At this point, I will digress momentarily to narrate some facts that are not necessarily relevant to this story. Back in the day, when I was younger, and some might say a lot smarter, I had a very volatile relationships with the medical community. Once my doctor had to call in security to hold me down while she was giving me a flu shot. Even with two big guys holding my arms and legs wasn’t enough. It’s not like they were burly bouncers (and possibly former marines) now working at a New York nightclub from which I had to be escorted out (ahem.. not that that’s ever happened). Those regular mamu’s were no match for a 10-year old boy possessing abnormal amounts of adrenaline-fueled strength. I struggled and kicked and thrashed around like my life depended on it. I escaped from the clutches of the security/bouncer dudes and ran out of the clinic. That moment gave me a deja vu-ey feeling similar to that scene from Terminator 2: Judgment Day where the Sarah Connor is trying to escape the psych ward and the Terminator and John Connor, and T1000 chasing her. I was eventually cornered in the hallway, pinned down by three men and given the shot as I contorted my face in unimaginable agony all while holding my breath and honestly believing that if I stopped breathing, the syringe penetrating my epidermis wouldn’t hurt as much. However, coming back to my point, my body never had the ability to pee at will. Does anyone’s body do that at all? Once, when I was doing the whole-pee-in-a-cup thing, I couldn’t produce enough specimen to fill the cup to the line. So I decide to fill the cup to the line by diluting my produce in water. I was very pleased at my brilliance.

And as I walked into the Health Center, I chuckled thinking about that incident from several years ago and hoped that my body supported me and that I wouldn’t have to pull such underhanded measures today. I walk in and start gulping down glasses of water. The nurse gives me a bunch of instructions and I walk into toilet. And here’s where it gets rough. As much as I try, I cannot get myself to pee. Nope. Zilch. Zero. Nada. Not even a drop that I could dilute using my aforementioned tactics. I try thinking of running water, but that doesn’t help either. I jump up and down (quietly), but nope. It’s been close to 3 minutes in there, and I haven’t done a thing. Another 2 minutes. The nurse knocks on the door asking I was done. I tell her that I’m almost done. I focus all my energies on the job and manage to squeeze a few drops out of my bladder. And I wash hands (inspite of explicitly being asked not to by the nurse until I’ve handed over the cup!). Finally, after 5 long minutes, I emerge with my head hung in shame as I hand over the cup. The nurse yells at me because I wasn’t supposed to use the damn sink. And without much ado flushes my hardwork down the toilet. I reschedule and get the hell out of there. So now here’s what happened. Apparently, water takes its own sweet time to trickle down to your bladder. That and the fact that I was mighty dehydrated after my super long flight, required at least a couple of gallons to cover. 10 tiny cups just just wouldn’t cut it. It’s all science.

After spending the weekend getting rid of jetlag, I walk into the Health Center at 10 am sharp on Monday morning. I had been prepping for 3 hours, drinking water non stop. I grab the cup, do my business, emerge vindicated and walk out like a boss in under 2 minutes!

PS: I realized much later that I overdid my prep for the drug test, because I spent the next 2 hours in and out of the restroom emptying the remainder of my bladder.

Really? I don't think so!

It was only after I got to the ground that I realized the devious ways my Mum’s mind works in. Well, I shouldn’t have been surprised. She is after all MY mother! Mommy was totally pimping me out for all the eligible girls present there. Here’s how it worked. I was standing with my Dad on one side of the ground checking out the food stalls (obviously!). Ma goes about socializing and networking like she’s one of the girls from SATC. But truth be told, her hawk eyes were scouting for nubile, young women to pitch to me. And after she’s done with her recon mission, she calls me over and introduces me to her friends AND their daughters. She’s goes like, “Here is my son. Engineer. NRI. And doesn’t he look like Abhishek Bachchan?”. Obviously, she couldn’t tell me anything straight up, but one look in her eyes and I knew what her end game was. She’s cute na? She’s well educated, has a good job, comes from a good family and can cook! Why don’t you call her sometime? Of course, if she had it her way, she would have probably had me engaged then and there. Thankfully though, I managed to drag her by the hand away from all the madness. She was quiet, but her body language was yelling, “I AM NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER. I WANT GRANDCHILDREN! AND I WANT THEM NOW! THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT, EVEN IF I HAVE TO KNOCK YOUR ASS UNCONSCIOUS AND MAKE YOU TAKE THE GODDAMN PHERAS”

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