Just when I thought life was getting nice and predictable like Sonia Gandhi’s sari colours, a close relative did a Morarji Desai and declared openly that he was practising auto urine therapy for years now. His words sounded warm and yellow (sorry mellow) as he reminisced about the World Conference on Urine Therapy at Germany.
“Auto Urine therapy, an ancient Indian practice entails drinking your own urine and applying it on one’s body as a method of promoting and maintaining good health. It is an inexpensive way to gain health and vitality...” The man began. I sat down rather dazed, an act he mistook for keen interest. “You can cure any disease ranging from multiple sclerosis to diabetes to eczema by internal consumption. If not this, you can apply externally as a skin toner and hair vitaliser.” He said and added conspiratorially, “Urine therapy makes one alert.” That is when I realised he had come with a vision of converting me to AUT too. My lack of alertness is legendary. Using his seniority in family and knowledge about my sloppiness to advantage, he expounded the benefits of AUT and substantiated his claims with quotes from the Damar Tantra. He insisted I call urine Shivambu or Amaroli henceforth. Additionally, he bemoaned the loss of several litres of precious urine (sorry, Shivambu) down the drain, which could otherwise be reused-recycled into a completely homemade (self-made) free medicine! “If more AUT practitioners came out in the open and announced the fantastic results of this effective and inexpensive therapy, India no longer need worry about its medical problem,” he grieved. Translated, it meant Dr Anbumani Ramdoss could wrap all his programmes and go home to instead worry about how to arrange the raw material for producing Shivambu, drinking water. “Forget other colas. Switch to Morarji Cola.
You will not regret it.” The good man said as a parting shot. “Thank you very much. Next time you come visiting, I will open my bathroom to you instead of the fridge,” I said. Before I could recover, a girl I know from her Adam (Eve?) came by to disclose that she was lesbian. “Aunty…aunty will you support my marriage?” she asked.
I sat down dazed, second time in the day. “You Butch or Femme?” I asked dizzily.
“Which narrative are you living in? We have long moved from those stereotypes!” She snapped.
“Really? Then why the hell do you call me aunty? The temerity of calling me “mami” and the ridiculousness of disclosing one’s sexual orientation to a mami?” I yelled tangentially.
“Just Vadas and Vodka for the feast,” said the girl humbly and equally laterally. I got the point, of course.
“Keep the Vadas. Make sure the Vodka is Peach,” I said sullenly as she left.
“Please exclude me out of people’s matters of groin…loin….what do I care?” I was muttering when the kick beneath the belt came. I had post from the police. My car had jumped the red signal at the Kasturba Nagar junction and the CCTV behind it had captured the illegal moment. I was to pay a fine of Rs 50 at one of the listed police stations or face action at court. In one single day it came to me that I was not only in the dark about my closest people but I was also being watched. Where was I living if not behind an iron curtain? My irritation faded when I remembered that a couple of years ago, when a national daily had commissioned me to write a detailed supplement on the Chennai Police I had spent long hours with Mr G U G Sastry, the then Joint Commissioner of Police (Traffic), a polyglot of man who spoke ambitiously on using technology to curtail traffic violations. He was speaking of installing speed detectors and CCTVs to bring the offenders to book. And what a way to find out that the plan was in place! What is more, if perchance he happens to read this column he will categorise me as the type two “name dropping” offender, the kind who when caught would begin to say “I know the commissioner.... I am the joint commissioner’s wife’s uncle...and so on.” Heh-heh! After all I am also mentioning his name and my association with him only after the ticket. Congratulations Mr Sastry, you have it all figured out!