Bad Leg Day And A Memoir

Had a bad leg day. That means I broke my leg. While I was bowling myself out of nervousness, my head told my body to suddenly jump and jump it did. But since my body wasn't quite ready for it and my mind was still lost in thoughts of my work in progress, my body landed awkwardly on a twisted foot. I screamed for my dearest mommy and my mom said she's busy on a phone call. I screamed to tell her to rush to the living room corner immediately, but she screamed back telling me to stop irritating her. I did not give up and I screamed again. She finally hung up the phone and came to the living room. Seeing me on the floor, rolling in pain, she immediately declared "fracture". I mocked. I was to be proved right. Though in pain, I still went off to slavery serve my client. However, my boss was nice enough to tell me there was no work and I should just run for home before people return from their lunch break. I obediently left for the day within an hour of reaching work. But I did manage to nearly break a coffee mug as I dropped it off on my injured foot, on my way out of office.

On reaching home I was forced to go to the doc and he told my dad, exactly what I wanted to hear, "There is no need to worry, he's perfectly fine. Just take rest for a couple of days." Home again, I was running around happily everywhere. But laziness had already filled me and head has been shouting sleep, well, it's been shouting that for more than a week now, yet I fail to listen. Anyway, important message for all the overly-concerned beings: I am perfectly fine now, thank you very much for your concern. And for the rest not-so-concerned: You know I love you too :)

Of other things, Goa was brilliant. I did not know I possessed the talent of staring at the passing vehicles for an entire afternoon. I loved Goa for numberous reasons. One of the main reasons being, the Goan dogs love me, or at least they don't mind me, not one bit. Even in the drunken-most of conditions, I wasn't barked at. In fact, I actually went on to pat a stray and he happily kept following us everywhere and I did not mind one bit! I remember, a lifetime ago, when a stray was following me and this dog-loving friend of mine at Churchgate, I was petrified at the thought of a stray accompanying us and yet I was being told, "Oh ho! Poor dog looks so scared. Look at his tail, it's between his legs, shows he is scared." Trust me my friend, I was more scared! Anyway, Goa was freedom. Drinking on the streets, with passers-by shouting cheers! Where else do you get that? I was never in my life, asked if I wanted a "pussy" so openly, by a stranger. Beaches were nice. They were practically empty, except for a couple of a tourists here and there. Driving for sixteen hours, laughing at a helpless idiot stuck in swamp, Patrick's human side and serious wisdom, getting drunk at 10am, sitting on the rocks and staring at the sea undisturbed for a good three hours and not having a single thought to worry me, going to a helipad to help a friend learn to drive, I'm not going to easily forget that I was free, even if it was just for four days.