(the southern reservoir-cut into rock partly, n partly brick-built)
I love teaching, no doubt about it. What is a little doubtful is all this in loco parentis thing one is expected to do as one goes about teachering. Take for example, The Incident in the Toilet.
It goes thusly –
Setting: the citadel at Dholavira.
Cast: Darvish, yours truly and assorted etceteras.
Curtains Up!
We were all listening carefully to the guide and nicely into the note-taking business. I had just done my bit about how the Indus Valley people were such marvelous engineers, when I noticed the grimace gracing the countenance of the hero of this tale. Total ijit that I am, I took it to be a look of intense concentration. Well, one lives and learns. The worst is yet to be, baby…..
It turns out our hero had disdained the opportunity to visit the loo-loos in the hotel, and now had serious cause for concern.
Moral Dilemma - What does a dedicated teacher do in such circumstances? Does she give in to her demons and laugh gleefully, and say ‘I told you so?’ Nope. Nada. She plays martyr, and offers to guide the erring gentleman to the nearest available spot wherein the said gentleman can answer Nature’s Urgent Call.
So off we went. The drama ends not here, my pretties….
Revelation – What does a toilet in a remote excavation site with only a rude man posing as the curator and a couple of drunkards to watch over it, look like? Answer – like only a toilet in a remote excavation site with only a rude man posing as the curator and a couple of drunkards to watch over it, can look like.
To move on….
Our hero turns up his nose at the establishment and expresses some doubt about doing something so important in such a place. The teacher points out the abject lack of choice, in case he hadn’t noticed. So our hero, like the true gentleman that he is, goes in. One offers to wait outside. Offer accepted. One settles down on the doorstep looking forward to a few minutes of peaceful beholding of Nature – a lot of scrub bush and a brown mongrel, in this case. But, but, but - did the righteous ever have it easy? No sir. Ask the early Christians. The righteous got thrown to the lions.
D: “Umm.. ma’m, there are a few cats in here.”
Moa: “oho?”
D:………
Moa: “Problem?”
D: “Well, you see, I don’t like animals. Once a dog bit me…so…”
Moa: “Just don’t pay much attention to it. It will go away. Won’t hurt you.”
D: “Are you sure? It is looking at me very rudely.”
(One detects growing panic in D’s normally sanguine voice, and goes in to find not one, not two, but three cats giving the world the disconcertingly superior stare that only cats and mothers can manage.)
Time for idle talk is past.
Moa: (ever the one for action, cat-shooer-off par excellence.) “You just have to flap your hands thisaway.”
This continues for sometime. One hasn’t done so much hand-flapping since one’s P.T. classes from school, but one gives it all one has got. The cats watch in interested silence. One takes a chance and turns around to have a look. The feline nearest the opening in the thatch roof turns menacingly.
D: (in that reassuring manner he has, screams)“Ma’m, he’ll attack you! Watch out!”
The he (or she, one can’t be too certain. One wasn’t in a position to check the anatomical details of one’s adversaries, and even in case one had, one wouldn’t have had the slightest clue.) left! The others followed. Victory! It may have been a small step for a cat, but a giant step for Mankind Trapped in the Toilet with Angry Brood of Cats.
So that was that.
Oh there are perks of course. On the way back, I get the most sincerely meant, fervent ‘thank you’ ever. We call ourselves the Brotherhood of the Toiletally Challenged now, and offer to write about it in our respective blogs for our respective friends to laugh at.
Here I am, keeping up my end of the bargain.
(this is what Dholavira might have looked like all those years ago.)
Damsel to the Rescue:
Murphy’s Law: (not my fault if he didn’t state it. If he had had any sense, he would have.)
The urgency of the desire to tinkle is directly proportional to the distance you are from human habitation, and by inference, from anything remotely approaching toilets.
The truth of this wise dictum was proved to me as we were on our innards-jolting 320km. bumpy ride to Dholavira from Bhuj. Having a busfull of giggly pre-teens is no help. Pee-stops had to be carefully maneuvered. It goes without saying that when it comes to matters like this, even teeny almost-men will balk at having a teacher of the female variety around. So the bus had to be emptied of all the gents (except the driver, of course) at promising places in the care of Salilbhai - our escort for the trip. We then had to take the bus a good distance away, persuade the ladies to have a go right in Ma Nature’s lap, so to speak, and stand watch, after which, we turned back to where we had jettisoned the male members of the party, picked them up, and continued on our merry way.
( this is one of our more scenic pee-stops.)
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon:
This is the name Stuti gave to the contortions we had to put ourselves through, to attain some level of privacy while doing what I described the younger ladies doing in the previous para. Elegant, huh? It has ruined the film for me anyway. I don’t care, I don’t care! The Gods could have laughed for all I care! I am not a bloody camel to go without drink for an entire day the way Gunjan did.
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