Three hundred were the count of the brave WBCs’ I had, standing against the millions of virus that invaded the empire of my body. I still don’t know the name of the particular virus though. And I’m not even saying that the count of the WBC’s would have been only 300, but the story of my WBCs’ last stand against the powerful virus could not have been possible if an external help of antibiotics had been given to me.
So there it goes, 29th December 2006, the one fine day when I was diagnosed and confirmed of having chicken pox virus inside me. I had company. Another friend of mine was also awarded with the same at the same time. Maybe because we were born on the same date, though with a couple of year difference. But he sailed his rescue boat to his home which was nearer than mine.
The New Year blast actually came with a blast for me. It seemed that the whole year I would be in the bed. And so, the first four days of my chicken pox vacation were wasted in alone in the cube. There were help and suggestions from everywhere. Advices were overflowing from my ears. All I could do was lie down on my bed and count on the number of spots I was getting all over my body, uncontrollably. I tried to get myself some relief with the help of a very good friend of mine - the music, but in vain. I was numb to feel anything. But I was prepared for the worst and the best.
People were concerned with the lack of proper medical treatment I was getting at the hostel. Add to the fear of my virus infected file being shared with the hosts. On the fifth day I was shifted to a hospital. Felt like being taken to a resort on a limousine though it was just an omni van. By now my face was unrecognizable to myself. I had 34cms of long hair, which made me scary to be with. The lady doctor advised me to wear a pony. I happily obliged to the advice. She might have been just a couple of years elder to me, doing an apprenticeship but who cares. She was a beauty. I had never seen such a doctor anytime before. It reminded me of my early school days, of my beautiful grammar teacher. I hated the boring subject but liked her a lot. All I could do was talk in vowels whenever I saw her. Then she would nag of my poor grammar. Same was happening here in the hospital. The doctor kept nagging about my hygiene habits and asked me to get a haircut after I get cured. I gave it lots of thought.
Mr. John Matthew was the head of the department of the general ward. His visits in the morning were absolutely hilarious and were the only few interactions I used to have in the hospital. Other than that few of friends often visited. During the course, I was given lacto calamine lotion to be applied all over my body thrice in a day, which always put me into a messy situation. One evening a faculty visited me and at the instance bowed. I was a naga-baba from the Himalayas now. With my hair tied like a bun on my head and the body covered with just a bed sheet. I felt like giving blessings to every one who visited me. I was the God and people came to worship me. Of course all for the cost of fun.
After the fifth day of my stay in room no. 258, ward A of the deluxe class in the hospital, I was relieved from the long syringe that was stuck inside the right arm for injecting purposes. The doses of antibiotics were over now. The poxes were getting suppressed.
And finally on the 11th day of the holiday, 13th January 2007, I had my first bath of the year. I washed myself off the lacto calamine lotion on my face and body just to be exposed to the mind boggling scene of the stars getting out of the clouds. The countless pox scars on my face was unimaginable. I had ninety nine more beauty spots than Cindy Crawford. I was looking more beautiful now. Just like a beauty contest winner for scary people.
Well, anyways, I got discharged and came back to cube 18, but was confined for another seven days. Now there were the Congress who wanted me to continue grow my hair and the opposing BJP to get a haircut. But I did it in the Communist fashion. I got the famous cut only after my dermatologists asked me to. The ninety nine plus one spots were now increased to one hundred and sixty five. Many hidden spots could be now clearly seen once the Amazon was cleared of my head. I felt relieved of a burden carried for two long years, making my mother proud by giving myself a wash everyday.
Now I need to leave…with my huge back log from the vacation I had, I don’t think I have much time left to play around. By the way, few days after my famous haircut, somewhere in the other part of the world, Britney Spears got bald. I barely have any clue whether we had any connection.
Summer has arrived and I feel roasted.
