HOW I MANAGED not TO BE A DOC

Written by: Mehnaz Veetil

HOW I MANAGED not TO BE A DOC

You know something,
Me a thing, I think not worth than a farthing
was put in a college of Medicine.
Paternal honour intact was to be kept.

Heavy in heart and blurred in vision
When thought of those bespectacled sermons
On blood and urea, capillary and neuron.
I tugged at my mom, a deaf ear she gave.

Like a prep child, I crossed the day
For the doom to impend on my lovely day
On the calendar on the wall with landscapes gay.
Oh! All because my father loved me so.

On that day I stood on a rostrum
Feverish, next to a corpse bloated and grey
I was to say my name and greet the group.
But all I could choke out was a meek gibber.

I fell down with a thud,next to the corpse, 
funny,all came running to the body lifeless,
for he was the specimen for one whole year.
The thing I knew next, 

On my bed cozy I was
And I think I heard my father say, 
Smiling,
‘Oh,It is all right my dear’!