The Elevator Effect

In the first-world, elevators are everywhere. And have been for the past half-century at least. Even 3-year old kids are at ease with them; they don't feel scared of getting into a tiny vault-like box that transports them vertically, sometimes towards gravity, and sometimes against. Even they know what to do when they get inside an elevator. Regardless of such intimate familiarity with this inanimate piece of machinery, something strange happens to most people when they are in the proximity of elevators. It almost feels like an elevator has a mysterious personality of its own, and has the ability to affect seemingly normal human beings in various idiosyncratic ways.

The most obvious effect is a dramatic change in a person's velocity when they are around an elevator. Some people get into a zombie mode. They might have walked at average human walking speeds to an elevator, pressed a button to summon the thing and waited for it. They would have checked the time every second and complained about how slow and inefficient the elevators in this building ar. However, when the elevator finally appears, they will slow down to such an extent that you, standing inside the elevator waiting for them to step in, would be likely to think that they have gone into a trance. They will take short, measured steps at a snail-like speed towards the elevator, step in ever so gingerly as if they were expecting the floor to be at boiling-point temperatures, and then take about 90 seconds to decide where they want to go, and another 270 to press the button to their destination. And, more often than not, you will encounter such people when you are inside the elevator and in a hurry to get to your own destination.

Other people become spasmodic and jittery. First they slow down to the above-mentioned zombie mode, and then suddenly snap out of it almost when the elevator doors are about to close. Then they will thrust a body-part through the closing doors, usually an arm or a leg, half-expecting the doors to open up again, half-expecting the door to close shut and entrap the body-part they put at risk. The doors obviously have been built by engineers who expect such reactions from people, and they invariably open up to let the person with the endangered body part in, but it costs you, the one inside and in a hurry, a precious 3 extra minutes, and causes most elevators to blurt out some ridiculous warning in the most annoying, high-pitched feminine voice that can permanently hurt your ear-drums.

Other effects on people are less pronounced but equally frequent and annoying. If more than five people get into an elevator at the same time, one or more of the following things are bound to happen - 

1. Someone will be doused with the strongest-smelling perfume you can imagine, and your nostrils will curl up in protest;

2. Someone will have strong BO (and if you are particularly unlucky, the above two things will sometimes happen together and leave you nauseated and giddy);

3. Someone will hold the door open for people who are still about half-a-mile away and have no inclination of getting in;

4. Someone will have a large object to carry with them, most commonly bicycles, and they will cramp you up for room;

5. Someone will stand so close to you that you can see the pores in their skin;

6. Someone will press the wrong button and make you stop at one extra floor;

7. Someone hale and hearty might be going only one floor up or down but would take the elevator instead of the stairs; and

8. The elevator will stop at least one floor where someone had summoned the elevator and then realized that they were not ready to step in yet.

And then, of course, there is elevator talk. Some people tend to become increasingly chatty when they get into an elevator, and the more the people in the elevator, the more is their desire to talk over their heads in loud voices, and mostly about some inane and insignificant topic. And if you are transporting yourself more than three floors in either direction, you will bump into at least one person who would be narrating a harrowing experience about how they once got stuck in an elevator. 

If only we had no elevators, people would be more physically fit, and you wouldn't have had to read this blog!

Pill-popping - An Art

One of the most common daily activities that first-world homo-sapiens indulge in is pill-popping. Some need to; some just have to; and most just like to. Whatever be the cause - medication, recreation, or precaution - there is no denying the fact that pill-popping is an art. It is also a precise exercise that consists of a finite number of sequential operations which have to be performed more or less in the same sequence.

How do you take a pill out of its bottle? Some people carelessly shake the bottle expecting one to fall onto their palms. Usually more than one hurtle along, and then all the others except the 'chosen one' are poured back into the bottle. Others do the same thing, but instead of the palm, they pour onto the cap of the bottle, carefully pick one up while trying not to touch the others, and put the rest back; and some others use another receptacle like a small container. Some hygiene-conscious folks use tiny forceps to pull one pill out of the bottle; and some hygiene-obsessed people use sterilized gloves along with the forceps. 

How do you swallow the pill? This is actually a composite step which includes putting the pill into the mouth, putting in a liquid, and swallowing the pill. This is the step where one sees the most variations, ranging from clumsy to classical. Some people first put the pill in their mouth and then wash it up with a liquid. These people usually swing their arms in a classical arc and send the pill hurtling into the mouth as close to the throat as possible, then grimace as the bitter taste of the pill starts filling their mouth, and then frantically reach for the water and take a large gulp to minimize the amount of time the pill has to sit on their tongues. After swallowing the pill, they also slosh around another gulp of water in their mouth making the most obnoxious sounds, in an effort to wash out the bitter taste from their mouth. There are several aspects of this process which need precision and perfection. The velocity with which the pill is ushered into the mouth has to be precise; a little slower and it lands on the front of the tongue, and the bitter taste overwhelms you; a little faster and you run the risk of shoving the pill half-way down your throat where it sticks like a lump and hurts you like tonsils. The angle of the arm swing also needs to be carefully controlled; a little sideways and the pill misses your mouth altogether; a little higher and the pill hits the roof of the mouth and is most unpleasant. Also, the amount of water you gulp in while grimacing needs to be measured; a little more and you can choke and cough and spit the pill out; a little less, and the obstinate pill sticks to your tongue even after you swallow. In the latter case, you have to grimace some more and repeat the last step till the pill budges and slides down your food-pipe.

Other people first fill their mouth up with liquid and then place the pill in. These people, with the daintiness of a potter or bead-worker, lift their hand till it is parallel to their water-filled mouth, holding the pill between the thumb and forefinger, and very delicately place it on top of the water. They let the pill sink for a moment, and then swallow in one smooth motion nanoseconds before the pill actually hits the tongue. When done correctly, in this process one doesn’t need to taste the pill at all. Needless to say, here the timing of the swallowing motion is of essence. You also have to be precise about the amount of water you have in your mouth and the speed with which you swallow. Too much water and/or a rather rapid swallowing motion can cause you to spray out water on unsuspecting targets, or at the very least cause a very unsightly trickle of water down the chin.

The third group of people comprises of those who can just pop a pill without any liquid to aid the swallowing. People who can do this are either lucky to have a larger opening to their food-pipe which enables them to just slide the pill in, or are very lazy. The lazy ones just accumulate enough saliva in their mouth to form a large spitball, and then use that as a substitute for water.

So what kind of pill-popper are you? Or are you the one who uses a mortar and pestle to first grind the pill into powder, stir it in liquid and then drink it? Please share with me if you want.

Why I Write - Version 1

I don't write that often. There are a million excuses that I can put out there for not being more diligent and consistent about it. But in spite of all those reasons, I keep coming back, to write some more. Why do I write? I write because I love to put my thoughts into words. I feel contented by putting out a few words that can potentially immortalize the modus operandi of my quirky, idiosyncratic, cantankerous brain.

I have always loved words, ever since I can remember. My earliest recollection of remembering words is from a news article called - 'The Rape of Lebanon'. The only two words from that title whose meanings I knew were 'the' and 'of'. I was 4. I have always admired the miracle that can be created by stringing words together, how a bunch of seemingly unrelated strings of letters, in the hands of a canny raconteur, can paint a picture as vivid as a photograph, or create an indelible memory. 

Needless to say, I have always loved to read, mostly fiction. Facts, no matter how poignant, relevant, or exhilarating, have never appealed to me much, maybe because, in my mind they are analogous to taking the Mona Lisa and trying to paint it a little differently, or even a little better. No matter how well it turns out, you still started with a master piece. Fiction, on the other hand, is analogous to creation. You start with a germ of a plot, you nourish it and nurture it in your brain, feed it with tidbits of information, marinade it with nuggets of your own experience and personality, fortify it with additional sub-plots, embellish it with fictional characters that you have created yourself, and then put it on paper using your limited vocabulary. (I say limited, because no matter how many words you know, you still know only a very small percent of all the words that exist!). Then you rewrite it over and over again, to make it more succinct and coherent, to smooth the rough edges. And finally, if you are lucky, you have a story, an original piece of work, something that hasn't been told before and will never be told again in the exact same way. 

This is how Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot and Howard Roark were created, characters that have withstood the test of time and become immortal, without ever being real. It would have been no different if these people had really lived and done the things their fictional equivalents did and the rest of the world had read about them from newspapers articles. Such is the power of good fiction. I too fantasize about someday having such a character of my own, a fictional character who will become real in the minds of millions of young, impressionable minds, a character well-defined enough to become the role model at least one human being, and heroic enough to inspire several others. I want to feel, for a fleeting moment, like God did when he created people like Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi or Martin Luther King or Farrokh Balsara. 

That's why I write!