Slow Dance

Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask
How are you?
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say,"Hi"
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.
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This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital.

Of Phlegm, Fever and Fuss

Our blog is on it's deathbed, or so says Ananya, who is now considered more of an online pal and blogger buddy than simply my best friend's younger bro. According to him, I should now prepare myself to create a virtual coffin for my deceased blog. What crap....
I'm a lazy person, and we all know that. And Radhika, being related to me, probably has the same lazy streak as I do. Which explains why our blog is updated as often as Kochhar decides to give a free period. [For those who don't know, this event is even rarer than 'once in a blue moon']
Anyways, this post is basically a venting exercise. Right, so here goes....

I hate being sick............................................
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it... all the phlegm and the fever and the...well, okay, maybe not all the fuss. I pretty much enjoy all the pampering I get when I fall sick. It was the only consolation this time 'round, except maybe that I got to miss the computers test/exam/whatever it was.

Basically, this whole thing started when I got drenched in the rain on wednesday. I could have prevented it, yes, but I shamefacedly admit that I wanted to get wet and so I refused the umbrella my mom thrust into my hand in the morning. Big mistake. Yesterday when I finally gathered up the courage to tell my mom 'why' I fell ill, I was given a long lecture about how I should stop behaving like a kid and obey my parents and eat nutritious food and go out to play in the evenings. Oh, and I forgot, drink milk and eat the B-complex tablets that are currently eating dust on my study table.

Anyway, the first giveaway of what lay ahead of me (five, maybe more, days of sniffing, coughing, sleeping, of splitting headaches and feeling like a sixty-year-old woman) was my throat. Thursday afternoon onwards, the cloud in my throat that seemed to have taken over my ability to speak, sing or even shout at devina, grew and grew. Anyone who's suffered from thoat-infection induced fever knows the rest. I'm trying not to write too much about my ailments, don't want to turn into a grumbling and complaining ol' granny.

But, seriously, staying home from school is not something I love to do. In fact, I haven't ever feigned sickness since I came to RKP. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that missing even one day of studies means carrying the burden of backlog around all week. For example, now I have to study Cutie Pie on my own (big deal!), finish the second exercise of similar triangles (tutions zindabaad!), and do bits of history, geography and sanskrit. And, I shall have to give up the pleasure displeasure of seeing Asha Lata Pandey's face as she hands me out my sanskrit test paper, out of which I do not expect much in terms of marks. On second thought, I barely have any work to do... yaaay!!

Back to what I was saying. So, everyday that I stayed home, I woke up as early as 12 o' clock (thanks to Febrex plus, which I almost forced my dad to give me, for it's better to sleep than to stay awake all night and try to think up a name for the gooey, viscous liquid that was slowly moving down the passage connecting the nasal and oral cavities)... After waking up, I'd just lie in bed for an hour or two, till I felt strong enough to get up and wash my face, since bathing was out of the question. And then, ring mom up, and ask her when she would return, like a five-year-old.
The respite was my elder brother Ashish, who is keen to learn keyboard, and has unofficially come under my able guidance. In these few days, I have realized that even though the keyboard is nowhere as sexy as the guitar, as quaint as the flute, or as romantic as the violin, it has a charm of its own. Really. Ask Shayeri. And it was the keyboard and Ashish B's company that helped me smile inspite of a temperature of 103 degrees.
Oh, well, I could write more and more on these five uneventful, yet unforgettable (definitely not in a good way) days of my life, but now my head is aching again. And if my mom gets to know that I've been sitting on the computer for this long, I shall be condemned to five more days of boredom and school (read friends) deprivation.