Stinky secrets

Stinky secrets

My experience as early as in high school taught me that superstitions can be silly, screwy and even stinky. The last classification I had forgotten until I met an ambitious colleague at the workplace recently.

As for my personal tyrst with superstitions, it began and ended with mynas. One for sorrow, 2 for joy, 3 for letter, 4 for boy, 5 for silver, 6 for gold, 7 for stories yet untold, 8 for a wish, 9 for a kiss; 10 for something never to be missed…

Know not when the myna myth built a nest inside me. As teenagers we loved looking out for myna pairs in college. And if we saw one then hurriedly looked for its partner or alternatively looked for a crow. The belief – a crow can take away the sorrow of the lone myna from affecting you. What logic!

However, it was only mynas in pairs or sorrowful singletons. Never dared a kiss and I didn’t know what I missed. Finally, when the smooch-time struck, I lacked patience to go looking for nine chocolatey birds up in the sky. Because…I will reveal no more. Strictly censor personal stuff.

However, in general, when it comes to superstitions the most private of stuffs tend to call the shots.

In one of our math periods in Class X, my friend shrieked ‘I knew it’, on getting her test papers. While, all heads turned towards her, she revealed in whispers to me…”You know this is the 6th day I’ve worn the same pantie…Whenever I wear this I get good marks.”

But why 6 days in a row, for Pete’s sake?

“Didn’t Ma’am say we’ll get the papers on Monday. Have been waiting for it every day. How can I risk changing? No babaa!”

Stinky! Phew.

I had almost forgotten this incident, until I made friends with a  colleague in office. She’s a self-confessed ambitious and over-driven workaholic, striking the same pose every time she enters the conference room for the weekly meetings.

Pulls the chair with the right hand. Transfers the file and pen from her right arm onto her left palm and places them on the table. Picks at the strap of her bag from the right forearm and keeps it on the floor on the left side and walks around the chair to enter from the right. Thrusts her chin up and shakes the hair off her shoulder as she lowers herself into the chair.

Then she adjusts diagonally in the chair with one butt lifted and the leg corresponding to that side of her arse crossed over the opposite leg. She calls it the ‘commanding position’. “It shows confidence,” she says. All through the meeting her nose and chin perform the attitude-throws and palms dismiss unwanted proposals but the propped-up section of her behind remains static as if fixed with glue in thin air – no matter how long the meeting runs.

Am sure there’s a pantie-secret to it. On meeting days probably she jumps into and manages to pull up some decades-old, ill-fitting undie for things to go her way! I bet.

BTW, I was too curious and did try the ‘commanding posture’ at home. Shit, it hurts. That’s what I call a real pain in the arse!

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