Is there a way out of the tunnel?

The doctor gave me a demo. I was supposed to act dead. It was a yogic posture. “Complete bed-rest,” she said.

At any other time I would have been thrilled. I have a history of laziness and love the good things of life…one reason being I do believe that I am one of the good things of life!

How I would relish doing a Barbara Cartland, wearing lovely pink gowns, with pink pearls, and pink feathers stuck in my hair and a candy-floss lipstick glossing my mouth as I reclined on the couch and let out words about virginal damsels being rescued by men who had no interest in deflowering them in a hurry. It would be a nice, lazy (yes, that word again) pre-noon. I would be sipping a small gin or a sherry or delicately nibbling on fresh strawberries as the whipped cream tickled my throat.

Someone would be taking down my words, each utterance and sigh would be recorded. And then I’d dose off. Until another day, another breathless story…

Alas, that is not to be. I must sit here and make do with keystrokes, but write I have to. I am suffering from something called carpal tunnel syndrome, which makes me feel like someone obsessed with dark tunnels where every car is given a pal (moment) to decide when to see the light.

Actually, it isn’t funny. The pain can get excruciating. The fingers tingle and reach my palm, then the ache climbs like a creeper towards my arm and shoulders and settles in the back.

Last night I found a spot high up near the rear of my neck which when poked sent a chill right down my right arm. They are so connected and bonded, like they are madly in love.

Anyway, I ran a Net search to find out what I could do, because the doctor’s position is not workable and I don’t want any more injection shots. Among the several options, I read about using an ice-pack. So an ice-pack was bought. It jiggled with gel. I placed it in the deep freezer and when it was nice and hard I waited for it to thaw just a little and then put it inside its cloth cover that had a Velcro band. I first held it against by back, then my neck; finally I wrapped it round my arm. Its coldness numbed any feeling my arm might have for me.

I continued typing. Suddenly there was a stench, not dirty but stinky. And I felt something wet on the inside of my elbow. The blue gel was falling in large drops like tears. I suppose I had wrapped the pack too tight and it tore.

I had to. If I had not, then it wouldn’t touch me. Some things cannot be left loose, but I realise that often getting too close can end in breakage.

So fragile are we…

Sau roop dhare jeene ke liye
baithe hai hazaaron zehar piye
Thokar na lagaana hum khud hai
giratee hui deewaaron ki tarah
(Majrooh Sultanpuri)