Monday, June 30, 2008

When he said nothing at all...

He lay listless। Rather against his wishes! The buzz in his hand hinged with impatience.

Ah! Well a-day! What evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung”

Indeed the cross of albatross was wrung around his hand, with a prickly needle. He looked up in hope of breaking out of this nightmare. Alas! All he could see, drop-by-drop reminder of his non-existence. A bottle of glucose took ages to pump in her soul, only to be replaced by another. It was twilight; it had rained the day before. The cool breeze brought in the smell of fresh guavas and the memories dropped him into a lumber. Everything was perfect, except him.

The plethora of wishful thinking filled him. The hum in his head got louder. He was still expressionless. The effort worthy of applause, for any wrinkles would invite “Don’t TAX yourself”. The lazy and sleepy days ticked with clock and he no longer needed drops of life. How happy he was! He let aloud a grunt. He made for two ringing circles around the bed sprightly. That was all he could do. PITY! That much for 5 days of glucose, he had to recline to bed. Things came crashing again.

Incidentally, his memory cells realized he could only vaguely recall the musings of the last day। Diagnosis of pre-coma had called for relatives-near and far। The number of people sitting by him and the hands mopping his head- he failed to recount. He had hoped the glucose would run the magic wand in his life. It did, albeit his wishes were enormous for the recovery. He chewed his own lips and let out a silent grunt. The silence of the glum day, the silence of thoughts- it was deafening.

Hours passed, Days passed. He was permitted to sit for few minutes. He was allowed idiocy of idiot box. All he thought was, the grass is getting greener this side! The Euro-Cup would keep him busy between the rounds of his sleep. If he managed few more hours, Wimbledon was waiting for him. He watched them with the intensity he knew, even if he knew the results (He wasn’t allowed the late night Euro-Cup matches, he settled for the recorded version of it in the morn).

Slowly, he was getting grasp of things back again. No longer was the puppet held by strings from all the sides. Internet, Restricted home food and bouts of listening. His place was swarming with people, and he caught up with lost relations and interesting gossips. The only thing he didn’t realize then- Time had turned foes with him and was flying away against his wishes. He counted the number of days and rather dutifully he bade a good bye and started off his vigil elsewhere.

Wonderful isnt it? How a com(m)a changes the sentences of life!