Object Of Animation


http://www.deccanherald.com/content/116224/object-animation.html

If you were under the impression that mundane and inanimate objects cannot animate lives, think again! After a recent surgery, I found myself scrupulously measuring out an orange coloured secretion stemming out of my system into a drain tube.

Each day, I would hope and pray that it would be lesser than the previous day. It was an uncharacteristic expectation on my part because, I was habituated to always ask for ‘more.’ More marks, prizes, remuneration, opportunities, bylines — an endless list!
The drain tube suddenly became the centre of every conversation that happened in person and over the telephone. The score keeping was on par with the fever of the IPL season and was announced several times to all and sundry merely for the asking of it.
But for the fact that it was a temporary fitting on yours truly, I would have seriously considered arranging for some method to constantly update curious well wishers.

The drain tube had its uses too! I told the inquisitive little ones who came to visit me that a tail had grown along side because I had been mischievous. I enjoyed the baffled looks on their faces and noted a secret resolve to be good in future, lest they grew a tail themselves.

The older children eyed me covetously when they were entertained with the idea that the rain tube was my customised version of ‘Mary’s little lamb’ or ‘Mr Bean’s’ teddy.’

When I nonchalantly presented ‘My Tube’ as a cool substitute of ‘You Tube’ to my youth circles, I noticed that they turned into a light shade of green. The ‘Dreary Trap’ had the penchant of metamorphosing into my ‘Cross’ when I felt irritable and uncomfortable especially when the family was around.

I learned to empathise with the proverbial cat which closed its eyes while drinking milk for I kept my peepers tightly closed during the sessions when I had my wounds around the drain tube dressed, to overcome my embarrassment and discomfiture. Nevertheless my act of turning a blind eye to the doctor dressing my lesions made me feel psychologically secure. The thought that I was being callous to the gentleman would never occur to me till it would be hours later — but the guilt did not stop me from repeating the act. My consolation — to err is human!

When the sutures and drain tube had celebrated their silver jubilee on my person, they were unceremoniously evicted by the physician which sent my body into a shiver amidst my cries of pain. I strongly suspect that the drain tube added to the decibels as it was  yanked out. All the same  time, it left behind some scars and aches as parting gifts lest I forget it in a hurry!

In retrospection, I sometimes wonder whether the drain tube was truly lifeless for it had inadvertently induced Navarasas into an otherwise insipid interlude of my life!

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