it away to the basement and locked it up while Golu continued to moan lying in the ditch. Finally, I called four of my sturdiest admirers to help me carry Golu to the health centre.” explained Sundari. 

Golu who is currently recovering from his physical wounds at the health centre denied any charges of negligent driving or roving eye. Golu said, “I have waved at Sundari many times in the past and never fallen into a ditch. I blame the cycle shop owner who did not repair it properly when I had given it to him to fix a loose nut. I sent my friend Ishant Haddi to ask the cycle shop owner to pay for damages.” 

Noices team spoke to Golu’s friend Ishant and he said “I had gone to the cycle shop to speak to the owner. But as soon as I went there, one of the employees came towards me with the hose of the cycle air pump in hand, looked at me with wide open eyes and said “Haan…hawa bharna kya?”. Man, I did not even have a cycle with me at that time! So, I just turned around and came back running before he could do anything to me.” 

The initial security report that detailed the incident did mention the cause of the accident to be a “loose nut”. Noices investigators approached the cycle shop owner (this time, we went with a cycle). The cycle shop owner strongly denied having done a shoddy job of fixing nuts in Golu’s cycle while his wide eyed assistant filled air into the Noices investigator’s cycle tire and demanded 2 rupees. 

When approached, the security office assured the Noices team that they were doing everything to ascertain the real cause as to why Golu lost control of his cycle while waving at Sundari. When updates last came in, the sentence in the security report that mentioned the primary cause of the accident to be a “loose nut” was still unchanged.

Still thinking about Superman

Why isn't anyone able to recognise that Clark Kent is Superman?

If I were to remove my specs, wear underpants over my trousers and put on a red cape, will you be unable to recognise me?

The Depression of Superman

ProLogue

This piece was written during one of the sessions of Write Club. The visual writing prompt given during that session was:

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I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Wishing I did not have to get up and face what lay ahead. You normal human beings at least get to be at peace while staring at the ceiling. I on the other hand, was given the ability to look beyond it, past the seven floors above me, past the seven homes and all the people living above me and into the sky above. Thanks to X-ray vision and all. You guys don’t know how lucky you are to be able to close all the blinds and windows in your bedroom, lay like a log in bed all day and just stare at the ceiling wondering what time of the day it is. 

I saw past the layers of concrete and noticed that the sun had risen well past the horizon. I decided to make my next attempt at getting out of bed. I had to be gentle. I always have to take care not to wake up with a start.  You have no idea how hard it is to constrain myself every single moment of my life; irrespective of whether I am awake or asleep. The last time I snored, the entire neighbourhood thought it was a distant thunderstorm. The last time I sneezed, the roof collapsed upon me and brought down the bathtub along with the 80 year old spinster living upstairs. The police of course had to protect my secret identity and passed it off as a gas leak caused explosion. I hate to admit that many times their alibis were not far off the mark. Since that day, I take great care about what I eat.

My life is a living idiomatic example of Bull in a china shop. No, not just any bull; a bull with a conscience in a china shop. 

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I decided to ignore it. Damn the new government for prescribing the minimum 10 hours per day 5 days a week work schedule for us superheroes. The normal people can just get out of bed, put on yesterday’s clothes and step out the door and get to work. I have to think about saving the world and worry about whether I have clean underwear for the next day. Damn the guy who designed my costume.

The phone rang again. Damn the phone too. I stretched my hand out of the blanket, picked the receiver off the side table and brought it to my ear. It was Batman. He is a man of few words. He just said ”42^nd street, 10 minutes”.

It must be really urgent for him to have called twice. I put on my costume and reached the top of the tallest building on 42^nd street. 

He was already waiting for me. He could hide the exhaustion in his voice and in the way he carried himself. But he could not hide his anatomy from me. The wear and tear his body had taken over the years was obvious. He hated this job as much as I did.

He held out his hand. It held a small make up kit. He always has a plan. But, like I said, he is a man of few words. He just said “Plan D”.  I nodded and took the make-up kit. I put on some eye-liner and the red coloured eye lenses. I wore a frown on my face and began pretending that some alien has taken control of my mind, flew off the rooftop and prepared to get tickled by batman. This should carry us through till Friday.

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EpiLogue

The final part of the writing exercise involved writing a piece to advertise what we had written earlier. This is what I managed to churn out:

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Unable to get rid of your happy pill highs? 

Read our stories and never feel the need to jump in joy again.

Do you feel like you have too much energy? Do you feel very enthusiastic and are unable to stay in bed after the sun rises? Read about the rustic depressions of the man of steel and get life time immunity to feelings like hope, happiness and positivity.

Issued in private interest by the Indian Psychiatric Association.

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Finally, to wrap up

Acknowledgement: All credit/blame goes to Nikita for introducing me to Write Club and for encouraging me to put up my writings from the sessions on my blog.