The Untouchable
Mar 13 2008 | Views 222 |
Comments (7)
Tags: personal captive solitude varicella virus cotton apparel short story
Tags: personal captive solitude varicella virus cotton apparel short story
“Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable.”
Richard Buckminster .
Make it hundred percent Mr Buckner-
I cannot agree with you more.
The white sun started glaring from the denim blue sky.
The view from behind the window was not very clear.
The road was on a wooded bearing.
The traffic was also not roaring as usual.
The apotheosis of summer - dead smash middle of March.
Global warming - my foot.
No, otherwise also the sound could not have reached me.
I could just barely see them toy shapes crossing the bridge over the river.
They were far - very far.
What I meant was the traffic density.
I didn't see the bee line usually they make over the bridge.
There were pretty defining intervals between them.
The attendant entered and started making the bed-
calm and composed.
Is he not scared of me?
Every one else seem to be scared out of the world.
Right from the taxiwala to the PYT on the desk.
Cowards -all of them just ordinary habitants of this hollow materialistic world.
Go to hell.
I had walked along the length and breadth of my shelter-to-be for the next few days.
In one corner there is a lean wardrobe.
Hugging the wall are two wooden chairs-government types.
I also examined a small bed side table-convenient.
I off loaded my litereary burden gladly onto it-close on call.
Well that could be the most vivid description of my summer retreat.
I started unpacking.
Well, let me plug in my cell phone first-my last hope for communication with the outside world.
Slowly I removed my things one by one and started arranging them in the ward robe.
I mostly picked up T shirts and cotton shorts.
I was told to wear loose cotton apparel.
Through the corner of the eye I saw the attendant entering and
keeping the plate and glass on the bed.
He told me that it is my issue of crockery and I have to take charge of it till they release me.
Once I finished unpacking I walked to the far end window and opened it.
I swore and turned back.The window opened to a wall opposing my view of
the outside world that side.
Two mosquitoes flew past dropping 'the bhodini and atatala varnas' intermittently into my ear-
probably debating interjurisdictional rights over my blood for the night;
and the nights thereafter.
Well,my outside connection is now restricted celestially through my cell
and terrestially through the only window that gives me the view of the bridge.
Mercy me.
Ther was a knock on the door.
The scavenger boy entered.
He threw frightened looks towards me and vanished into the bathroom.
The buckets and mugs made rattling noise.
The bucket cannot be blamed-it is on a broken string.
The water running.
He emerged.Ran his equipment through the room and disappeared.
I slowly went to the mirror
and watched my once upon a time glamourous face.
Holy s***- there are too many of them.
I quickly turned away.
I settled down on the bed and opened "The Regulators".
The editor's note says that the manuscript was located by Richard Bachman's(author) widow
nine years after his death while moving to another place.
How very odd?!!
Some one die with a manuscript tucked away.
I rememberd them eyes of my wife spying on my every key board movements.
How wonderful the personalities of others' wives are?
One hour probably.
The team of doctors and nurses entered.
they explained my medication to me.
They left as quickly as they come.
Procastination is not the popular ideology here.
Behind them the glass door of the building closed.
I read the etched words in red on glass- "Isolation Ward".
Yes I am isolated and invisible to the outside world-
The untouchable.
A captive of the varicella virus.
Post script
That accounts for my absence from the space all these days.
© gkpsree., all rights reserved.
In case you missed...
Some other recent posts by gkpsree
© 1998-2008 Copyright Sulekha.com Connecting Indians Worldwide, All Rights Reserved.
Recommend
votes