The ordeal of gulping the cough syrup now behind, it was time the capsule meted out its harshness on me, which meant another furore. Stomaching a capsule was something next to the impossible. However hard I tired, tried and again tried, I never succeeded. Whoever came up with the idea of a capsule? I had always seen it as a cartridge filled with explosives waiting to explode any moment inside me.
I was asked to look up and open my gob while mom poured some water into it. I am supposed to hold the water there and she would pop the capsule into my water filled mouth. I worked my deglutition skills to the best of my ability, but simply could not. Either I would gulp only the water leaving the bitter capsule in my mouth or I would end up spraying the water into the air like a whale would while lazing away in the waters. One capsule wasted.
Another method was given a try. I take the pill in my hand, place in my tongue and then drink some water to wash it down. Instead of going downwards as gravity says it should, it is repulsed with such force that it threatened to smash to smithereens anyone who stood in its path. Another capsule wasted.
“Oru maathirai vilai enna theriyuma unakku?” (do you know the cost of one capsule?), my dad chides me, bringing the cost factor into play to see if that can do something to me to digest it. I stare back at him with a look that said, “What has cost got to do with my swallowing the tablet, the darn thing simply refuses to go in.”
Time for some drastic measures. Dad then dissects the capsule neatly into two halves and empties its yellowish powdery “explosives” and mixes it with a little bit of honey. I thrust my sticky amphibian tongue outside and he applies the honey-powder mixture on it and I drink litres of water to dissolve the thing and send it down my digestive tract so much so that it threatened to exit the “other” way.
The effect of the bitterness was so great that it sent my facial muscles into a tight knot that required future generations to unknot it. I was allowed to sleep 15 mins later. By now I am dead tired and exhausted, so I go off into a deep slumber, comfortably covered by layers of warm blankets.
Mid-way into my sleep, I am stirred awake by something cold, wet, clammy and soggy. Oh Yessssss! I forgot to tell you that I had this wonderful and exciting habit of nocturnal micturition (bed wetting) up to about 11 yrs. I get up, rub my groggy eyes and make my way to my parents’ bedroom. I gently tap my mom, motioning her to get up.
Poor she. She is fast asleep after all the “torturing” she had to undergo to put me to sleep. Finally when she gets up, I say, “appa ennoda bed a nanachittaanga !” (dad wet my bed!) Liar the Great! My mom says sleepily, “cheri ok, shorts kalatti pottuttu paduthu thoongu po, vera shorts kaalaila pottukalaam” (remove that wet shorts and go to sleep, I’ll fetch you another pair of shorts in the morning)
How can a male kid go back to sleep naked from the butt downwards? I pester her for a fresh pair, which she does grudgingly. Another bedspread now in place and comfy with the new pair of shorts on, I go back to dream where I had left it halfway.
The next morning, I am up with the lark feeling rejuvenated and on top of the world for today is going to be a holiday for me. Woooohoooo. I reach for my bicycle and begin cycling out into the orchard in a frenzy. My parents are relieved to see me back on my feet and my usual cherubic self. But my mom is secretly drawing up plans in her mind as to how she is going to cope up with my nuisance the whole day.
On other normal, fever free days, I had to be repeatedly woken up by my mom every 10 mins only to go back to sleep again. I kept sleeping even as she bathed and packed me off to school and woke up fully only when the cheery Mrs. Wilson said, “ Good morning children”.
I drawl back, “Goo-ooo-ood moo-rni-iiing Maaa-aaam”.
She notices that and says in a sweet voice, “You still are sleeping, aren’t you, child? Go and run around the playground three times.” There are some guffaws in the class now.
Christ! I had it early in the morning.
Ok.
Off I go and begin my ‘rounds’, cursing her all the while to go to hell. Purgatory is what she deserves. Doesn’t she? I come back to the class all sweaty, huffing and puffing. If there wasn’t any sign of exertion she’ll send me back for another three more! Boy, she was one lady who knew how to handle me.
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