Off their rocker

                                                                        1

                                                             Off their rocker

                                                               (2,935 words)

                                           “What’s up?” I asked the sick guy.                

                                            "Ouch!"                                                

                                            “Are you in pain?” I added.

                                        “I’m feeling a bit down in the dumps," the boy groaned.

The doctors imposed a strict isolation for COVID patients to prevent the spread of coronavirus in the hospital. I developed difficulty in breathing five days ago and required hospital care. The chap beside my bed started to cough. The sound of his laboured breathing broke the silence of the night. The clock struck the hour by making a sound twice.                                      

                                        “Are you awake?” he asked.

                                       “Yeah,” I answered in an irritated tone.

I lay awake in bed thinking about everything from class-work to sex magazine images. I keenly thought about the buzzing nightclub, the karaoke bar, and the lovely girls I saw last week.

                                       “I’m having a dry mouth!” the lad suddenly exclaimed.

                                        “Should I call the nurse?”

                                        “No, many thanks,” he uttered in a genuine tone.

                                       “Everything’s going to be just fine,” I said in a sympathetic tone after a while.

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                                      “I can’t catch my breath,” the boy moaned, sneezing.

                                       "Oh no,” I said, worried.                                                

                                      “I’m feeling thirsty again,” he added.

                                     “Drink some water,” I advised, “and try to sleep.”

He quenched his thirst by drinking a glass of water. He felt relieved and smiled to me.

                                    “We’re pals now.”

I nodded in affirmation.

                                     “What’s your name?”

                                     “Jazz,” he said, “My full name is Jazz Alvito D’Souza.”

                                      “Where do you live currently?”

                                      “Kanchenjungha Apartments,” he smiled, “The town of thunderbolts, Darjeelng.”

                                       “Nice place,” I said. “Where is your home?”

                                       “In the same locality in where you live,” answered Jazz.

                                       “How long are you staying in this hospital?”

                                       “Since last week,” Jazz replied.

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I tried to sleep in that room. The ambience looked a little more different than the light of the day. Jazz lay flat on the bed, a vague and half-wrapped figure under a blanket. Sweat droplets studded over his forehead, giving a glistening appearance.

                                     “Feelings of worry are threatening to crush me,” Jazz croaked.

                                    “Stay calm!”

In those troubled times the dread of death took control at night. I lay on the bed gazing up at the splits of canary light. They seeped in from the rusty street lamps.

 I tried to sleep but couldn’t fall asleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, some blue-black flames oppressed me. Old incidents plagued me. I thought about my parents. They had died in an air crash last year. Not long afterwards I moved into the family house in Darjeeling. My whole frame shook violently when the pale faces of my parents appeared before my eyes.

I searched for my slippers in the glassy darkness. I noticed the thin streaks of light illuminating the gloomy room. The loud chants of some Hindu mourners seeped in. I shivered, chilled to the bones.

 I rose and went to the patio through the half-open door.

                                     “What’s popping?” Jazz asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

                                      I can’t get to sleep anymore,” I said.

                                    “Don’t be scared,” Jazz said, “as paranoia is not a virtue.”

                                    “I’m not afraid of anything.”

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                                     “That’s the spirit,” Jazz replied.

                                     “Have a peek at the hills,” I said to Jazz.

                                    “Yeah,” Jazz said, gazing, “the landscape is looking surreal!”

The quaint street lamps lit up the grimly houses. The low growl of a street dog broke the silence.

We couldn’t find our way to our own bed after spending some time on the crisp balcony. As the side door closed, the chill reduced. We gathered the blanket around us and fell in deep sleep.

When the room ventilators became bright the following day, I opened my eyes. The birds twittered delightedly. I opened the windows. I loved the touch of the fresh air on my face. Its vivid light and shadows contrasted the nocturnal world.

I gazed at the excess of beauty all around. It pleased me immensely. The blue-green hills dominated the topography, for miles around. A faint smell floated in the air. A pale reddish glow tinged the eastern sky. Jazz showed up after some time.

                                       “Hi there,” Jazz wished.

                                       “Morning buddy,” I wished back.

                                      “It is tea time! Jazz said.                                   

                                       “Aye, the bold flavour from the brew always drives me crazy,” I said in a cheerful tone.

We drank tea from the dirty mug.

                                                                                                                                               5

The doctor checked all the patients during his morning round. After thorough examination the physician judged us fit and allowed us to leave the hospital. Jazz came down to live with me for some days because he was getting bored of long suspension of normal school classes.

                                    “I want to go outside,” said Jazz, “let’s go.”

                                   “We should not go out in this pandemic lockdown,” I suggested.

                                   “Nothing bad will happen, right?” Jazz said, in a dominant tone.

 After breakfast we slowly walked down the narrow streets of a small bazaar amid the usual hustle and bustle of Darjeeling flouting all lockdown codes.

                                    “I need to withdraw some money from the cash machine,” Jazz pointed at the cash counter which suddenly appeared right in front of our eyes.

                                     “But there are huge queues at the machine,” I hesitated.

                                      “Come on,” Jazz smiled, “cash counters do not cause infections!”

Jazz withdrew money from atm. After some time we entered a drugstore.

                                    “Get me some pills, man,” Jazz said to the dispenser, “as pre-emptive measures to this disease caused by this fucking virus.”

                                      “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he replied, “without a doctor’s prescription.”

                                            “Not a good idea to prevent coronavirus,” remarked a fellow customer.

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 “These experimental drugs for coronavirus should only be used in selected COVID 19 patients,” said another customer.

                                                     “According to reports, they can sometimes cause fatal heart rhythm problems plus other side effects,” said the dispenser.

                                                  “Eww!” Jazz exclaimed.

Jazz came out of the pharmacy shop. I followed him.

                                                  “Let’s pick a lunch pack, buddy,” I said, pointing at a sidewalk cafe. “At least we don’t have to worry about our food orders,” I added.

                                         “You’ll pick a food package!” Jazz said, sneering.

                                          “Everyone knows about it that one cannot catch coronavirus from the packaging of food. However, we can heat this all up in the microwave, if we wish,” I smiled, as we came out of the cafe.

                                        “Have a peek, baddie,” Jazz said, pointing towards a sidewalk cafe.

For the first time we saw her silhouette through the broken glass door of that cafe. Rhythm and grace oozed out from her airy movements.

When we returned, Granny lifted her wrinkled face towards us and smiled.

                                   “Late?” she said, flashing a toothless smile.

I went upstairs without an answer. After some time the feeble sun hid behind a wad of small cloud and the temperature dropped.

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“Look chum,” Jazz said, pointing at the half-open window, “come quickly.

I looked through the window to the house opposite to ours. A woman’s naked shape appeared in front of our eyes. Our eyes bulged out as we gazed at the shadow for a long time.

The silhouette cleared rapidly. It oozed the gloss and appeal of sex magazines.

                                                            “Gee, she is quite an eyeful!” I said.

                                                            “Her skin is nicely toned,” said Jazz, “she looks free-spirited and easy.”

                                                           “Most of the girls are too dolled up. She looks so real and trendy. She seems so beautiful and happy,” I gazed, drooling over her.

                                       “Yeah, she is,” Jazz said with a glint in his eye.

The girl stared at us blankly, and she was the same one we had seen at the cafe.

We enjoyed the calm of the afternoon from our unkempt garden. The sun played hide-and-seek from behind the clouds. In the profound silence, a lone dove cooed. Only airy notes oozed out from the rented music school. They glided through the humid air creating incessant waves. A strange odour arose from the dustbins.

                                   “Come out, pal,” Jazz yelled from back garden.

                                   “Just a second, Jazzy,” I said, “let me wear a face mask.”

                                   “The virus isn’t waiting for you in the air,” Jazz said, “nobody is following the rules of this fucking lockdown.”

                                   “You’re not wearing face mask, baddie!”

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                                          “I can’t breathe wearing a mask for long periods.”

 We left the scruffy-looking house eager to breathe the fresh air.

                                           “Have a peek, pal” Jazz pointed towards our house from the front gravel road. “The house is looking gloomy but defiant.”

                                            “It looks abandoned too!”

                                           “Yeah,” Jazz said, looking at the other buildings.

                                           “There are plenty of cracks and chipped corners,” I said.

                                            “Walking is such a drag!” Jazz said, “let us go back to our house.”

                                           “But it’s always a change when we come out. It gives a kind of relief from the dread of coronavirus. The air is clean, you can walk through the roads by just keeping your physical protection distance,” I said.

                                             “Yup, it is true,” Jazz agreed.

We walked past a huge throng of all ages wearing masks and gloves.

                                            “Hey, I’m getting tired and thirsty,” Jazz said.

 We decided to perk ourselves up for tea and water at a roadside teashop, but I always maintained a two-meter distance with other customers. Some of them tried to protect themselves from the virus by taking liberal quantities of ginger in their teas to boost the immunity. After some time we slowly walked towards the bazaar.

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                                                  “The evening is spread out against the sky,” said Jazz, looking at the purplish sky overhead.

                                                  “Yeah pal, it is a real eye-candy,” I said, gazing upwards.

 The twilight oozed dreaminess. The brief day ended abruptly.

                                                 “I can’t walk anymore,” Jazz said, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead.

                                              “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s simple flu.”

                                               “I’m not feeling well,” Jazz croaked.

                                             “Then let’s call it a day, chum,” I said.

Church bells tolled. A herd of lively goats marched up, their bells tinkling in unison with the church bells, echoing throughout the laidback streets of the small town.

 Jazz returned home with a headache and chills.

                                             “I’m feeling too thirsty, mate,” Jazz said.

                                            “Don’t drink gallons of water,” I said, “you may just go to the bathroom too often.”

The night grew darker and darker.

                                     “Oh mate, I’m still stuck with fever and body aches,” Jazz screamed.

I seriously worried about the health of my guest. Jazz turned over on the other side of the bed in anxiety and blackness of the room. We gradually drifted off to sleep.

                                                                                                                                           10

I opened my eyes at daybreak. Thin cracks of light lighted up the tiny particles of dust which floated in the air. I opened one of the windows, pushing the panes open enough for the sunlight to brighten the room. It was a cold, windy, but cloudless day.

 Jazz refused to eat and slept through the morning. After some time I returned from breakfast.

                                           “Hey,” Jazz said, “I need some food.”

                                           “Then go downstairs to the kitchen.”

                                            “Please assist me, pal.”

Granny set the breakfast on the table.

                                             “Ouch!” Jazz cried out.

                                            “Are you okay?” Granny asked.

                                            “Oh yes, Granny,” Jazz said.

 Jazz complained of a slight pain in his throat during swallowing toast, peas, and eggs.

                                           “I’m still running a bit of body temperature,” Jazz said to me when I returned from the kitchen.

                                            “You should see the local doctor,” I suggested,                                             “self- medication is not a safe practice. It can cause harm to your health.” 

                                                                                                                                           11

But after sometime the fever completely disappeared, and Jazz fell asleep again. When I got up from the light sleep in the afternoon, I got ready for the doctor.

                                               “It looks like rain,” I pointed at the sky overhead as we came out of the house.

Some homespun parrots broke the silence of the nimbus-blue sky.

                                               “Run for a shelter, pal,” Jazz said, running across the road as a spot of rain fell on his hand.

                                            “We’re not carrying umbrellas,” I said, getting soaked.

Suddenly, rain poured down from the murky skies and soaked the dusty streets. A fresh smell arose from roadside earth after the heavy showers. The short and sharp droplets eased off at last. A sudden flash of sunshine appeared but there was no rainbow. Jazz shivered in the crisp and clear sunshine.

The old medical practitioner sat quietly in a room alone between dim lights and low ceilings.

                                          “Usual flu and dry cough, guys,” he said in his local drawl after a quick physical examination.

 The aged man scribbled something on a piece of yellow paper. The power went off suddenly plunging the room into darkness.

                                         “Let’s go out,” Jazz said to me from shadows of the dim candlelight.

                                         “Yeah, the power may not return easily.”

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 We left the grotty little room.

Outside, the dimness merged into a ball and shook us violently. A beggar sat on the pavement. He looked confused and directionless. None gave him alms. We headed towards our home feeling unhappy and restless. Jazz still shivered. A strong gust of wind blew a small cloud of dirt into our eyes.

 The power returned with a twitch in my eyes. The unplanned houses looked lonely and sad. Jazz looked cheerful and lively. That sense of humour and that intense devil-may-care attitude completely disappeared. When our glum house came to sight, we silently entered deserting our moving shadows.

                                          “Pull over your soaked shirt quickly, Jazzy,” I advised, getting inside the toilet.

Through the windows of stained and frosted glass of the toilet light from the streets streamed in, dusty and mellow. Jazz slipped into a black T-shirt when I came out.

                                       “Ouch! It’s hurting” Jazz screamed with a trickle of panic in his voice and pointed to a mild pain in the left side of his neck.

                                        “What’s happened?” I asked with a serious expression.

 His lips became tensed and stretched while his eyebrows straightened in fear.          

                                         “Let me check,” I said, looking at his neck in anxiety.

 Small palpable nodes moved under his skin.

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                                             “Come down guys, dinner is ready,” Granny called from the kitchen.

                                            “I’m not hungry,” Jazz said to me, pulling the blanket over his head. I switched off the lights.

I returned to the room after dinner while Jazz was gazing through the bedroom window.

                                         “What is going on?” I asked.

                                         “Look pal,” Jazz pointed at the window, gesturing me to keep quiet. He stared at the light which was oozing in through the opening.

 I showed curiosity about it. He gazed at it. The girl wanted to stop staring at us but couldn’t help it. She clasped a viola. She fully embraced that instrument with her whole body. Her shapely figure rhythmically waved in her own tunes. She disappeared as she arrived. 

                                             “She’s a weird animal,” I said, laughing.

Jazz only smiled. We finally went to bed later than usual. The darkness weighed heavily on my eyes.

                                 “Please switch on the night lamp, mate,” Jazz requested.

 His trembling voice seemed to appear from a distant land. The dim night-lamp only oozed mystery and fear.

                                   “I can’t breathe, baddie,” Jazz croaked after some time, “I’m shaking like a leaf.”

                                  “Over-thinking will destroy your sanity,” I remarked.

                                                                                                                                            14

                                        “How can I sleep with worries on my mind,” I asked. I felt hopeless and timid. The soft blue light finally lulled me to sleep.

I lay awake since predawn darkness. My toilet completed, I finally went to the balcony. I stood on the patio, motionless and still, gazing blankly at the leafless trees. Jazz joined me later.

                                   “When did you get up?” I asked.

                                  “A little while ago,” Jazz answered, absent-mindedly.

                                   “I’ll fix an appointment with a doctor at Northern Medical College and Hospital,” I waited expectantly for his answer.

                                   “Okay,” Jazz said, unwillingly.

We went inside, drawn by the warmth of the fire.

                                   “Is the doctors open?” I asked. “My friend needs to see a medical practitioner."

A female voice answered the phone. She confirmed the appointment in a calm, mechanical voice.

When the barren trees of the Northern Medical College and Hospital became gloomy, we walked into the room of the doctor with anxious faces.

                                   “Good evening, doctor,” we said.

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                                              “Please take your seats,” he pointed to the two vacant chairs in front of him.

He spoke in a reassuring voice from behind the face shield. He pointed out that it protected his eyes and was less suffocating than our masks.

I looked at Jazz. The edge of his bottom rested on the padded chair, and the upper part of his body was not upright. Jazz narrated all his discomforts in a hoarse voice.

                                          “Okay, I want you to be tested thoroughly. Please revert to me after a couple of hours”, he said.

We entered the waiting room. With just one toilet for the patients who needed urgent attention, the smell of their sweat and urine mixed with heat due to electricity cuts made life a living Hell there. We spent the entire waiting time standing in a dirty corner of the room.

After sometime we returned to the doctor’s chamber leaving the unkempt and filthy waiting room. The doctor looked little hesitant. He waited a little until he spoke in a low voice, measuring each and every word.

                                  “I’m afraid, the patient is COVID 19 positive”, he said.

                                  “What?”

                                 “Admit him again to the isolation ward,” he said to me, “the world is no longer what is used to be,” he said.

                                   “Not again!” Jazz exclaimed.

                                                                                                                                          16

                                   “Don’t worry,” the doctor said, “there is news of a major breakthrough in the treatment of COVID 19 patients.”

I came out alone from the hospital. I only walked on slow and sorrowful laden with far too heavy a consignment to push along.

                                                                    The End