The good, bad and ugly of a broken foot

Falling down and breaking my bones is an art that I have been practising over the years with no dedication but with supreme success. All thanks to the way I walk- sloppy frog jumps, drunken duck walk, mad mouse hops and so on. Add to it my eyeballs which can shuttle back and forth, up and down at the speed of light. This should tell how the art form comes so naturally to me. Every time I fall down, my poor bones would beg for an extra week of rest but my mind is too ambitious to let them stay in bed. I would give discourses on how my will power wins over physical fatigue and illness, but the truth is staying indoors for more than a day is dead boring.

Something funnily different happened this time confining me to bed for about a month. It was a breezy Friday evening and I was walking down the usual road in my usual way to catch a bus for dinner with a friend. Stepping over a small stone, I twisted my ankle and sensed a sharp pain but it was nothing compared to the torture of my hunger pangs. Note the point, I did not fall down. I hopped into the bus discarding the pain and started dreaming the sumptuous dinner I was about to have. As I delved into the crispy roasted chicken legs, a slight discomfort knocked my foot and then a chicken egg like structure developed on my foot. This was followed by an unwilling yet necessary visit to a nearby hospital. The doctor confirmed the pain to be from a fractured bone and my mom whom I had called by then confirmed that I am the most reckless kid ever. So there was a constant downpour of advice on one side and plain bashing from the other for the next few hours.

I had to keep my leg straight with constrained movement. The doctor's advice sounded like the starting line of a Physics problem. My calf bone had to be at an angle of 20 degrees from the bed and my foot perpendicular to the calf bone. I began my sedentary journey at home and for most days, there was incessant rainfall and gloomy weather outside. My worrisome granny kept shooting me with questions as to how exactly I broke my leg. She was not even close to accepting the reason I gave. I guess, it sounded too silly to her. 'Did you ride a hefty bike and fell down?', ' Did you jump down the stairs in five steps ?', ' Did you pick up fight with someone ?' were some of her thousand queries. God, I was furious in no time but that didn't stop her. She would pity me for a while and again start the full fledged enquiry. It still goes on.

One thing that pleased me beyond all expectations during the crummy period was the food. The aroma from the kitchen would dance through the air, tickle my senses and rub out the wobbliness from medicines. What could be better than piping hot food on a rainy day ? There was no denial when it came to food and by then my mom had understood the secret to keep my mouth shut from ranting. I had more ice creams than what I had the entire year.The bliss of good food kept my neurons from firing in random directions but the day came. 



My mind no longer wanted to agree with my leg. The battle had begun.

Suddenly, I wanted to walk, run, jump and play somersaults all at once. Tension kept building up my toes and my leg was no longer obedient to what was good. Once my mom leaves for office and my granny gets busy cleaning the garden, I would creep out of my bed in silence and spring to the nearby window. Cautiously, I would wander the room always at close vicinity to the bed with one foot always up. Oh, what relief ! The blood rushing down the legs felt like little fairies caressing the wounded with feathers-delightful. It was bad, I realised soon. Pain oozed up and down my feet every night I did the secret hopping.Nights were becoming nightmares with the extreme pain.

From then on, I had to entertain myself without hopping and started watching action packed movies religiously. That was the best part that helped me have the most vivid dreams- I did all that I couldn't do in reality. I was walking up the hills, being chased by animals and shooting down the zombies. The dreams were powerful, exuberant and projected me as a quirky ninja warrior. During one Jurassic park dream, I woke startled thinking a dinosaur had caught my leg but then it my mom who was patiently adjusting the posture of my foot.

I am marching (slightly crippled) towards the day when I will be able to jump and play gleefully again. As usual, I promise to be more careful from now on but does that even work ?

Memories

Wax wriggles down,
Melting some time.
Far off, a train chugs,
Into the mountains.
Rupturing bark,erodes
itself. The storm withers,
A howl sets in.
Dull echoes of last
Goodbyes. Faint memories
of lost struggles.

Silver lines, fairy tales,
A flute plays far away.
Holy winds, misty dales,
Whitey doves fly and play.
Streaks of Prussian skies,
Paint the window panes.
Memories of coffee brew,and
Laughter down the lanes.
An epoch of happy feats,
Sound of elated heart beats.

Moments flee day by day,
Nothing to trap,
Nothing to nail.
Revive the days,
Put on a smile,
and just move on,
Living the day.

Kalam: A Tribute

Wafers of smile span across,
a face of easy harmony.
Gentle tones of advocacy,emerge
from roots of true modesty.
Embracing the soul of optimism,
you marched the road to scholarship.
You led a path of revelation,
lighting the minds of humanity.
We found an exuberant educator,
to tell us mind is over matter.
We earned a cordial commander,
who unveiled natural integrity.
Of unblemished grit and diplomacy,
you were an art of simplicity.
A personage of thousand dimensions,
and a phenomenon in our history.
The ethereal spring withered today,
but the fragrance will stay forever.

May your soul rest in peace.

A Nostalgic Fresco

On a Summer midday,I perch in a room,
Devoid of disciples yet full of vim.
Peeling paints reveal the depth of moil.
And,echoes of practice grease the walls.
Filling the envelope of air inside,
Dwindled tantrums dot the uptight decorum.
Musty smell leak from timeworn desks.
Mazes of cobweb creep to the alpine roof.
Long windows open to a flaring mud field.
Crumbs of chalk cuddle the podium beneath,
And, smudge the wash of a worn black board.
Fading words remind of days that blend-
Into the vanishing point.
A twisted smile, an array of gazes,
A flush of thoughts and a deep breath,
All together,paint a nostalgic Fresco.

The Comfort Quietus

Bleached by loquacious riffraff,
And scathed by pompous conflux,
I quest behind the vanished sense,
In the sepulchre of holy spirits.
The spirits of quietus and silence,
Of mild secrecy in life before birth,
Of dark enigmatic crux in afterlife,
Bent in the hungry tidal warfare,
Of belching sorrows and crummy ease.
Entwined in the web of civilisation,
Of cry,scandal,bruises and misery.
Ripping the threads of entanglement,
I long cannily for a haven to abide.
Cocooned beneath the clamoured arena,
Of voices,wishes, whims and vices.
I live with a penchant for placidity.
Forever and forever.

Warm Song of Summer Rain

Dry and parched wide city alleys,
Weep under the erring swelter.
Some mirage lakes troll at best,
Teasing the fated summer thirst.
Stunned by the fondling breezes,
Kisses of drizzle daze the torrid.
Petting the gush of dusky pillows,
High tears rush.Of lost playmates.
A sway brushes the crust of Earth,
Cleansing the dust,dirt and pores.
Sleets of shower vamp out in swift,
Shrouding the land with still mist.
Puffs of virgin sponges subtly pace,
Breaching glimpses of simmering sun.
Pigmented arches swell up in layers,
Improvising a fable of rich fantasy.
Ambience juggles the sentiments plain,
Greeting the Warm Song of Summer Rain.

He left without proffering Goodbye

Last day of exam for the academic year was over. She was hopping with joy of anticipated celebration of the summer break.She grabbed her bag with one hand while holding the pencils and pens on the other. Bidding a jaunty goodbye to her peers, she ran swiftly towards home to kickstart the liberty with a scrumptious lunch. Even the muggy weather that usually peeves her was not able to dwindle her spirits that day. Drenched in sweat and smeared with dust, she breezed into lush green avenue that housed her haven.

Never  had she been so panicky to step into her beautiful home after returning from school. But that day, things were afflictively different. The old steel rocking chair on the porch was empty and strangers with inelastic faces were ambling past her. The smell of burning incense, the fragrance wafting from  variety of flowers and  an eerie silence pricked  at her nerves. With a rummage of grievous thoughts, she peeped into the hall and all she could see - a dazzling white shroud which neatly covered an old gentleman.

The heavy bag slid down her arms on the floor. Keeping her eyes rigidly fixed on the stiff face, she wiped the sweat trickling down her temples and jaded cheeks.

Someone clutched at her shoulders from behind and whispered in an aching voice.

'Grandpa passed away this morning. Pray for him.'

Neck cramped with an ache, fingers turning cold and goosebumps raised on her tender skin. Slowly, she approached the gentleman lying calm on the bed and caressed his toes. They were colder than her fingers, stiffer than her muscles and lifeless than her spirits.

'Why didn't you tell me ? We have lots more to share and play. Wake up! grandpa! Wake up!' She hit him hard with tears streaming down her cheeks.

That man who had never let her feel dejected was gone, once for all, without even bidding her Goodbye.