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Social media had been abuzz with all the lurid details of the Peegate for a while then, but it has stayed in my mind, resting, fermenting, molding into thoughts, rising like a perfectly done idli batter.
The Peegate did not prove to be the undoing of any airline, but it surely brought the hastily constructed edifice of my peace of mind to a crumbling demise with many salubrious details trickling in, the majority of which could make you pull out your hair even after you had just got your hair spa done.
Social media had been abuzz with all the lurid details of the Peegate like a cackle of hyenas until another flight crash landed to give them fodder for more. But the earlier incident stayed in my mind, resting, fermenting, molding into thoughts, rising like a perfectly done idli batter.
In spite of who the urinator… errr… the instigator is or isn’t, my heart goes out to Kathak for being made an unwitting and unwilling third party. These days when people rue the slow dying of all art forms vehemently on social media, it doesn’t bode well to be labeled as a peecursor errr… precursor to incontinence.
However happy I might be, that something that every 4 women out of 10 over the age of sixty suffer from, is finally getting the limelight it deserves, making Kathak the lone culprit raises a stink. Of course, as the wisdom goes, pregnancy and childbirth are just nature’s way of making women ‘sampoorna’. If they come with a caveat of a leaky faucet or two in advanced age, who cares!
This edition of high skies melodrama seems inspired from movies featuring Nirupa Roy or Rakhi, the epitome of motherhood, silent suffering and divine forgiveness. Nothing else explains why there were attempts to have the alleged victim forgive the alleged instigator. She was old and ‘Maa-si’ (like a mother) to the man. And of course she must have had ample experience of being peed upon being ‘Maa-si’. Hadn’t she forgiven her own kids?
This man, almost insensate due to the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed, also didn’t know any better what he was doing just like those cute infants.
Probably that is why when she went ahead and complained along with a request for refund, it rankled. After all, mothers are supposed to be stoic in the face of any smelly situation.
This one didn’t agree. She just didn’t realize that asking for a refund would paint her as almost a gold digger, her intention for reporting the incident taken out of context.
Of course, when the man said that his intention, while flashing his pee-nis was not sexual, it was considered completely fine. He was slapped with a grand punishment of a flight ban for thirty days. Thirty days…even a period doesn’t wait that long before starting its recurrent monthly torment.
This acts as a reminder to me to keep a change of clothes in my hand luggage always while traveling, in case someone is inclined for an unintentional tinkle in my vicinity.
I am also thinking of always booking the window seat to limit the access to potential pee-ers, however limiting it might become for my own visits to the loo. Falling asleep could result in unintended evacuations from my seat so it is a complete no no henceforth.
Or I can take a positive outlook on things and view this as an opportunity to live my ‘being a mother’ days all over again. My own version of ‘Wet dreams.’
Sheerin Shahab is an introvert who prefers a book over company any day. Hence, she is a reader, a nature lover, and a die-hard chai fan. She loves to read and write short stories read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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