'Criti....que not Criti....cize'

Rain lashes outside the windows Washing away the mud people scurried over a while back Freshly made bed, pillows fluffed up Sprawled upon it a thousand memories, Time ticks away. It was 11.26 just three minutes ago. Or 23.26. Charlatan thoughts they are Fastidious care, theirs. Washing away the hours she scurried over a while back. Time ticks away. Doesn't it, always? The blueprint in the making, Do they go back to it After buildings have fallen, without grace? Time ticks away, like it never cared. Rubble. People. Rubble. Trapped, beyond rescue. Gracefully frozen beneath the din For time ticks away... like it must. Wrapped in six yards of silk, she thought this was it. She walked with a large brass plate towards the altar, Carrying the garlands that would seal the loose ends -- bit by bit. The bridal gait, the overflowing love, some jealous looks -- she now looked at it from afar. Who knew the walk was towards her own end? A bright, young lady walking towards her own doom?  Vismaya...

It probably started with the weeklong 10.30am -4.30pm Faculty Development Programme that I enrolled in. Attentively being part of it by setting up the phone in an angle so as to best suit my professional seating arrangement to avoid any backaches later, came with its varied troubles. But more on it later. So from a Monday to another Monday later, Tuesday night brought with it a mild pain on my left hand. It traversed to the shoulder. Thanks to being Papa's girl, I doubted for a second whether it was a heart attack, but shushed my overworking brain and went back to reading the Hangwoman.  Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday later, on Friday, after mom finally took me to task, I decided I may as well pay a visit to a doctor. The thought that it was a government hospital and the charges are Rs. 5 further fascinated me (I have been tremendously happy about the services at Kerala on a previous visit and swear by them).    The sight that greeted me was of a clean hospital with a fi...