A Tale of a Towel

Hello! I’m Dry-you-up-in-a-jiffy and welcome to my autobiography. This, as you will find out, isn’t the autobiography of any ordinary bath towel. Speaking of the word ordinary just incase you are drooling with anticipation of magic wands, mythical creatures, geriatric wizards and the answer to that all important question – ‘Does Hogwarts supply their students with toilet paper?’ - You would be on the wrong track. No, I do not promise you those answers, however I do present before you a snippet of time that is the highlight of my career as a bath towel.

I was manufactured in the UK, using the finest Raw Indian Cotton. As per tradition I was tagged, packaged and then exported to Calcutta as the finished product to be sold at a profit. My long journey culminated in bliss when I found myself wrapped around the waist of my beloved master Tea-Pot-Tummy. That is when I knew this was a special relationship.

Life had become a well-balanced cycle of drying the master and haggling with the day’s wash for adequate clothesline space while the Sun still shone. Occasionally I’d listen to our neighbours loudly conducting Latin classes. After a couple of years I’ve managed to learn a few things including ‘Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?’ which means ‘Is that a scroll in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?’ and also ‘Macdonaldus Senex fundum habuit. E-I-E-I-O. Et in hot fundo nonnullas boves domesticas habuitt. E-I-E-O. Cum moo moo hic, et cum moo moo ibi. Hic una moo, ibi una moo, ubique una moo moo. Macdonaldus Senex fundum habuit. E-I-E-I-O’. I’m guessing you know the nursery rhyme. However, I would’ve never guessed things were about to change.

Come spring 2004 and Tea-Pot-Tummy decided to accompany his college friends Gorilla Man, Podo Mach, Pharmacist and Possessed Locks for some fest in Bangalore. I overheard it was being hosted by the IIM and that the prize money was summing up to 2 lakhs! I was petrified. Do you know how many towels can be bought with that amount? This was terrible. I’d have to share him with someone new. Or worse, I could be replaced never to touch his sizzling belly again! Some of you might disagree here but a belly is answer to every towel’s unraveling nightmare.

Now it is a well-known fact that all towels are claustrophobic, however I’m an exception. I never complained even when I was crammed into the bag along with the rest of Tea-Pot-Tummy’s stuff. With the gentle rocking of the bag I presumed we were on our way. The journey to Bangalore was rather eventless. I spent my time either snoozing or getting to know Tea-Pot-Tummy’s new Jockey underwear. He’s a fine chap that Jock and was a definite improvement over that nasty piece of work – the VIP Brat. ‘Jockey or nothing’ was apparently his motto. So I suggested he change it to something more fun. Perhaps ‘Semper ubi ubi in caput tuum’ or ‘Always were underwear on your head’. He didn’t seem amused.

When the bag was finally opened I could see the love and affection shining in the master’s eyes. He grabbed me and flew into the bathroom to relieve himself after his feat of sheer determination over the past two days. I later learnt that we were staying with Tea-Pot-Tummy’s school friend Naryal. No one seemed to notice that Possessed Locks was missing. Maybe she fell off along the way but I guess then again these things do happen.
In Naryal’s house I got to know Gorilla Man’s towel. He had a rather interesting name - Burn-All-Bloody-Ass-Wipers! Methinks he’d change his mind if I introduced him to Tea-Pot-Tummy’s bottom! At times he was rather abusive, pessimistic and perhaps suicidal as well. I think all this negativity was the result of him having to wipe Gorilla Man’s hairy body dry right after staying cooped up in a suitcase for 2 days. Honestly, who wouldn’t be cranky?

Burn-All-Bloody-Ass-Wipers started telling me some of his horror stories. All his stories centered around shedding of excessive body hair. Apparently he was the victim of Gorilla Man’s body hair loss. Arrgh!! Little did I know of what was in store for me.

Hanging on that line I realized that I didn’t even know the Bangalore Towel dialect. That cute pink hand towel hanging opposite me had been fluttering at me for a while now and I didn’t know what to say next. Just my luck! I tried to impress her with some Latin. ‘Caterva carissima mea est Cimictus’ – ‘My favorite group is the Beatles’. Maybe she wasn’t a fan. Eventually we were dry. But then my heart cracked into a million pieces as Naryal’s cockeyed servant threw my abusive friend onto my pink fantasy! All I could hear now were torturous words like ‘Oooh I feel your softness brush against me…your sweet fragrance dilutes my acquired manly odour. Damn horny towel let go of her! You’re shedding all that fur all over her!’ As fate would have it Gorilla Man left behind his towel in Naryal’s house as we proceeded to IIM to meet up with the others.

That evening we learnt that Podo Mach and Pharmacist had managed to acquire a set of twins and another girl as their dates. I wasn’t as surprised as the others as I knew that the Pharmacist had a tablet for any eventuality. They remained occupied in a their fivesome over the next few days, occasionally spilling over into the nights and we didn’t see much of them. Pharmacist however thought he should leave something for us to remember him by. So he took his shoes off and grinned as we held our breath. Even with his shoes locked in a cupboard outside the stench somehow found a way out. That cupboard was now a mini World War II Gas chamber. Its potency was so great that the neighbouring IIMBian hurriedly emptied the opposite room, complete with his bag and baggage.

I somehow survived that smelly ordeal only to find myself conveniently borrowed by Gorilla Man the next morning. Those horrific images described by Burn-All-Bloody-Ass-Wipers began to take their ghastly form before me. I was now officially in hell. 3 days in a row I did overtime. Drying man and bear each day drained the last bit of energy out of each and every thread. I was driven to the edge Gorilla Man must pay for this blatant towel abuse! I made up my mind to unwind from his waist the minute he stepped out of the loo in full public view. Is my plan brilliant or what? Muhuhahahahhaahaha!! Come to think of it - I’m slowly losing it. Now I sympathize with Burn-All-Bloody-Ass-Wipers.

My master plan was unfortunately interrupted when some smelly kid (not as smelly as Pharmacist’s shoes…they are a class apart) walked into the room and picked me up one day while everyone had gone off. I got the feeling that I was being stolen. I must admit it was a thrilling experience and I did my best to conceal my excitement. In retrospect I think I should’ve tried to trip him or something. At the moment I find myself on sale in a shop in Burma Bazaar next to Majestic bus stand. Ironically enough I’m currently watching Tea-Pot-Tummy and his friends walk straight past this shop on their way to the station. Not once did they look my way and I must admit I’m a little hurt.
I’m doomed to wipe charcoal-black South Indian asses in the twilight of my life. I always knew this towel business is unforgiving. Tea-Pot-Tummy is now far far away and I guess all good things must come to an end. Seriously, jokes apart, I must admit that he was the highlight of my towel career. What’s ahead you ask? I now plan to pick up the local towel dialect. Who knows? Maybe pink hand towel and I are destined to meet again! ‘Sit vis nobiscum’ (May the force be with you).