Middle Distance Again

There is a middle distance one stares into when the mouth opens slowly and the jaw drops to the chest contentedly. There are many moments in life when this happens. There are some who are very gifted in the art.

The head drooping also occurs on public transport in Kolkata. While you hang onto the bus handle as the man behind you pushes forward with his paunch and the chap to your left treads sadistically on the little toe, the person sitting on the right seems to go into a trance. You look at him fiendishly and wipe your brow for the nineteenth  time. The man remains thus even when you are unceremoniously ejected back onto the street.

Then there are others who stare out of the bus windows at nothing in particular, except when their eyes alight on a pretty woman. You cannot mistake that look. It is the middle distance gazer at his best. He is unperturbed as you sway and get pummelled by fellow travellers as the driver tries to think he is in a grand prix.

It’s not much different in the office. But then you are not standing on your toes. That is an advantage. Then you come to notice that some are the wilting kind.

I have seen a person sitting up with the back upright and with one finger on the computer keyboard. Since the person sits with the back turned to me, I fail to notice that Morpheus has happily taken over. 

Only when some other employee brings this to my notice sotto voce that I can do something about it.    

But I have to do it in a soothing voice for a sudden bark can bring on a nightmare for the person who will then ensure that I get a court summon.

I take a few deeps breaths, listen attentively to the whistle that the sudden air sucked in makes, stop myself from choking and give a loud sniff.

The person to whom my attention is directed stretches, closes the left eye and stares unblinkingly at me with the right as I get a hiccup. Someone rushes to aid me with a bottle of water.  I sprinkle a few drops on my pate to slake the thirst. Then I let out another hiccup.

A kindly soul slaps me vigorously on the back making my eyes pop. A loud hiss escapes my lips as my  eyes water.

"Oh! He's choking!" someone says with genuine concern.

"You needn't call an ambulance or a hearse," I gasp, "I've to collect my pension and provident fund first and say goodbye to my cat."

Meanwhile, the person who almost sent me to My Maker, looks at me with interest.

"Is he choking?" she asks wonderingly.

"Forsooth!" I utter mentally, as I give her a weak smile.

"He's all right," a colleague says darkly.

"Got to go to the washroom,"  I gasp.

I stagger to my feet, stumble and fall, all in one fluid motion.  I keep staring at the middle distance as someone says, "He is pissed ... er ... passed out after all!"