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…. 

Scent

What hit us before anything else was the sweet perfume of the house, as though it had become a war ground  for a bunch of deodorants.
"What the....oh..." Detective Duke stopped.
Inside there were candles. Everywhere. On the shelves, in the fridge, around the tub, on the ceiling. Everywhere. They were of every color, shape, and size possible.
Each candle also had it's own perfume, but put together, there existed a sickly, flowery smell that made the nose go numb.
"She had...." I started.
"A smelling addiction. To candles. I get it. Your murdered employer lived with candles, and died because of one. A poisoned one. What a life." Detective Massie said with a mixture of awe and distaste.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Who gave her that accursed candle?" Duke asked.
"She had admirers as well as haters. Some say it was Mr. Crenshaw. I-I don't know, really. I wish I did though." I said slowly, suddenly feeling exhausted. Tears pricked my eyes.
Duke looked at me oddly and opened his mouth to say something, when Massie cut him across.
"Give her a break, Duke. Poor thing, she was just a loving caretaker, and ever since the murder she's gone through so much."
A little fiercely, and much more quietly, she added, "Honestly, if it had been her, she would've been caught already! She's already been questioned God-knows-how-many-times!"
To me, she turned and nodded, "Thanks so much."
                                 They left in a hurry

*                                                                         *                                                             *

It was a clear night, and I was in the balcony away from the scents, though I knew I'd go back in soon enough. What most people didn't know was that, just like my employer, I too had a sniffing addiction.
Of course, it was her who got all the candles, love, admiration. I was just the servant, poorly treated.
'Make me a sandwich dearie, and you might get another candle!' she'd say. How I used to fall for that. Used to.
Hey, I couldn't help it.
She had had a life that anyone would have killed to have.
So that's exactly what I did.

How to make it big

There's a lot that we can learn,
From the life of Mr. Kumbhakarn,
Who never did anything at once,
Any action took months and months.
Half the year for food, the rest for slumber,
His BMI would have been a rather high number!
The big 'little' brother of Mr. Ravan,
I can only guess the kinda life he was havin'
Grandma says he was kinda smart,
A huge body with a rather large heart.
He asked Lord Ravan to compromise,
"Leave Sita alone", he would advice,
This proves that Kumbha was very nice!
But what to do? He had a rakshasa bro,
Ravan was mad, waged war, and so,
Kumbha HAD to participate,
And he too caused destruction great!
For though he had much weight to lose,
He put his mass to quite good use,
He had a rather...peculiar niche,
Many a soldiers he could squish!
He ate like a hog, slept like a sloth,
His attire was made of miles of cloth,
Didn't work out, wasn't the sharpest knife,
Yet he turned out 'larger-than-life'!

"Sigh"ence....

Not a love, a passion, a friendship, a bond,

Not even the weakest alliance,

It’s something of which I’m really not fond,

That treacherous subject of Science.

And someone must have been kidding themselves,

When they split science thrice,

However, a thought of ridding themselves,

Would have been rather nice.

Now I have Physics, and Bio and Chem,

Three’s an unlucky number,

I’m telling you I’ll get nowhere with them,

They just make me feel a lot dumber.

Physics. Oh, Physics! Yes, Physics, is the source,

It makes the simple so hard,

Take the example of motion and force,

Topics I want to discard.

And Chem’s not a subject that I want around,

It beats my brain to batter,

With so many elements and compounds,

And the 40 page chapters on matter.

Xylem and Phloem and Chlorophyll,

Really irritating, that Bio,

It makes me green, it makes me ill,

And want to moan “aiyy-aiyyo”.

You might think you know it well,

But then you start with “Tissues”,

That chapter, along with the “Cell”,

Will help you see the issues.

My pals hope to be doctors, engineers,

Types of scientists,

But, I cannot imagine my career,

With Science being a part of it.

If I could understand my science notes,

Well then, that would be fab!!

I could see myself, in a white coat,

Working in a lab.

Finally, I’ve had my time to vent,

Uh-oh! Papa’s come in for a look!!

And before it’s this poem that I resent,

I should get back to my books.