THE NEEDLE MAN

Stranger things have happened? I think f*cking not...

And now I have proof of that very fact.

Take for example what happened to me when I stepped out for a run in Bangalooru. It was last weekend, and friends and I were chilling there, so I decided a jog would be awesome. So I stuck on my running shoes, warmed up and set off. And it was a good jog, the sort where you can hear, and almost feel, the dying screams of little globules of fat in your body. I made it four kilometers, and I felt good, by which I mean "another 100 meters and I'll die of an asthama attack and hernia all at once", so I decided to walk back home.

So, I'm ambling down the street, feeling good about life, looking forward to a nice guilt-free Dusera dinner, and suddenly this guy starts walking towards me, all wide-eyed, and pointing excitedly in the general direction of my head, like he expected a midget to come running out of it and fart the macarena.

So I froze, based on past experience. I mean, it's happened before, maybe it's happened to you too; you're walking under a tree, or a large shrub, and some sort of insect/worm/odd creature/bird shit lands on your head or clothing, and you don't notice.

So I figured he'd spotted something like that and was going to help me. And he kept coming at me, still pointing, asking me to hold still. And then he reached for my shoulder, which is where I figured the trouble was.

And then, just for fun, he pulled a needle out his pocket and tried to stab me in the ear.

Now, you will agree that unless the ghost of Sir Lancelot is hanging off his earlobe, there is simply no excuse to try and spear a man in the ear. And so, luckily, thanks to the sort of reflexes and titanium-grade wrist-strength that only years of masturbation can bring, I managed to grab his hand just before he got it in there.

Now most people would have run away by this point, but no sir, not me. I say this not because I'm brave (rubbish, I think I'd wee'd myself a bit by then), but because I am nine hundred kinds of stupid.

"Oi." I said, by way of conversation opener.

"Arre!" he said, by way of his opening move.

"What are you doing?! Why are you trying to stick a needle up my ear?!" I ventured.

"Ah" he said, looking at the needle in his hand as if he'd only just noticed its presence. "Accchhaaa!! Okka nimusham (telugu for one minute) ! Pleej. Wait!" he added, with the look of a man who's realized that unless some sort of explanation comes quickly, he's going to get a needle up his rectum.

With his free hand, he pulled a card out of his pocked and handed it to me. "chadavandi!" Read, he implored me. And, because I'm that stupid, and because it isn't every day that you get to live out a Bunuel-Dali co-production, I actually read it. Here is what it said:

"Hello! I would like to recommend to you the services of the bearer of this card, Mr.Munna Yadav, a professional ear-cleaner. I have used his services before on several occasions, and I whole-heartedly recommend his excellent services, which will clean your ear like never before!"

That is *exactly* what it said on that card. Those very words, that very language. And underneath, the writer of this fine testimonial had signed his identity:

Signed

By The Authority.

That's what it said. "By The Authority". No name, no signature. Well, wow, guess he's super-reliable then, seeing as how he's "The Authority" and all.

"Boss," I said, handing his card over. "nuvvellu ikkada nundi." Get outta here.

He looked at me for two seconds before making me a counter-offer.

"Accha.Fine baaleka pothe paisalivvoddu , kaani cheyinchuko!!"

Sigh. Fine. Don't pay for my services, but lemme stick a needle in you for free!

And that, there, is the beauty of optimism. Not only will you go into denial about the fact that you're *this* close to an ass-kicking, but you'll offer me the valuable service of getting a needle in my noggin for, gasp, FREE!

I suppose as a bonus, given that it was Dusera  and all, he'd let me bend over for him free of cost too.

And so I looked at him, incredulous. And discovered that while looks can't kill, they can say "leave before I throw you into oncoming traffic" because he shook his head and left, in search of someone else to stab with a needle.

The moral of the story is simple; if I hadn't set out to exercise, I wouldn't have been accosted by a needle-happy madman.

That shit can't happen to you when you're on the couch with chips watching the Test match. And so that's exactly what I went home and did.

For the next two days.