Gone Viral

Dear Dr. Y. Rus,

It was on Wednesday, I caught the bug,
Downstairs, at the pool.
My throat hurt, but I gave a shrug,
This had happened before, I was cool.

It ached more than I'd like to admit,
Every time I swallowed.
Every morsel, every bit,
And a fiery pain then followed.

Through Thursday too, it persevered,
This aching throat of mine.
But it ebbed, as the night drew near,
And I hoped that I'd be fine.

Yet on Friday, we had school till 4,
I got a bundle of bad, bad luck.
Around 12, maybe a little before,
It was then that fever struck.

I trudged my way from class to class,
My head felt like it was on fire.
I must have looked one sorry lass,
Shivering, small, and tired.

At home, at seven, I hit the bed.
With a temperature of one oh two.
By Saturday morning, I must say, my head,
Was feeling too good to be true.

Saturday passed by passably well,
Today's Sunday, and my nose is blocked off.
And there's not a thing that I can smell,
And now I have a persistent cough.

But I know this virus will quickly leave,
I will not let it hover.
And with the relief that I receive,
I'll thank you for helping me recover.

From,
Priya.

*Response*

Dear Priya,

Thank you for your wonderful letter,
And your pleasureful rhyme.
I'm sorry to see you're getting better,
Oh well. Until next time!

Love from,
Dr. Y. Rus.

He Whodunit

He duct tapes himself onto a chair,
He doesn't like being called a kitty.
He lives in a stylish, sweet new place,
In the middle of New York City.

He's a 'catch', a dude - at home and work,
Coolness filled to the brim.
He's a dad, but here's the fact:
His daughter takes care of him!

He might call himself, a 'ladies' man',
Wedding bells have rung, of course.
Twice in fact, but the sad tale is,
Both ended in a divorce.

He might seem childish, immature,
But he's famous, now there's a twist...
He's got the talent, got the smarts,
He's a mystery novelist!

He shadows a very pretty cop,
In the station and on the streets.
The detective's name: Kate Beckett,
She was the muse for Nikki Heat.

At first, they totally hate each other,
Then a friendship slowly blossoms.
And then of course, it turns to love,
Their relationship is awesome!

This guy himself is pretty good,
He's paid to think like a villain.
And often, it's through his ideas,
They catch the guy behind the killin'

By now you would have geussed who he is,
He adds lots of humor to a hassle.
'Awesome' describes him fully,
He's Richard, Richard Castle.

 

Pigeoned out on Diwali

I’m grey and white; I live in a group,

On ledges and railings, I leave pieces of poop.

I’m the urban bird; I’m so very cool,

I eat what I want, and I drink from the pool.

I got all the strength; I got all the might,

I got no fears…except for them kites.

And the only other thing, which don’t make me so jolly,

It’s this time of year, during Diwali.

It’s not the poojas or the diyas, man,

I can deal with them, yes I can!

No it’s actually them evil ear attackers,

We call ‘em bombs, and you call ‘em crackers!

Whether it’s here at home, or out on the roads,

They’re so loud, my head explodes.

So when you folks start to burst them about,

Well, it’s natural that we freak out.

What starts with a BANG! And ends with a BOOM!

We’re sure these noises will lead to our doom.

So we do whatever we can,

To escape those wicked fireworks, man!

We fly away from the balconies thinking, ‘what the heck?’

And bury our heads deep into our neck.

Our behavior just gets stranger and stranger,

When we’re convinced we’re in mortal danger.

Then we’re no longer the cool flying dudes,

We’re scaredy cats, afraid to intrude,

In the joyous celebrations, the fiery weather,

We’d rather just sit here, and peck at our feathers.

BOOM! BANG! There's another one!
Later dude, I gotta run!

Social Service

Darkness. Born with darkness, living with darkness. Those of us who have been blessed with vision, no  matter how blurry, can’t really imagine how it must be to be blind. But the students I visit nearly every week at Samarthanam, have lived, and will live their entire life in darkness.

Samarthanam is a trust fund for the disabled, located in Jayanagar, Bangalore, very close to my house. I first got familiar with it last year, when I started recording audio books with my father for the blind students. It was easy, but time-consuming. Later, for the IAYP programme at school, I was required to do social service for one hour every week. So this July, I started volunteering at Samarthanam. I’ll be honest, it was a real burden for me. Whenever I went to Samarthanam with my mom or dad, lots of other volunteers would already be there. But finding available English-medium students wasn't very easy. Not all the students were quick learners, but the ones who were, surprised us time and again with their swift understanding and strong memory. It’s funny how we always talk of the poor in India, and never once stop to think of the disabled, and how hard it must be for them.

It’s hard for us too. We, their teachers or readers or guides. I’ll be completely truthful. I’m so much more comfortable in Samarthanam than before, and yet it’s something of a chore, because teaching isn’t easy. It’s not as simple as just going to that place, grabbing a book, and reading to the blind students…... It’s going to that place, taking the book the student wants to study from, sitting with them, and explaining – whether it’s Science or History or English. And this makes all the difference. Half the difficulties arise because of their blindness. How do you explain something like History to these students? It means nothing to them but dates and names and wars. They can’t imagine what could have happened; it’s not even applicable in their everyday lives. Don’t even get me started on diagrams and maps, they’re impossible to deal with!!

The other part is my own huge challenge - my inability to communicate properly in any Indian language. I speak to the students in a fragmented Kannada, a tortured, broken Hindi. After one hour of reading and explaining, my throat is parched, not just because I voiced out so many words, but because of the effort it takes to try to explain facts or complex topics or even other words, in languages I barely know. It’s exhausting, I’ll be completely upfront about it.

But I think that the biggest lesson I’ve learned through this all is that donating money for charity, is not the same as spending your time, pouring in your heart, giving your full 100% to doing some social service. There are times when I’m so frustrated with myself, I want to just drop this thing and walk away, but probably the only thing that stops me is that this is compulsory. And chatting with them, that’s my reward. Chatting is fun, it’s easy. But the last 15 minutes of chatting only comes after 45 minutes of teaching. That’s when I learn about them, when they become my friends, not my students.

So what’s the moral of the story? Well, there isn't one…exactly. I haven’t learned to love social service. I have learned to respect and like the differently-abled people, yes, but there’s been nothing life-altering. But maybe that’s it, maybe this social service will get me a good grade, and a few good friends….