ILL BILL VOL.I

Aaa.....aa....chooo..... and another one went down. It seems like I have been crazily ill since the day I was born. Sometimes it feels like I was born to be a valetudinarian. Things began even before I was born. When my mother began to throw up all she ate, the doctor gave umpteen reasons behind what could have been the case and what could possibly not, including indigestion, diarrhoea, food poisoning, concussion and even brain tumour and “By God  “ as my dad says “ he doubted of dowry and exploitation”, everything apart from pregnancy.

Finally on “some bloody 4^th of August”, as my sister would put it, I was born, the same day another mentally ill fella was born who’d later stop outsourcing only because he himself was outsourced throughout his life – Barrack Hussain Obama. “Hey put this jelly bean inside the incubator”, the nurse said,” the kid’s not gonna survive.” Somehow I did! With all my mother’s prayers and father’s money, I had to! As I grew up, well actually what all grew was my age and yes my height, I came up with this slender and lean frame of mine. God actually builds these frames under the ‘joke prone’ category and everywhere I went, there were jokes galore, jokes of the kind,” I know a friend who is as lean as a straw, who once got into his water tank to get it cleaned and got back through the tap. Does anyone have such a friend?” and someone would come up with, “I know him”, pointing his fingers at me and everyone would burst into laughter. No wonder I hate the term ‘lol’ sinceL.

When I was around ten I had these attacks of nervous debilitating syndrome in which I suffered from memory lapses. I would begin calling my dad ‘bhaiya’ although I had none and my mother ‘dadi’. However our servant was happy. I always made him my father. As I grew up these mental discrepancies got taken care of.

My teens weren’t less pathetic. I came to know that now I had ‘bronchitis’ to deal with and I was like,” Saala cigarette to try kar leta!!” Amongst all this I was always considered an intelligent student, not because of my marks but my thick spects. As soon as I entered the teenage I made a point to myself that I had to have a girlfriend or ‘gf’ like others had. Some bloody Karl Benz had once said, “Every accomplishment starts with the decision to try”, and here I began.

Though my geeky looks caught some attention but what I understood in a short span of time was that like castism, “look-ism” too existed. As in ancient times people of a certain caste had to do a certain kind of work, in a classroom people with thick spects like me were expected to solve questions and nothing else. Girls were meant for the bull-sized brain less jack asses. Girls did come to me, with questions and lots of them and when they had their answer they would pull another jack-ass with “what’s his name?” and before he would even answer run away with some other cute fella. My search for a ‘gf’ continued and what it actually did was to increase my problem solving skills.

Once I was having my lunch alone as I always did actually, this girl came up to me, firing questions at relativistic speed. More than the questions I was concerned with her looks and swearing by 360 millions of our Gods, she was beautiful. Like all other girls I met, I began liking her and like in all other cases began to think that she was the love of my life.

Gradually we spent more time with each other and between one of those physics discussions I gathered courage and asked her out for date. “You jerk”, I said to myself, ”that’s not the way. She kicks you now and all you’d be left with would be 300 unsolved questions.” Amazingly though she said, “Yes” and I was left bewildered, to say the least.

On the decided evening, she wore a black gown, worth notice I must say and I was in my usual cool denim jeans and tantra t-shirt with a zombie spilling blood. I still fail to understand why she was making faces looking at me. As the ambience grew romantic we came close to each other and as we were about to kiss, “Aa....aa....chhooo”, and mind you I never had one at a time, there were 17 of them. It’s been a week since and friends have begun asking as to why have we not been talking and all I’ve got to say is, “Well, she is not my kind, you know.”

Vote for me now!