Urinating humans give insights into their behaviours, thought process

I like to watch people pee.

Now come on. Don’t jump to judge already. Far more volatile and potentially incendiary things have been said before in the history of confessions. Like “I see dead people” or “I have Old Monk with water to lose weight” or the more recent one — “I voted for Donald Trump.” Compared to these, my little confession is a mere trickle. A casual flick. An after shake. A little droplet, almost not there.

Anyway, I like to watch people pee. It reveals a lot about them. And before you jump again, boy we really are peevish today, ‘reveal’ strictly means insights into the pee-er and not glimpses of his equipment.

Peeing is a lot like storytelling. There is a start, a rising (or falling in this case) crescendo and a finale. And like storytelling, it tells us a lot about the storyteller as well. I am quite certain the Odypee and the Peeliad were compiled somewhere within the forgotten porcelained walls of ancient Greece and unleashed upon us forever after to teach us the value of storytelling.

Peeing, or as the queen would say — “James, I much rather ought to tinkle now than a tad later”, is a dead giveaway and is quite an open book if you know how to read it. So the next time you find yourself under pressure or bored out of your bladder at a party where the people are talking shit and the food is basically solidified flatulence, go to the men’s room and hang. It is cheaper than going to the Victoria & Albert and far more insightful. You may meet some of these golden shower sketches. Or micturating portraits, if you want to be a blooming Brit about the whole thing. Or simply put, peencil diagrams if you are the type that doesn’t believe in wasting words.

The Snipeer
This guy holds his hose with both hands, brows furrowed in deep concentration and spectacles pushed up over balding head for better clarity. Every drop has a pee ordained coordinate to fall on and nothing can be out of place. He is the type that will ask for small change back from a cabbie and delights in pushing his limits on Sunday afternoons to see how far 22/7 can go in decimals. Has mild myopeea and a tendency to sit at the logarithm table in restaurants. If you want to be his best pal, gift him ‘The God of Small Things’. But then he might flay you and wear your skin for fun.

The Corporate Bladder Climber
This one is a lurker. Hanging around for the boss to take a leak and timing himself to sidle into the next urinal exactly at that time. There is a great sense of bonding in each other’s holding company and our man exploits that happenstance to the hilt. Most if not all of his accidental encounters are actually engineered and he spends hours plotting his pees and dotting his eyes. Don’t say careless, friendship kind of things in front of him — like you have a soft spot for scrabble. You will be urined.

The Penis Pincher
Brought up on a vigorous diet of ‘Wilful Waste brings an Woeful Want’ and ‘Waste not, Want not’, this guy is very, very careful with what he parts with. Usually an Accountant or a promising young PeeFO, you can make him out from his niggardly dispensations. Every drop has to be accounted for with him and every flow needs to be charted. And while the whole world, including his PeeEO and shareholders are going bats over Balance Shits, he has his steely zipper firmly focused on the Pee&L. Good guy to hire but conduct the interview in a men’s room to judge his true colours.

The Shaker Kapoor
You can make him out from a distance by the vigorous shake of his working wrist. Don’t be afraid now, he is not doing THAT thing which makes men blind. Inch forward fearlessly, giving yourself a wide berth, and you shall see the real nature of his move and shake. This is the perfectionist, the guy who wants none of the leftovers on his pants as he is zipping up. So he shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes till time stands still and gravity does a headstand. Only then is he satisfied. If you ever want someone to make a martini for you, it is this guy. After he has washed his hands.

The Peekaboo
This is the sneak. This is the guy who always looked sideways and stole glances and ripped a quick dekko at someone else’s exam papers and all that. You can make him out from the way he is always trying to keep an eye on the other guy’s flow at the next urinal. He always chooses the middle stall, so he can work both sides before finishing up. If you are ever looking for a spy to keep an eye on someone, this is the guy.

The Urinator
This guy is a savage beast. He is ruthless and has been waging a war on the naphtholene balls and ice cubes and whatever else is kept at the urinals to make them not stink since he could say pee pee. He demolishes them with his peezooka, tracking hapless moth balls and those colourful tablets down till they have melted into nothingness under the onslaught of his relentless revenge. And Skynet forbid, if there is a tiny piece left that has somehow managed to outlast his ammo, you can hear him quietly promise “I’ll be back” before he heads out to the water cooler. If you ever want to pick a fight with the tattooed Russian who sold you bottled battery acid instead of vodka, take this guy along with you.

The Compeetition Success Reviewer
All the world is a race track for him and he has to finish everything before the next guy. You can make him out from his pulsating temples and the throbbing red faced groans he emits at the urinal to somehow zip up and raise his hands in glory while the next guy is still helplessly holding his manners and manhood in equal measure. All of his life’s meaning lies in beating the pee out of the next guy. If you are ever around him, don’t be.

The Peeano Man
Aah, but this is the artist. The man with the notes. You can see him wield his flute like a, well, flute. Delicately and with infinite grace he swings sideways and upways. Downways and diagonally. Creating a pee minor masterpiece that tinkles and pinkles and clinkles and ninkles with heavenly tenor. It is as if the gods themselves have raised their divine togas to make Ureathmus — the heavenly musical. If you ever require a serial killer or an abstractionist painter, he is your man.

The French Pisser
This is Mr Louvre Louvre. As he holds his baguette and watches the champagne flowing from it, you cannot help but think he is strolling by the Seine; unseine by all save for the stars above and the virgin grass below. The long bread and twin olives waiting in beautiful anticipation; every sinew, every sinus and every syntax poised to make love. If you ever find yourself in dire need of frog’s legs, unwashed armpits or bunches of letters that are never acknowledged in words, this moan sewer is just across the Chimps Ellipsis.

Women are not a part of this thesis. My convent school teachers had told me it is bad manners to stare at women. No matter what they may be doing.