All of you must be under the wrong
impression that I am bravely fighting cancer, aptly described as the
Emperor of all Maladies, in my stomcah/liver. No Sir. For the last
three days, my fight is limited to an overenthusiastic minion called
Diaphragm. He is hyperactive and getting on my nerves.
Like all clerks in government offices, he selectively interprets the rules and suddenly decides to strictly adhere by some of them. In their usual ways, they pick up routine, seemingly harmless blocks to make you uncomfortable and uncertain. This diaphragm has taken up the strategy of using the 'minor hiccup' (literally) to put things off gear - though slowly I realised hiccups are anything but minor!! Three things I am not able to do because of these hiccups is to sleep, to walk and to sit. As this pretty much sums all the activities that I am hoping to do here, he has been very successful in getting my whole, complete and undivided attention.
When we deal with IAS officers or any government official of reasonable repute, things look so fine and rosy, till you meet our over-enthusiasitic minion just outside. 'He will say all that, but finally, I only have to make sure that everything is in order'. Left unsaid is, "you can go wherever you want, but finally you have to come to me only!". My diaphragm has also been behaving like that. Jealously it has taken the responsibility of getting agitated and protecting all the internal organs; my job is to be cautious, not to break precedents and follow the rules.
Medicines from the oncologist didn't bribe him. 'Special favours' like hot milk and cold juice didn't encourage him to budge a bit. Fresh fruits, sugar under the tongue, pranayama and other breathing exercises did not entice him to leave the rule book even slightly. Nikhilesh in his usual scientific way remarked, after observing me for hours, "if you lie down 42 degrees to the east and suddenly turn to your left, the hiccups are increasing". He has not managed to find out angles and directions to decrease them, of course.
And, finally, in our usual pragmatic way, I am also getting used to live with this clerical minion. Take him as part of the system, don't confront, but don't pamper too; acknowledge that after all he is doing his job and somehow get going.
In all these busy handling of paper-pushing weasly measly hiccup causing minion, I have almost forgetten the cancer cells. In our life too, most of the time, we are handling the pujari and not really the God. Same here. Hopefully, the big emperor is being taken care of by the chemo drugs silently.
Like all clerks in government offices, he selectively interprets the rules and suddenly decides to strictly adhere by some of them. In their usual ways, they pick up routine, seemingly harmless blocks to make you uncomfortable and uncertain. This diaphragm has taken up the strategy of using the 'minor hiccup' (literally) to put things off gear - though slowly I realised hiccups are anything but minor!! Three things I am not able to do because of these hiccups is to sleep, to walk and to sit. As this pretty much sums all the activities that I am hoping to do here, he has been very successful in getting my whole, complete and undivided attention.
When we deal with IAS officers or any government official of reasonable repute, things look so fine and rosy, till you meet our over-enthusiasitic minion just outside. 'He will say all that, but finally, I only have to make sure that everything is in order'. Left unsaid is, "you can go wherever you want, but finally you have to come to me only!". My diaphragm has also been behaving like that. Jealously it has taken the responsibility of getting agitated and protecting all the internal organs; my job is to be cautious, not to break precedents and follow the rules.
Medicines from the oncologist didn't bribe him. 'Special favours' like hot milk and cold juice didn't encourage him to budge a bit. Fresh fruits, sugar under the tongue, pranayama and other breathing exercises did not entice him to leave the rule book even slightly. Nikhilesh in his usual scientific way remarked, after observing me for hours, "if you lie down 42 degrees to the east and suddenly turn to your left, the hiccups are increasing". He has not managed to find out angles and directions to decrease them, of course.
And, finally, in our usual pragmatic way, I am also getting used to live with this clerical minion. Take him as part of the system, don't confront, but don't pamper too; acknowledge that after all he is doing his job and somehow get going.
In all these busy handling of paper-pushing weasly measly hiccup causing minion, I have almost forgetten the cancer cells. In our life too, most of the time, we are handling the pujari and not really the God. Same here. Hopefully, the big emperor is being taken care of by the chemo drugs silently.
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