Guess I'm in the Wrong Place!!

That's what I realized in the Sharjah International Airport. Sometimes, one falls prey to the treacherous hands of destiny, that by the time he/she realizes the magnitude of the position, its too late and the damage would have been already done. This time, it was, undoubtedly yet expectedly, the poor me again....

A week's break after the rigorous set of papers and the auxiliary rituals, the nightouts and material hunting!! It was a gift from the angels of paradise! "Just one week!" exclaimed my friend in Banglore, doing his BCom in Christ College. "One week is great, dude! You won't understand that." He should have taken up engineering. But it wasn't "one week" as he said. To me, it was larger than that! My optimism, what was left of it anyway, translated one week not just as 1 week, but as 7 days, or 168 hours, or perhaps 10,080 minutes! That's really big!

The usual flight, the usual old and ugly air hostesses, the usual organic junk what they call in flight catering service. After 5 hours of staying in the sky, I finally touched ground at Sharjah. All through the journey the thoughts were about home, how they would react to my emaciated physique, the middle parted hairdo, the french beard, and of course, about the malls, the pretty ladies, the bird-watching adventures et al. And voila! I have finally touched the ground of the very place which promised nothing less than an awesome holiday! Meanwhile, I was being beckoned to answer the nature's call, thanks to the breakfast of masala dosai and the in flight junk.

It was a long wait as my visa had not arrived at the airport and I couldn't get out. But that didn't stop nature from calling me. She was screaming at the top of her voice, but I was determined to wait since the visa could have arrived any minute; the excitement of getting out of the airport was such. But she didn't seem to show mercy! I was being summoned relentlessly. A helpless me could not help making my neighbours feel uncomfortable and run away. But I was determined. But for how long?

Neither had the visa arrived, nor was my bowel ready for a ceasefire. I had to give in. I gave my hand baggage to an elderly person there and rushed to the nearest restroom, of course, propelled by the gaseous fuel, only to find the one with the signboard of faceless man on the door, locked. A notice on the door read "Restroom Under maintenance. Use the Next One. Inconvenience Regretted" GOD! How cruel, of these guys as well as my wicked bowel! Without wasting time rushed to the next one.

Luckily, I didn't have to make a dash. It was just a couple of steps away. Threw the door open and found a vestibule for myself. Aaah! What a relief! Felt a lot lighter after giving vent to my burden. Of course, the odour was unbearable, but that was pardonable, considering that the restroom was empty. I heard the main door open and a clatter of footsteps rushing in, but there was no speech. I realized that I was not the only one in this world who had his bowels betraying him at the wrong hour. Just then , I heard another person entering, or perhaps they were two of them. I began to get a little a embarrassed because of the strange sounds and the odur of the undigested lentils and potato. I did hear a chuckle or two, but who cares? They were, after all, just guys, I thought.

After the business was done, I got dressed and was ready to get back. Its been quite sometime in here. My baggage, my visa! I opened the door of the vestibule only to find a pleasant suprise. Two ladies turned back from the mirror and gaped at me with horror and awe!