Memoirs of a Cold Sun

And the alarm said unto me "Let there be sound!"; I woke up, dazed and startled, like a bug in a Bladderwort. Trying to reflect on my latest nightmares and dayhorses, I walked two paces up to the table and shut the contraption up. As always, the details of my dreams slipped out of my mind like a cricket ball out of Geraint Jones' greasy mitts. I lay on my bed in wait, for my dreary eyes to regain focus, trying to aid them by abrading their sensitive covers with my ruffian fingers. Once sense and sensitivity prevailed, I noticed something was dreadfully different. 

Was that a burning candle up my nose? And what was that faint prickling in my throat? No, I was being paranoid. This couldn't be that! It was just a lingering feeling of the recent-est nightmare, I thought. I'd shake it off surely. A supreme effort later, I managed to lift my butt off my buttress - that heavenly abode of the Sleep Fairy - and concluded the daily Tooth Fairy Ritual for the day. And well, the familiarly outlandish feeling didn't shake itself off!

It was all coming back to me. I had caught it again. Realization dawned on my sheepish brain. It was all too familiar. It was Cold! It was hot - very hot and humid by the way - but this thing that I had caught, it was COLD - Cold,  the most prolific disease in the world, Cold, which has no cure to be told! And for a moment, I suspected it was just Swine Flu. 

Future tense. Terribly agitated, I thought of the unspeakable havoc this cold would wreak on my life to come. I was doing nothing in particular - which is a euphemism for idling- and I would now have to follow Newton's Laws, move from my state of inertia, and fight this external force with an equal and opposite intensity! For the umpteenth time in my life, I decided not to include antibiotics in my Cold Fighting Alliance of me and my leukocytes. It was battle and it was going to be my battle!

It is only when a person faces hardships that he remembers God. It was only when I came face to nucleoid with cold that I remembered Baba Ramdev! Yes, I thought, Pranayama was the sureshot solution! I had come to think of Pranayama as a panacea for all ills and evils. Was it preemptive or was it a cure? Ah, who cared! 

Screwing my face with concentration, I tried to reminisce the different BIBO (Breath In Badbreath Out)  techniques that I had observed sometime back on some channel like an inquisitive dodo, and felt my WBC count boom as thus began my latest flirtation with Pranayama. Five minutes later, the only thing in my mind was Shavasana, and I had no choice but to give in to the vagaries of my mind and lungs. 

Afternoon. Siesta time. No sooner did the anterior portion of my cranium touch the tip of my pillow, than a million coughs exploded inside me like a burst of soap bubbles from a bubble hoop. Stage II, I thought to myself. 

Every cloud has a silver lining. Come night, and I had a very heavy nasal canal in addition to the above symptoms. But there was something interesting that had happened as well. My vocal cords had repositioned themselves, or so it seemed, to emanate the choicest of baritones. I revelled in the glory of this astonishing turn of fate and mimicked each and everything on God's Green Earth that involved a baritone.

That confounded sound of my alarm! I was falling short of a simple majority by morning. I had no choice but to take the outside support of Amox for my Cold Fighting Alliance to stake a claim to finish this King of Viruses once and for all. Two doses later, I could sense a retreat.