this, he tells me that I have to learn to take a little holiday from all the demands in my life. He says that I worry about everything too much, he says that I worry without reason, and that the sky won’t fall down if I sit down and relax for some time. And then he tells me that stupid story about the house lizards, about how two lizard-friends on the ceiling of a room were talking one day and one of them suggested that they go on a little outing. Absolutely not! the other friend said. Who will hold up the ceiling?
Maybe it is a funny story, maybe it is also a lesson for some people, but it does not apply to my life. Maybe the sky or the ceiling won’t come crashing down, but if I took a little holiday, if I took two or three days off as my husband tells me to, my house would become a garbage dump, and in this dump my son would be starving to death, my father-in-law would be lying on the floor in a diabetic coma and my poor mother-in-law would just be sitting in one corner watching everything around her break down, until, obviously, she called up her son, who would jump on to the first plane back to Delhi, come back home and look at the mess helplessly, and then, whenI would come back from my little holiday, he would gently put his hands on my shoulders, and look at me and say, Renu, what have you done?
Still, my husband is probably right. From time to time everybody has to take a little holiday from his life, from all the big and small everyday things. Maybe that is why I enjoyed that evening alone at home when everybody went for the cricket match. Maybe that is why I enjoy meeting Vineet. During those times, all the small, little difficulties of everyday seem far away. When I am with Vineet it seems that I can just forget everything, everybody, just like that.
But how can I meet Vineet again? What would I tell him? Will I tell him that my son, Mrs Renuka Sharma’s son, got drunk on some cheap country liquor with his friends and he became so sick that he was in hospital for one full week? Is this what I will tell him because this is what actually happened? It was not food poisoning. It was alcohol poisoning. Yes, alcohol. My sweet Bobby did not eat bad momos on the roadside. That boy drank alcohol. Alcohol. So, what will I say to Vineet? Will I say, Oh, did you know, Vineetji, that I have a son called Bobby? Oh, and let me tell you about something a little bit odd that happened ten days ago. Is that how I am supposed to start? See, Vineet, my son went out with some friends one Wednesday afternoon, then he came back home around seven o’clock in the evening and sat at the computer for some time, and then just like that he went to sleep quietly. And it was not even nine o’clock. He refused to have dinner, he did not even have a glass of milk. He just went to sleep. Then what would I say? Maybe I could tell Vineet how at ten thirtyBobby suddenly woke up screaming in pain. He was suddenly screaming in pain, vomiting, running to the bathroom. First I thought that it was some type of food poisoning, something bad that he ate when he had gone out to the market with his friends. But when I saw blood in his vomit I became very scared. I quickly called up Rosie. She told me what medicines to give him so I ran to the chemist and bought all the tablets and gave them to Bobby, but then and there he vomited all of them out. He could not even keep one drop of water in him. Yes, I could tell Vineet about the buckets of vomit. And the pain. How my son kept screaming in pain, how he kept pulling my arm and screaming, Ma, do something! He was twisting around on the floor like somebody who is possessed, and screaming and crying, Ma, do something! I had never ever seen my Bobby like that. I did not know what to do. Then I finally called up Doctor Sahib. I told him what was happening and he told me to take Bobby to the emergency room at Safdarjang Hospital immediately.
My Bobby was in hospital for one week. One full week. One full week
Maybe it is a funny story, maybe it is also a lesson for some people, but it does not apply to my life. Maybe the sky or the ceiling won’t come crashing down, but if I took a little holiday, if I took two or three days off as my husband tells me to, my house would become a garbage dump, and in this dump my son would be starving to death, my father-in-law would be lying on the floor in a diabetic coma and my poor mother-in-law would just be sitting in one corner watching everything around her break down, until, obviously, she called up her son, who would jump on to the first plane back to Delhi, come back home and look at the mess helplessly, and then, whenI would come back from my little holiday, he would gently put his hands on my shoulders, and look at me and say, Renu, what have you done?
Still, my husband is probably right. From time to time everybody has to take a little holiday from his life, from all the big and small everyday things. Maybe that is why I enjoyed that evening alone at home when everybody went for the cricket match. Maybe that is why I enjoy meeting Vineet. During those times, all the small, little difficulties of everyday seem far away. When I am with Vineet it seems that I can just forget everything, everybody, just like that.
But how can I meet Vineet again? What would I tell him? Will I tell him that my son, Mrs Renuka Sharma’s son, got drunk on some cheap country liquor with his friends and he became so sick that he was in hospital for one full week? Is this what I will tell him because this is what actually happened? It was not food poisoning. It was alcohol poisoning. Yes, alcohol. My sweet Bobby did not eat bad momos on the roadside. That boy drank alcohol. Alcohol. So, what will I say to Vineet? Will I say, Oh, did you know, Vineetji, that I have a son called Bobby? Oh, and let me tell you about something a little bit odd that happened ten days ago. Is that how I am supposed to start? See, Vineet, my son went out with some friends one Wednesday afternoon, then he came back home around seven o’clock in the evening and sat at the computer for some time, and then just like that he went to sleep quietly. And it was not even nine o’clock. He refused to have dinner, he did not even have a glass of milk. He just went to sleep. Then what would I say? Maybe I could tell Vineet how at ten thirtyBobby suddenly woke up screaming in pain. He was suddenly screaming in pain, vomiting, running to the bathroom. First I thought that it was some type of food poisoning, something bad that he ate when he had gone out to the market with his friends. But when I saw blood in his vomit I became very scared. I quickly called up Rosie. She told me what medicines to give him so I ran to the chemist and bought all the tablets and gave them to Bobby, but then and there he vomited all of them out. He could not even keep one drop of water in him. Yes, I could tell Vineet about the buckets of vomit. And the pain. How my son kept screaming in pain, how he kept pulling my arm and screaming, Ma, do something! He was twisting around on the floor like somebody who is possessed, and screaming and crying, Ma, do something! I had never ever seen my Bobby like that. I did not know what to do. Then I finally called up Doctor Sahib. I told him what was happening and he told me to take Bobby to the emergency room at Safdarjang Hospital immediately.
My Bobby was in hospital for one week. One full week. One full week
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