In the Indian sub continent,
anything bloody is considered an expletive: an inappropriate thing to say.
However, the write-up involves Blood and fear induced by blood. I cannot
possibly choose a better title than ‘Bloody fear’!
I want to tell you something!
‘Bloody’, the adjective is not an expletive. It just means, ‘with blood’ or
‘full of blood’ or ‘lot of blood’. Furthermore, the narration is about blood
and fear – outside of Indian subcontinent. On that bloody intro, let us get on
with the story.
The year was 2000. I lived
and worked in the United States of America. The city of Bentonville is an
unassuming small town in Arkansas, with all the characteristics that qualify
for something ends with ‘Ville’.
My apartments had 18 holes
among other things. During weekends, I used to just stand in the balcony of my home
– smoking and watching lazy golfers putting around. The game of golf never
intrigued me as much as Tennis or Football (for Americans, it is ‘soccer’ or
simply FIFA)
The laziness or the smoking
never bothered me during those years until I found it. Blood. Initially, there
was a trace of it when I goggled after smoking a cigarette. Then I noticed
blood every time I had a mouthwash, smoking or not.
Having severely influenced by
the Tamil movies I had watched as an young adult, I sported a beard and started
coughing. Everyday I used to practice cool philosophical things to say about
life, for my restaurant/bar time dinner chat.
As days passed by, I grew
tired of waiting to die. After a week, I wanted to turn the things around, and
stopped smoking. Well. Not completely; just one cigarette a day. I even had a clean shave and started to smile
more and talk less philosophically. Nothing helped.
After two weeks, I decided to
visit a doctor. The doctor advised a series of medical examinations: an X-RAY,
ECG and ironically a blood test too and also a few more tests (which are not
common names as ECG, X-RAY or a blood test)
The lab technicians sent
reports back to the doctor declaring me having a ‘clean bill of health’. The
only suggestion in their reports was for me to have a couple of sessions of
therapy, to straighten my thoughts out. Apparently, Tamil movie cancer philosophy
crept into the conversations during medical tests.
With the test results, the
doctor called me back. After briefing the results from the reports, the doctor
had only one thing to say: Go, see a dentist! Well. You guessed it right. The
dentist fixed my weak bleeding gums and helped me improve oral hygiene
practices. Voila! Or Bingo! The blood stopped.
I have to tell you. The feel of normal life again was extremely boring and not cool at all; I needed that blood. I needed that beard. I needed that philosophical air about me. Nevertheless, I called the doctor and informed about my bleeding gums. Over the phone, he laughed out loud. I sighed and was about to hang up and then he asked me the question: ‘Raj, say - when do you smoke that one cigarette?’
I have to tell you. The feel of normal life again was extremely boring and not cool at all; I needed that blood. I needed that beard. I needed that philosophical air about me. Nevertheless, I called the doctor and informed about my bleeding gums. Over the phone, he laughed out loud. I sighed and was about to hang up and then he asked me the question: ‘Raj, say - when do you smoke that one cigarette?’
