Hospital

Fiction

Mr and Mrs Fernandez wanted a holiday. The school where they were working was being bulldozed. That was the reason. But they couldn’t write that as the reason in the leave application.

Bulldozing schools had become the fashion in the city. Land mafia had become the fashion designer under the new government.

“Medical,” wrote Mr Fernandez.

“The hell awaits those who tell lies,” warned Mrs Fernandez who was a regular Sunday Christian.

“The hell is already here,” Mr Fernandez dismissed her fear with the hubris that comes to him as naturally as the rain from a clear sky in the days of the Antichrist.

Mr Fernandez regarded himself as practical as the bulldozer that was breaking down enormous buildings into smithereens in seconds. So Mrs Fernandez found herself standing before the best eye specialist in moments after the alleged holiday journey.

“You’re not seeing things clearly,” declared Mr Fernandez. “So walk in, the automatic door will open for you, and get your eyes checked while I park the car.”

Mrs Fernandez was amused by the automatic door and forgot the holiday.

“Your BP is high,” said the nurse who performed the preliminary diagnostic test.

“Bulldozer,” babbled Mrs Fernandez.

“A bulldozer keeps invading her dreams,” explained Mr Fernandez who had just reached after parking his car which he had bought a day ago in order to keep up with the Joneses while his and his wife’s jobs were being bulldozed right in front of their eyes.

“A bulldozer is shattering our dreams,” explained Mrs Fernandez to the nurse who was not at all amused by the appearance of Mr Fernandez like a bolt from the blue.

“Who can destroy anyone’s dreams?” wondered the nurse after listening to Mrs Fernandez in detail. About the latest fashion in the city. “Even a farmer can make statement at Jantar Mantar,” asserted the nurse.

The farmer was buried while Mr Fernandez waited for Mrs Fernandez to open her eyes after the dilation treatment.

“You have absolutely no problem as far as vision is concerned,” said the doc going through pages and pages of test results. “But buy the medicine for BP.”

TheGarden of Five Senses was on the way back and Mr Fernandez thought three times before taking the diversion. "Miser," mumbled Mrs Fernandez to herself.

“You sit here and enjoy your vision,” said Mr Fernandez after dropping Mrs Fernandez at the Garden of Five Senses.

He’s going to enhance his vision with Teacher’s whisky, mumbled Mrs Fernandez to herself. And her BP rose. She could feel her heart palpitating.

Comments

Florentino’s Many Loves

Florentino Ariza has had 622 serious relationships (combo pack with sex) apart from numerous fleeting liaisons before he is able to embrace the only woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul. And that embrace happens “after a long and troubled love affair” that lasted 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days. Florentino is in his late 70s when he is able to behold, and hold as well, the very body of his beloved Fermina, who is just a few years younger than him. She now stands before him with her wrinkled shoulders, sagged breasts, and flabby skin that is as pale and cold as a frog’s. It is the culmination of a long, very long, wait as far as Florentino is concerned, the end of his passionate quest for his holy grail. “I’ve remained a virgin for you,” he says. All those 622 and more women whose details filled the 25 diaries that he kept writing with meticulous devotion have now vanished into thin air. They mean nothing now that he has reached where he longed to reach all his life. The

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below. Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Unromantic Men

Romance is a tenderness of the heart. That is disappearing even from the movies. Tenderness of heart is not a virtue anymore; it is a weakness. Who is an ideal man in today’s world? Shakespeare’s Romeo and Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Devdas would be considered as fools in today’s world in which the wealthiest individuals appear on elite lists, ‘strong’ leaders are hailed as nationalist heroes, and success is equated with anything other than traditional virtues. The protagonist of Colleen McCullough’s 1977 novel, The Thorn Birds [which sold more than 33 million copies], is torn between his idealism and his natural weaknesses as a human being. Ralph de Bricassart is a young Catholic priest who is sent on a kind of punishment-appointment to a remote rural area of Australia where the Cleary family arrives from New Zealand in 1921 to take care of the enormous estate of Mary Carson who is Paddy Cleary’s own sister. Meggy Cleary is the only daughter of Paddy and Fiona who have eight so

Octlantis

I was reading an essay on octopuses when friend John walked in. When he is bored of his usual activities – babysitting and gardening – he would come over. Politics was the favourite concern of our conversations. We discussed politics so earnestly that any observer might think that we were running the world through the politicians quite like the gods running it through their devotees. “Octopuses are quite queer creatures,” I said. The essay I was reading had got all my attention. Moreover, I was getting bored of politics which is irredeemable anyway. “They have too many brains and a lot of hearts.” “That’s queer indeed,” John agreed. “Each arm has a mind of its own. Two-thirds of an octopus’s neurons are found in their arms. The arms can taste, touch, feel and act on their own without any input from the brain.” “They are quite like our politicians,” John observed. Everything is linked to politics in John’s mind. I was impressed with his analogy, however. “Perhaps, you’re r

Country without a national language

India has no national language because the country has too many languages. Apart from the officially recognised 22 languages are the hundreds of regional languages and dialects. It would be preposterous to imagine one particular language as the national language in such a situation. That is why the visionary leaders of Independent India decided upon a three-language policy for most purposes: Hindi, English, and the local language. The other day two pranksters from the Hindi belt landed in Bengaluru airport wearing T-shirts declaring Hindi as the national language. They posted a picture on X and it evoked angry responses from a lot of Indians who don’t speak Hindi. The worthiness of Hindi to be India’s national language was debated umpteen times and there is nothing new to add to all that verbiage. Yet it seems a reminder is in good place now for the likes of the above puerile young men. Language is a power-tool . One of the first things done by colonisers and conquerors is to

Tomichan Matheikal's blog

Search This Blog