In the Indian sub continent, anything bloody is considered an expletive: an inappropriate thing to say. However, the write-up involves Blood and fear induced by blood. I cannot possibly choose a better title than ‘Bloody fear’!
I want to tell you something! ‘Bloody’, the adjective is not an expletive. It just means, ‘with blood’ or ‘full of blood’ or ‘lot of blood’. Furthermore, the narration is about blood and fear – outside of Indian subcontinent. On that bloody intro, let us get on with the story.
The year was 2000. I lived and worked in the United States of America. The city of Bentonville is an unassuming small town in Arkansas, with all the characteristics that qualify for something ends with ‘Ville’.
My apartments had 18 holes among other things. During weekends, I used to just stand in the balcony of my home – smoking and watching lazy golfers putting around. The game of golf never intrigued me as much as Tennis or Football (for Americans, it is ‘soccer’ or simply FIFA)
The laziness or the smoking never bothered me during those years until I found it. Blood. Initially, there was a trace of it when I goggled after smoking a cigarette. Then I noticed blood every time I had a mouthwash, smoking or not.
Having severely influenced by the Tamil movies I had watched as an young adult, I sported a beard and started coughing. Everyday I used to practice cool philosophical things to say about life, for my restaurant/bar time dinner chat.
As days passed by, I grew tired of waiting to die. After a week, I wanted to turn the things around, and stopped smoking. Well. Not completely; just one cigarette a day. I even had a clean shave and started to smile more and talk less philosophically. Nothing helped.
After two weeks, I decided to visit a doctor. The doctor advised a series of medical examinations: an X-RAY, ECG and ironically a blood test too and also a few more tests (which are not common names as ECG, X-RAY or a blood test)
The lab technicians sent reports back to the doctor declaring me having a ‘clean bill of health’. The only suggestion in their reports was for me to have a couple of sessions of therapy, to straighten my thoughts out. Apparently, Tamil movie cancer philosophy crept into the conversations during medical tests.
With the test results, the doctor called me back. After briefing the results from the reports, the doctor had only one thing to say: Go, see a dentist! Well. You guessed it right. The dentist fixed my weak bleeding gums and helped me improve oral hygiene practices. Voila! Or Bingo! The blood stopped.
I have to tell you. The feel of normal life again was extremely boring and not cool at all; I needed that blood. I needed that beard. I needed that philosophical air about me. Nevertheless, I called the doctor and informed about my bleeding gums. Over the phone, he laughed out loud. I sighed and was about to hang up and then he asked me the question: ‘Raj, say - when do you smoke that one cigarette?’