Hazy head, watery eyes, flickering lights, white walls,
Dangling my legs fore and forth,
I glance for the umpteenth time at broken items, half-fixed certificate frames, the nameplate,
I glance at them again, sequential to the initial pattern,
"It's just a fever, no mobiles, and no TV" while prescribing me five tablets for the purposes missed by my deaf ears.
Rocking my body, with mobile playing imaginary vibrations,
Hazy mind, watery eyes, scratchy cough muffled in deep breaths, picking up every possible memory I hate to remember; papers rustling, wiping my nose and eyes harshly, pleading my hazy mind to think and think, so I could pass, suppressing my non-stop coughs for the fear of people looking at me,
In the eleventh hour, I let out a head-splitting cough...no one paid heed to me.
A gathering to show off their kid being a son, food served in camphor, shooing agarbatti at my face, serving my sibling ghee even though we said, "No".
We said, "No", with our hands covering our sacred banana leaf.
"DO not disrespect God", they said with a sly(insidious) smile.
The next day, I vomited in their bathroom, crying and holding my hazy mind.
Fear God.
Fear God.
Fear the sons.
"It's just the indigestion problem, no mobiles, and TV"
I kicked his shin, and angrily screamed, "No".
Fear my no.
Fear me.
Picture source: https://www.newscientist.com/article/2129187-did-goya-get-an-autoimmune-disease-before-his-art-went-scary/
