electrically speaking

I am electric hot. If there is such a word. Not in the physically seductive sense. It's just that I get electric shocks all the time. From the most unassuming of things.

As a kid, I had a tough time, when any electrical appliance I touched was enough to raise my hair. I would heat the iron for a quick smoothening of creases and jerk back as soon as I touch the iron. The electric oven was another monster. Even simple lamps and bulbs gave me a shock.

So I gave up ironing. And cooking too was out of bounds for some time. More so because I got burnt a lot. I still light my gas stove with a matchstick. Because using a lighter sends currents through my body.

Then it got worse as current flowed out of door handles, TV screen, computer keyboard, just about anything. Initially my husband got a thrill getting me to touch his musical keyboard. He would take my forefinger and without warning keep it on one edge of the keyboard. And I would shriek. He thought I was doing it for kicks but later realised I was serious when I screamed like mad.

Then it got to people. I started getting shocks when I touched people or anyone touched me. Sometimes in between bouts of romantic notions, I would quietly creep up on the husband when he was playing and wrap my arms around him only to be shocked. I, of electric current types and he, normal scared types. And I would yelp. And he would yelp. "NEVER do that again!!!"

It was a problem in office. A colleage would tap me or gently touch me, and I would bolt back, prompting them to say, "sorry, didn't mean to startle you" and look at me oddly. Sometimes I tried explaining, "Nonono! This current passed when you touched me!" Only to be mocked, "Oh, didn't know I had that effect on you." First people were amused then I suppose it got tiresome. They thought I had gone loony.

Then for some time, things got better. The nervewhecking feeling was not so frequent. And I wondered if I was saved a death by electrocution.

But of late, it's back. And I suffer most in the gym. The treadmill seems to be getting a sadistic pleasure out of seeing me swing my hands wildly whenever I punch the speed increase button or downward button. The other women around think I am trying some new stunt. Weirdly even the rubber wrapped handles give me a shock. I keep my towel over it and then slowly get my hand on it. I tried confiding in a seriously-gymming-woman, hoping she feels the same. She smiled sweetly and I knew, if I ever came up in their conversations, I would be branded a nutcase.

The only pleasure I get is out of the vibrator*. I have long given it up myself. It anyways made me feel like 100 watts of voltage was passing through me. But I love to watch the others. A sight, I tell you, sure makes up for the electrifying shocks I had been suffering all these years. These women look like they are on the electric chair. Only there is no chair and they try to keep a straight face as every part of the body is violently jiggled. They actually queue up for the torture and derive a strange satiated kind of satisfaction as they wind up their routine with the vibrator. And watching them, I tell myself, the contraption has been aptly named.

*Edited to crush illicit thoughts - By vibrator, I mean a menacing machine at the gym, which has a wide belt and once strapped on, does some powerful pummelling to the body.