Friday, February 24, 2012

The only matter that starts is the connect with the Ef. Starts there and ends there BigB Blog

Jalsa , Mumbai               Feb 24 , 2012               Fri  11 : 56 PM


Confined to a hospital bed and room … confined now to your own bed and room … after a while, the differences obliterate themselves. The courage and desire to involve oneself in doing, slowly diminishes to not doing. No deliberate effort, but its sameness begins to give impression that it be so. Many theories abound that say first to make a start, slow and almost unnoticeable and then gradually everything begins to fall in place. The only matter that starts is the connect with the Ef. Starts there and ends there. Not an unpleasant act, rather one that now gives greater pleasure than any other.

Reading through the comments, gathering the text of your inputs, assembling them all in my being, is a joy which I may never be able to aptly describe. But suffice to say, all else pales somewhat in its presence. Many look forward to the night to rest to sleep and allow the body to recover from the rigors of the day. Mine is not quite that. More so now because getting in and adjusting the posture for the nocturnal journey is an effort no less physical than running a mile. Each shift gives caution of a damaged part that needs to be tenderly attended to. And when the major portions of that reside in the abdomen, it is a difficult art. The mind says yes, the sharp pain says thats a wrong lane. Stop, be gentle, nurture the movement, give time … ah ! much too much to oversee, and garner precaution.


Does pain both psychological and physical dilute the emotional resistance in us ? I would tend to believe it does. The reserve of the pain endured, on overflowing, tends to burst at the smallest of incidents. It is not a good sign to be seen succumbing to it, but the ducts involuntarily fill up and spill out, unasked. A musical piece, a film, a loving letter of care, a soothing hand, kind words … all possessing the capacity to create this uncommon phenomena. The sensitivity quotient at its peak.


My desk as I sit about, loads itself with unattended work. Paperwork that should have been attended to a fortnight ago. The mobile has over 800 unanswered received messages – greetings on my return and wishes for speedy recovery. Each day I try to attend to them but its sheer vastness and my own inability, stops me. I shall get through them, but for the moment the lethargy of my convalescence is far too pronounced. I will, I shall and I must.

The impressive clock at the far end, that chimes and announces the hour, just struck 12. To many it beckons bedtime. To me it reflects another 7 hours before the sun ! Time spent is related more to the timings of the medication, to know to be be aware of them, when, how much and in what quantity. I would rather be remembering lines or character to play than this. But in its absence, this occupies greater time and value. A oncoming sneeze does not come with the abandon it did some days ago. So to with the cough. The pull of pain on the site of the surgery draws your attention first. The sneeze or the cough is not bad at all, its the sharp pain it generates at the sight of the wounds that become of concern. Odd !

The rapidity with which to chose to stand and sit, goes through an exercise in adaptability. Prowess is fundamental to execute these rather 'intricate' endeavors. Strange ! But the effort must continue and repeatedly. Hopefully one day all shall fall into place and behave as though nothing had happened. Seemingly so of course, for the changes cannot and will not be wished away …

Let me then take leave to conduct my acts as I must, with all its recent handicaps .. the morrow calls in some hours and we shall be together again ..

With love ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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