In sickness, laugh it off

Satjit Singh

IWAS recently in the headlines in almost all national dailies — ‘Thousands suffering from viral’.

I was one of them.

‘Shivering, temperature rising to 103 degrees C, switching fan off, looking for a blanket. And then a dose of paracetamol. In a few minutes, sweating, temperature going down, throwing away the blanket, switching on the fan! What a pleasant feeling when sweat evaporates. I am not sure whether I am suffering from or enjoying the viral,’ I told a friend in a matter-of-fact manner. I never thought it would evoke a hearty — Saala nautanki!  he chuckled. 

I was reminded of a somewhat similar laugh, but in a serious environment. I was in a hospital to see my cousin who had developed complications after angioplasty. Another cousin from Amritsar was also present, wearing a huge gold ring with a coin-like top — the kind where the display of size is more important than aesthetics. 

‘So brother, it seems your chemist business is flourishing these days,’ I joked, pointing towards his ring. Before he could reply, my ailing cousin quipped: ‘Our Amritsaria brother believes in show-off. I am wearing a much costlier ring, the stent, inside my heart that I will never flaunt!’ 

There was hearty laughter in the heart patient’s room.

While some can laugh away their blues, others use their confinement to bed rather creatively. In Jammu, in the year 2000, I met a wonderful man with a positive attitude. In his collection of music cassettes and records, I found a beautifully handwritten word, ‘Typhoid’ on the cover of a collection of songs. The first song was by Suman Kayanpur — Yoohin dil ne chaha tha rona rulana, teri yaad to bann gayee ik bahaana.

Curious, I asked him about the title. Daya, my friend, explained that he was suffering from typhoid and the doctor had advised him complete rest for at least a fortnight. Even reading was difficult. So, he collected all cassettes, with some friends lending theirs. He listened to many songs and shortlisted the ones he liked the most. He then went through the cumbersome process of playing the selected numbers and recording these. By the time the two weeks were over, the collection was ready and christened ‘Typhoid’. I was promised a copy before I returned to Chandigarh. 

I shuffled through his other collection.  I found another title, ‘Typhoid 2’. Holding the cassette, I looked at him. ‘The collection was too long for a 60-minute tape?’ 

A naughty smile played upon his lips. ‘No, the typhoid relapsed!’ 

We can create pleasant memories out of bad phases in life, I learned.