First of all let me apologise for the private nature of this post. About half of my readership has no idea who I am and thus probably won’t find this interesting.
This is not about sports or current affairs or the feminazi or anything known by the wider world.
This one’s about me.
You see, I am a broken man – metaphorically of course. But my heart, liver, lungs and spine are all malfunctioning and when I try to walk I resemble a zombie Quasimodo. I am in pain 24/7/365 (366 during leaps) and for around 180 of those days even getting up from the bed is too much of a physical struggle and procedure.
Tears of pain, sadness, rage, frustration etc flow everyday. Go ahead call me a sissy, I don’t care.
Its more tragic because during my youth I was an avid player- football, cricket, badminton, table tennis, wrestling, volleyball I played them all. I was never good or anything but was an eager participant in all kinds of physical activities. There wasn’t a single day when I was not on the field.
And now look at me.
There is an ironic situation, I need to do lots of physiotherapic exercises etc to drive away part of the pain, but I am in too much pain to do the exercises.
Que sera sera and all that.
Now, in December 2014, I was talking to my good friend (and elder sister to all intents and purposes) Shailaja Shastri (the lady, lest we forget, who, along with Minakshi Shukla, is responsible for me being alive today) and she said that if I try something, anything to be a little bit fitter, then she will come and meet me around my birthday.
It got me inspired and from January 1, I started walking.
Naturally, given my propensity to collapse at the drop of a hat, I could not walk alone. Enter the Guddudow
He is my manager/assistant/secretary/agent/stunt double/friend/brother and as the only under 20 year old boy in the neighbourhood, its his job to take care of all us old timers.
At the beginning I could walk for about 2 minutes before collapsing, slowly, painstakingly, it went up to 20.
And then something happened.
The Guddudow was beaten up and kicked out of a metro train by a lady. His leg got injured.
I know what you are thinking, you are thinking he must have touched her inappropriately or done some letchingbut you are wrong.
You see the Guddudow is homosexual and thus its not possible that he molested the lady or anything. It was simply a homophobic assault.
Now I don’t care whether he is homosexual or not, he is still my bro and I am my bro’s keeper.
And its my job to protect him, especially from homophobes.
The poor guy is naturally traumatised and he locked himself in his room and went on a flurry of crying and destruction. He managed to ruin some parts of his computer and thus had to get them replaced.
Naturally, I couldnot let him go out all alone to the computer shops now could I? He is my bro and if anyone gets to kick his arse, it should be me.
I tool him out to the nearest computer store, which happens to be around 2.5 kms away.
Here comes the pride.
Since he is traumatised about public transportation, I told him we would walk had to walk. That’s right people, 2.5 + 2.5 kms. I did it.
And when pride is there, can the fall be far behind?
Of course not.
There is only 1 result of all that physical activity. Its inevitable, its guaranteed.
Massive pain ahoy.
Now I resemble Humpty Dumpty after the fall.