Wednesday, November 21, 2007


Now this has to be the funniest thing ever, or I won't be blogging about it. This is better than my battered cellphone falling in an open gutter and me retrieving it with my bare hands after screaming for help for 10 minutes, which never came, except for everyone laughing at my poor phone buzzing and flashing at the bottom of the black muck. Of course it died and I wanted to amputate my arm, but decided to bake the phone in the sun and take a shower. Both are alive and kicking, except the phone no longer rings, which is great as my workplace has not been able to trace me for the past two days, which brings me to the point of this post.

I was suffering from some kind of throat infection as I was informed by the smiling doctor at 8:30 am on Monday morning, which sounded plausible enough. All I wanted was the ability to breathe again, which had deserted me sometime around Sunday midnight. I blamed this as a worthy punishment to being drunk stupid four nights in a row, but then Tipsy was leaving forever and only alcohol could have helped me survive losing another friend. Which reminds me I miss Tipsy so much. So two days later, this throat infection was still hanging around, tickling the insides of my esophagus, nasal cavity, and the wind pipe, till an insane bout of coughing arrived. Now, coughing doesn't scare me, so I gargled, drank the cough syrup, drank another brand of cough syrup, applied dollops of vicks to my neck, applied D-Cold to my neck, but no, the fuckin' coughing continued as if to convince me I have TB and then I cracked a private joke ('cause I don't even watch TV), and laughed, and made the coughing worse. Now, never have I heard of coughing raised to infinity, and the thousand thorns stuck in my neck began to twist and turn (and no I don't even eat fish, fine don't laugh). Finally I gave up, and started crying into my pillow with an orchestra of mosquitoes joining in. Atleast, they were being considerate enough to not bite me tonight.

Honestly, I was embarrassed of pulling up to the emergency room and telling the doc, please make the coughing stop, which is what eventually happened. At 12:30 am I called up Zang crying, who despite being stoned out of his wits decided to show up at my door-step within five minutes. Next, we were picking up an assortment of boys as the guys were all packed up for a trip to the hills. As I had suspected, they were all laughing, "Madam ko khasi hai, doctor ke paas le jaana hai." I knew I shouldn't have dressed up, doesn't make the right impression, but then public at large doesn't take too kindly to the beloved eleven years old Tom and Jerry sweater I sleep in.

Finally, we arrived at the emergency ward, and I decided to run to the loo and asphyxiate myself with my towel kerchief, than ask the doctor who had just finished tending to a bleeding guy absorbing liters of glucon-D for help. The doctor asked me to open my mouth and cringed at the sight of a silver stud. It was announced that this is an allergic reaction to something and I need to be put on a nebuliser. Now, I know there is a song called Nebula, and I don't like it too much as it is some death metal shit, so I freaked out and asked if this can't be treated by vicks ki goli or baba Ramdev. The doctor said, I will cough till dawn and so we must try hit-and-try to find some relief. This is why I say BDS graduates should not be allowed to call themselves doctors.

Next I was lying on the white bed, with a mask over my face inhaling white fumes while the boys cracked jokes with the hospital staff. Soon everyone was laughing at me and refused to notice I had run out of the white fumes. Of course, the emergency guys cannot let you go without a couple of shots in your arm, which were duly administered and can safely be held responsible for my trippy self right now. I am not kiddin', its better than any mofo shit anyone ever had. They asked me to leave, and I refused as I was still coughing, except the hospital staff burst out laughing again and I decided to leave with the guys for Dehradun.

I got a few calls and to extract gasps of horror from my far-flung friends I informed them that I am merely recovering from a near death experience and there was no Jesus or Satan anywhere. Eventually I had to tell them, it was all because of a coughing bout and the concerned friends decided it was not worthy of STD calls, so with a fake go home and sleep, the lines went dead. By this time I was flying and reciting the "aee Rahul mujhse dosti karoge" line to the boys, since I did feel like Rani Mukherjee dying of child birth. So, Zang decided to dump a bit more of another brand new cough syrup down my throat and I announced I am going with them to the hills, against my better judgment. Besides the only judgment I ever had was now trying out Calypso with my nebulised neurons. Too bad, we only made it to ISBT, where the assortment of boys were unloaded as they made their way to the hills and I came back with Zang, only to write this, and now I am wondering if he too was supposed to go and didn't go 'cause I refused to go home. But, seriously, who the fuck ends up with a gas mask because of coughing or maybe Ms Gandhi is indeed testing new nuclear weapons in Noida to kill the commies. These medical entrance exams better be made tough and all. Now I'm going to spell check this and bloody Kyau and Albert never sounded better.