HYDROPHOBIA.

It was a strange feeling for my toddler son who walked bare foot on the white sands for the first time in his life.The grains of sand were probably tickling his tiny feet as he struggled to walk on it.After a few shuffling uncertain steps he found his rhythm and started to catch us up. It was a new experience for him. He scanned the cloudy blue horizon and was amazed at the vastness of the infinite universe. The gentle waves beckoned him and he eagerly lapped them up. He sat on his mother's lap and faced the waves with a palpable fear and thrill.The waves rocked them to and fro much to his wide eyed amazement. The salty brine water swallowed by him was promptly purged by him.He enjoyed this first time beach experience and was reluctant to leave the shore. A ball carried by him was lost to the sea. It was an orange plastic ball which would float and maybe, traverse oceans to reach some destination unknown.He looked dejected as we brought him back to our hotel room. Through out the remainder of the day, he would point at the direction of the white sandy beach and urge us with his eyes to take him out there to play. Mercifully, our hotel had a large pool to satiate his hydrophilic pursuits. He and Chaitra would laze at the pool for hours together blissfully, regardless of the blazing overhead sun.He had a dragon float which became a part of his body for the next few days. He would walk with a float around him even in the hotel lobby and rooms. Some kids just love water. I think all of them do. They would play, splashing around water in the shallow kiddie pool.At times,Chaitra would be busy in the deeper waters practising her butterfly strokes. I used to enter the knee deep shallow kiddie pool then and play with my son till our bodies tanned. It was the best experience for both of us. An invisible bond was developing between us as a result of time being spent together which was a rarity in our day to day busy life. Our building complex has a oly sized swimming pool which is a much favoured haunt of the kids.It has been 5 years since I moved in here but my feet are still dry. I have never stepped inside the pool so far. I am a hydrophobic person who hates water.I do not like water on my skin. I maybe allergic to chlorine. I am afraid of water. My fears may have no basis but I am scared of drowning. A panic attack occurs as soon as I visualise deep placid pools or stormy oceans.Any water above my knee level send shivers down my spine.The kiddie pool is the most I can venture out. My wife gets visibly upset when I disallow her to take part in water sports or para sailing. I see inherent risks and dangers fraught in any aqua sports. Some fears are so deeply imbibed in us that it may take several lifetimes to overcome them. I am a happy person outside on terra firma when I take care of the cameras, phones and clothes of my family who are indeed happily enjoying in the pool.I click their pictures and enjoy the scene. I order drinks or juices for them and am glad to serve them.I run around fetching floats and towels for them. I may be scared of drowning in water but I look forward to drowning in their happiness and love...

A LAZY BOY.

He had indeed become a lazy boy. He used to sleep all day on his couch watching TV when awake. Reading was given up a few years back by him. His eyes used to droop and fail to focus on the fine print. The day used to be spent watching wrestling and cricket matches. He used to admire the rippling muscles and the athleticism of the players. With a weakened body but a strong steely resolve he used to imagine himself playing cricket and wrestle fighting with God. He was 22 years old and only one question bothered his mind. Why was he still alive? He remembered his sprightly school days when he used to run around and play with the kids with gay abandon. The memories used to fill his sallow eyes with tears. Life had been cruel to him. One not so fine day, when he was 10 years old he realised a difficulty in climbing stairs. His attentive parents immediately sought counsel and the doctor after a battery of tests arrived at the dreaded diagnosis of muscular dystrophy. He would live upto 18 years and mostly a dependent life confined to the bed or a wheel chair. A horde of healers were tried to restore power to his muscles but all to no avail. The parents slowly accepted their fate. The poor sad boy, his life, whatever was left of it. The parents withdrew him from school and focused all their energy and time to be with their boy. The muscles soon started their incessant march of atrophy. He was reduced to a skeleton with some skin on it. He never looked in the mirror and became a recluse. After he became 18 years old, he and his parents would daily look at the calendar and cry, fearing that his time would come soon now. God had planned further misery for him and further agony filled 4 years passed by. He gave up eating solid food as his pharyngeal muscles failed to swallow. He was admitted a couple of days back in my hospital for IV fluids and nutrition. Seeing his plight, tears rolled down my cheeks. His parents too joined me however their tears had dried a long time back. They were praying to God to end his misery. His breathing also had become a strenuous laboured exercise. When death would come, he would not put up a fight and lazily embrace it. He had no strength left in him. 'He that is down need fear no fall' I sometimes wonder about the existence of God. How can he bear such plight of his own children?