Doomsday

"Wow, kya obituary-type picture hai."
That's the highest compliment my sister can pay as we both squint into the camera's display. What she means to say is that, for once, both of us look good at the same time. What I hear is this:
"...and that's the last thing she heard before her plane went down over the Atlantic. Tragic. This is Ryan Seacrest. Up next on E!News - Kim Kardashian's ass..."

And so the omens line up.
Waiting to board my connecting flight, a conversation is overheard between a mother and her young boy.
"What happens if there's a storm, Mom?"
"Then the plane doesn't take off baby."
"And if there's a storm after the plane's taken off?"
"Well, that's not so good then baby. But the pilots take care of it."
"Hmmm...good thing it's a clear day Mom."
"Yeah baby, good thing."

From here on out everything is a sign that I'm a fool for not heeding.
Everywhere I look people are reading the same headlines: "CRISIS!!!" "Armadebton!!!" It's clear I'm not the only one bracing for impact.

I'm seated next to a tobacco chewing Texan, who (because I have the aisle seat) has a tiny bladder. An hour into the flight, he taps my leg. I get up to let him pass. The next hour, he taps my leg again. And again in the third hour. By the fourth hour, I don't even need to open my eyes as I feel his finger approach my leg. I begin to get up for him.

"Don't get up...look out the window..."
It's a most spectacular electrical storm - beautiful but for the fact that the plane lurches every time lightening strikes. The Texan isn't alarmed, he just needs to go pee again. I shut my eyes tight and remind myself that I can't die now. Not after such a fabulous vacation, not before I give everyone their presents (especially that Apple Airport Extreme I got my dad - it's fucking heavy and I haven't carried it all this way only to have it vapourized in a freak accident), not before I get to live out at least 3 of the 97 resolutions I made on my holiday, to make real change in my life even though I'm getting older & have watched several of my hopes die and no longer have the same zest I did at 21 to dream those audatious dreams...

I don't remember much after that except a lame joke cracked over the announcement system about it being mildly windy. I sigh with relief and start scripting Ryan Seacrest's piece on my 'gripping escape from the jaws of death'.
And then there's a sound that chills me to the bone. It's a sound no one wants to hear on a long haul flight that's full to capacity. I've gravely misjudged the manner in which my doom would befall me but it's too late now. I shield myself from the impact but fail miserably as the son of a bitch in 30H turns his head towards me and with all of the life-force contained within him, sneezes.

Covert Operation

It was a routine reconnaissance mission; one that Agent P had completed scores of times before. The sector was a known one, the layout of the premises imprinted upon her razor-sharp brain. At precisely 1900 hours, she tightened her boot strings, braced herself against the chill and set out. Little did she know that she had forgotten to take the most important precaution one takes in such weather conditions.

At first, the sortie went as planned. The disguise was impeccable as usual and no one, least of all Agent P, could have suspected what lay just a few yards ahead. And then it struck...

A piercing, neural sensation emanating from the nether regions of her anatomy. A not unfamiliar sensation - one that struck her most typically when ensconced warmly within layers of blankets on a bitingly cold night. It was not just an unwelcome sensation but a highly inconvenient one. It would require swift thinking and daring that the young (and strikingly hot) Agent had never been required to summon up. On this dark and moonless night, well into enemy territory, surrounded by old aunties & joggers in shorts, Agent P realised, she needed to pee.

'This is what they trained me for," she thought. She recalled her days in the trenches when she learned the elite-force survival technique of clenching & unclenching ones muscles 'down there'. One time, she went as long as 24 hrs without feeling the need to visit the trench next door (the designated Leak Zone on the mission). She was sick for days after that, but it'd all been worth it in the line of duty.

But those days were long gone now. Bladder control had not been required of her in the longest time. She feared the skill had been lost. She realised she would need to employ another strategy. So she called upon the memory of her comrade Agent N. Agent N had been a legend in the Force. She'd watered every high-foliage location in & around New Delhi - from high-security zones like the Hyatt Regency lawns to the vast farmlands along the Agra highway. Agent N had shown her that it was possible.

"Yes, I can!" exclaimed Agent P (albeit, silently) and with a quick scan in both directions, jumped behind the nearest bush she could find. Once behind said bush, she realised that she could have scouted the area for a better one. This one, while leafy enough, had one serious flaw - it was along the boundary wall of the park, leaving Agent P ass-exposed to the high-traffic road outside.

But it was too late now. Speed was of the essence and so down came the pants. As the passing cars' headlights periodically illuminated her behind, Agent P tried to stop her racing heart from jumping out her chest. Some of the walkers had begun to look in the direction of the bush, perhaps drawn to the sounds of 'Death and all His Friends' emanating strangely from it. "Shit!" thought Agent P, "I should have switched my ipod off!" Nothing to be done, though, but wait for nature to take its course as she vowed never again to drink 3 cups of green tea just before venturing out on a mission.

Deed done, Agent P rose gingerly from her crouched position. She scanned the perimeters once again and then made a mad dash for the main pathway. A few passersby did glance suspiciously for a second, but so nimble had been her recovery that they carried on with their business.

The rest of the recon was a breeze. No longer battling the su-su feeling; bursting instead with a rush of adrenaline, Agent P realised - this was perhaps the most courageous act she had ever performed in the line of duty. She wished Agent N had been there to witness her daring feat. "What else is there to achieve now?"

And so she turned back towards home base. It was time to debrief. Literally, because she'd sprayed herself a little while peeing...