Thoughts gathered in a public toilet

SATIRE | Standing against the wall with your fly down at the urinal was never imaginable – especially in a public toilet. Even if it was in the Court of Appeal, those who used the same facilities had been convicted felons, who had hoped to get their convictions overturned on a technicality, or a hot-shot lawyer who had dubious and devious ways to get one out of trouble.

But the solitude, by being the only occupant, and pin-drop silence can be a double-edged sword. It could provide a calmer and quieter environment against the legal arguments next door.

But then, the seclusion could send your thoughts wandering. Questions keep repeating themselves. “Why am I here in the first place?” Your mind flashes back to a decade ago. “Should I have befriended that fat boy? Why was I so taken up by the nice words of the step-son?”

A public toilet is no place for a has-been statesman who has graced among others, the White House and Buckingham Palace. Even locally, wherever he had gone previously, there would have been a special toilet exclusive for his use. A butler would be on hand to hand out specially scented fluffy towels to dry himself.

What had gone wrong? Why the need to shuttle from one courthouse to another? His close friends, business associates and even his wife are in a similar predicament and involved in the same state of affairs?

Then an inner voice speaks out: “You should have asked the better half to control her greed and lust for materialistic gain. You could have loved her as much without the fancy handbags, watches and the jewels. Or did you encourage it?”

The mind goes back to the second week of May last year. Did he miscalculate? Even so, should he have asked Peter to send the plane on the same night? Did he misread the feelings of his countrymen? Did he expect the blockade?

In the space of minutes, a hundred and one things come to mind. Did he make the right decision trusting the people who took his money and told him only things he liked to hear?

The silence in the toilet can be deafening. There’s no one to say “Hello” and you wonder aloud: “Would anyone acknowledge me? After all, in their eyes, I am a thief who stole from the people?”

Social media has helped. The slogans created by media handlers and the responses give an impression that you are still popular.

Really? Can Facebook, Instagram and Twitter be used as yardsticks to measure popularity?

He may be popular but do they believe that he did not plunder and pillage state coffers?

The state has offered so much evidence (official and unofficial). The contents of an apartment told a different story. Were all those handbags, watches and jewellery just gifts? Would the people believe this expalanation?

Does hard cash belong to the party? Do you think people are stupid? They would ask: “If it belongs to the party, why no records? Why not put it in a bank?” Difficult to answer.

The defence counsel himself is in a pickle with a big bounty in his possession. If it was the fees, he did not tell the taxman. Well, that’s his problem.

Why did the (previous) attorney general and the anti-corruption chief have to go? They did no wrong – they were doing their jobs. Brave people were stripped of their positions and humiliated. Who believed the fib about health and seeking an academic career? They must be having the last laugh - and justifiably so.

If you thought all these could not fit into a two-minute standing performance, you are wrong. The directive to crucify well-intentioned journalists and blocking websites comes to mind. Why was it allowed to be done? Why did good people get demonised by the Ashraffs, the Jalils and the Wongs? Maybe the propaganda chief went overboard, but it was still under his control.

There have been no public reports of a sitting performance in the cubicle (which would be definitely longer), but as the hands were washed and he looked up, some cheeky fellow had stuck a poem on the mirror, resonating with the proceedings.

Kenn Nesbit’s words for kids were apt indeed:

My dog ate my homework.

That mischievous pup

got hold of my homework

and gobbled it up.

My dog ate my homework.

It’s gonna be late.

I guess that the teacher

will just have to wait.

My dog ate my homework.

He swallowed it whole.

I shouldn’t have mixed it

with food in his bowl.

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R. NADESWARAN is a veteran journalist who sometimes likes to add humour to serious issues. Comments: citizen-nades22@gmail.com - Mkini