Now, I’ve always prided myself as not being dependent on anything or anybody to maintain my calm, my cool and let the aura around me be adversely affected. But today morning was one of the toughest mornings in recent times. The reason….well, somehow I was missing the one post-breakfast indulgence that calmed the nerves, the omnipresent cigarette, the ever trusty Gold Flake King Lights on my lips. Reason, I had somehow miscalculated the number of smokes I had in the packet. Or, had I?
Ergo, I was in office, and at around 10 AM, felt some irregular bowel movements, primarily because of the fact that the extremely sensitive biological cycles had been affected by the change in timings of the smoke after breakfast. While sitting on ‘the throne’ or ‘the pot’, I started thinking about how and why I had miscalculated the number of smokes yesterday.
Now why I was thinking about this issue at this exact moment in time has a history. Right from my childhood, I’ve figured out the answers to some of the trickiest questions in life, right here, while I was on the pot. I don’t know if it has something to do with the fact that it is here that I am truly alone with my thoughts, or the exact posture that I observe in these moments of solitude, but almost always whenever I’ve needed answers to tough questions, the trusty toilet seat has always heeded to my queries, alongwith the need of the hour to relieve myself.
This post takes me back to days when I had to take a decision to leave behind all that I knew of in my professional life, and decide to do my MBA, when I had to take a decision that enough was enough and that I had to get married, when I had to take a decision that yes, my parents needed a gift more expensive than the one I had bought for them on a particular wedding anniversary, when I had to decide whether to continue smoking Gold Flake Kings or to switch to Gold Flake King Lights, when I had to decide whether bunking 6 continuous days of college to watch India play Pakistan at Chennai in that fateful series was worth the risk, and these are just a few of the life-changing decisions that I’ve taken while sitting on the toilet seat.
Man, if I ever decide to write my autobiography, I would probably have to call it “Memoirs from the Toilet Seat” or something like that.
Coming back to the original story of the Missing Cigarette, I slowly began to retrace my steps of yesterday night when I got back home. I figured out where the other 2 cigarettes were, they were misplaced due to the fact that the Missus had almost flooded the entire bedroom failing to notice that the damn water outlet had clogged and all the dirty water from the washing machine wasn’t getting drained. But then, that is another story for another post.
As the title of this post reads, this post is exclusively a tribute to the ever faithful toilet seat which has pretty much made me the person that I am today.