Absolute Crap

Most of you would not have any idea what human waste tastes like. In fact I am the only one I know of who has had the unfortunate experience of tasting shit.

The year was 1982. The world headlines were dominated by Falklands war, the first human heart transplant death of Grace Kelly, India hosted an Asian games and T.V. made its debut in the Andamans. Among these great events in a remote corner of the world an obscure boy was in the midst of his experiences with truth. That obscure young boy was me.

Inspired by the feats of the athletes I tried my hand at various sports; sprints, javelin, pole vault (that’s another story). It was when I tried my hand at long jump that I realised that I was not really cut out for a career in athletics. It so happened that, around the that time the septic tank at my house overflowed. Two men were hired to clean the mess up. The started with opening the tank. Having never seen one open before, I was naturally curious. I loitered around till the workmen left for a cup of tea.

My mind projected dreamy images of long loose limbed athletes sprinting and jumping into a pit the size and shape of which resembled the open pit in front of me. My mind protested, but visions of me standing atop the podium with the gold medal around my neck was too overpowering for the feeble resistance put up by my mind. Without a second thought I marked a as long a run-up as our backyard would allow. I imagined myself in a stadium full of spectators wildly cheering for the new hope of Indian athletics. Then I sprinted. Before I knew it I reached the threshold, there was no turning back, with my heart pounding, I took the leap of faith.

Plop. A warm, evil smelling mush enveloped me. My short past (all of 6 years) rushed passed my eyes along with sundry decomposing organic matter. I couldn’t believe it. This is no way to end a glorious career in athletics! Drowned in a pool of shit! Suddenly I felt a stabbing pain in my scalp. It was my sister. A year and a half years elder to me, she summoned thus far unrecognised physical strength to pull me out by my hair. Maybe she was practicing in secret to be the next weight lifting champion. Surely she had a better chance at it than I did in long jump. Whatever it was, it saved my life that day, though I sometimes wish I had died then. The beating that your psyche takes when your dreams drown in a cess pool take much more than the couple of cakes of soap I used to get rid of the smell.