'Should I be alarmed?' I asked with some alarm in my voice.
Actually, if you think about it, it is impossible to ask this question without the alarm already in your voice. It's like asking a man for direction in a small town. You should ask only if you know it already; otherwise you will be lost forever in the currents and crosscurrents of local history, geography, and quite possibly, botany. Very soon they will spin mythologies about you also. 'Have you seen the shadowy figure in the bush behind our house last night? It must be the traveller from 1987 who asked Shambhu-da for direction to a post-office.' 'Of course I saw him. He was still carrying the letter for his dying mother which he couldn't post.' Urban legends are often born out of dying mothers, headless postmen and thorny shrubberies.
I could think of all this because the doctor took an unusually long sigh before responding to my question. 'Yes. You should be alarmed.' Then he started to take another long sigh. Does he have asthma?
'What is the degree of the alarm?' I interrupted his sigh.
'Very,' sigh, 'high.'
'And?' I asked.
'And,' he now got his composure back, 'you should start meeting your family, friends, and family friends. Tomorrow you should get admitted in the hospital. I will make the reservation.'
Really? I thought. That easy, huh! I went out of the clinic with a tumour and looked at the world with clearer vision. Although, in reality, my vision was blurred because of the tumour in my brain. Seldom does it happen, when the literal, the metaphorical, and the ironical have an orgy outside of a cancer hospital.
The first stop I made was of course at my wife's. Ex-wife's, actually. We separated last year over a sofa. She liked it brown. I liked it gone. I made it gone but relented later. I had to sleep on the floor that night.
'I got cancer,' I told her with an impassive face.
'What's new?' she replied. We were sitting on a brown sofa.
'You didn't lose your wit, I guess.' She didn't. She never had it.
'I have got the sofa on sale,' she told me when I was getting up.
'Good for you,' I said and tried to leave. By the time I was reaching the door, the sofa was already converted into a bed. 'It's the latest design,' she shouted. Her voice felt like coming from the other end of the sofa. I nodded from my end and left.
'Arre you! After such a long time!' My friend was ecstatic.
'I got cancer,' I told with an impassive face.
'OK. What else is happening?'
'Nothing much!'
'Did you know we had a reunion last Sunday.'
I didn't. They didn't invite me.
We had tea and pakoda and watched an episode of a science fiction series on Netflix. It was excruciatingly dark. Or maybe my vision was playing tricks. At one point I discovered my friend was crying. Now, now, that's nice, feel bad for me.
'Don't feel so bad,' I comforted him, 'I will have a surgery soon.'
'But Mishiko won't. She will die in the next episode.'
It took me some time to realise I wasn't Mishiko.
The next stop was at my mother's. She lived with my sister. None of them were home. I remembered perfectly that I had texted them before coming. Were they trying to avoid me? I called my sister, 'Where are you?'
'We are at the new sushi place. Wanna come?'
'I don't like fish, you know that.'
'Yeah, sorry. We will be home in a couple of hours.'
'I can't wait that long. I have to be admitted in the hospital'
'Which one?'
I told the name.
'Oh, but that's on the other side of the town.'
'Can I talk to mother?' I said, not wanting to talk to my sister anymore.
'Sure, hold on.'
'Mother,' I stared at a nearby cat, 'I am getting a surgery in a few hours.'
'Don't be daft,' I could smell the sushi from the other side of the phone, 'first they will do some tests. It will take at least a day before they take you to surgery.'
'The tests are done. I have cancer.'
'There are other tests...' she said, her final words wrapped in rice, raw fish and wasabi.
The nurse who put me to sleep had big boobs. 'Will you go on a date with me when I wake up?'
'You won't,' she said plainly and left.
Actually, if you think about it, it is impossible to ask this question without the alarm already in your voice. It's like asking a man for direction in a small town. You should ask only if you know it already; otherwise you will be lost forever in the currents and crosscurrents of local history, geography, and quite possibly, botany. Very soon they will spin mythologies about you also. 'Have you seen the shadowy figure in the bush behind our house last night? It must be the traveller from 1987 who asked Shambhu-da for direction to a post-office.' 'Of course I saw him. He was still carrying the letter for his dying mother which he couldn't post.' Urban legends are often born out of dying mothers, headless postmen and thorny shrubberies.
I could think of all this because the doctor took an unusually long sigh before responding to my question. 'Yes. You should be alarmed.' Then he started to take another long sigh. Does he have asthma?
'What is the degree of the alarm?' I interrupted his sigh.
'Very,' sigh, 'high.'
'And?' I asked.
'And,' he now got his composure back, 'you should start meeting your family, friends, and family friends. Tomorrow you should get admitted in the hospital. I will make the reservation.'
Really? I thought. That easy, huh! I went out of the clinic with a tumour and looked at the world with clearer vision. Although, in reality, my vision was blurred because of the tumour in my brain. Seldom does it happen, when the literal, the metaphorical, and the ironical have an orgy outside of a cancer hospital.
The first stop I made was of course at my wife's. Ex-wife's, actually. We separated last year over a sofa. She liked it brown. I liked it gone. I made it gone but relented later. I had to sleep on the floor that night.
'I got cancer,' I told her with an impassive face.
'What's new?' she replied. We were sitting on a brown sofa.
'You didn't lose your wit, I guess.' She didn't. She never had it.
'I have got the sofa on sale,' she told me when I was getting up.
'Good for you,' I said and tried to leave. By the time I was reaching the door, the sofa was already converted into a bed. 'It's the latest design,' she shouted. Her voice felt like coming from the other end of the sofa. I nodded from my end and left.
'Arre you! After such a long time!' My friend was ecstatic.
'I got cancer,' I told with an impassive face.
'OK. What else is happening?'
'Nothing much!'
'Did you know we had a reunion last Sunday.'
I didn't. They didn't invite me.
We had tea and pakoda and watched an episode of a science fiction series on Netflix. It was excruciatingly dark. Or maybe my vision was playing tricks. At one point I discovered my friend was crying. Now, now, that's nice, feel bad for me.
'Don't feel so bad,' I comforted him, 'I will have a surgery soon.'
'But Mishiko won't. She will die in the next episode.'
It took me some time to realise I wasn't Mishiko.
The next stop was at my mother's. She lived with my sister. None of them were home. I remembered perfectly that I had texted them before coming. Were they trying to avoid me? I called my sister, 'Where are you?'
'We are at the new sushi place. Wanna come?'
'I don't like fish, you know that.'
'Yeah, sorry. We will be home in a couple of hours.'
'I can't wait that long. I have to be admitted in the hospital'
'Which one?'
I told the name.
'Oh, but that's on the other side of the town.'
'Can I talk to mother?' I said, not wanting to talk to my sister anymore.
'Sure, hold on.'
'Mother,' I stared at a nearby cat, 'I am getting a surgery in a few hours.'
'Don't be daft,' I could smell the sushi from the other side of the phone, 'first they will do some tests. It will take at least a day before they take you to surgery.'
'The tests are done. I have cancer.'
'There are other tests...' she said, her final words wrapped in rice, raw fish and wasabi.
The nurse who put me to sleep had big boobs. 'Will you go on a date with me when I wake up?'
'You won't,' she said plainly and left.
