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Achooo!
It begins, almost always, with a sneeze, 
Which, in some cultures, 
Invites blessings, 
But, in some others, a curse,
As it’s held to be ominous!
Blessing or curse, soon the frequency
And the decibels increase—
Incredibly, irritatingly, inconveniently, and embarrassingly!

I wonder if it is linguistically appropriate
To call it a bad cold –  bad as it is – 
As though there was a good cold, too.
To harp on it, if any cold is bad enough,
Why an adjective?
Again, I am allergic to clichés—
Which is an occupational hazard.
But there’s the cliché: A cold lasts 15 days, if treated,
And two weeks, otherwise. 
And it’s not only a bad cliché
But a false generalization as well:
For, in either case, a cold may cut itself short 
Or last longer actually.

Anyway, a cold – maybe a minor illness –  
Can cause major upsets: a missed date,
Or a professional presentation or an important journey—
Defying the motto carpe diem! 

Again, it can make people, you and your kith and kin,
Miserable—or mad! 
People around might solicitously suggest
Or even offer a pill, some syrup,
Or some other popular remedy,
As advertised on the TV.

But their minds (their best of intentions notwithstanding) 
Are all colonized by the media:
As they turn on the TV,
A plethora of remedies appear on the screen,
With cute models or charismatic ambassadors
Displaying the products, accompanied of course
By music, unpleasant or pleasant, 
With their aggressive or subliminal appeal,
Falsely promising any prospective, gullible, customer,
A cure, thus taking the victim’s precious time
Energy and mental space; 
Ultimately, relieving them of their money,
With virtually no effect,
And with of course a lot of side effects,
For which, again, they may offer remedies, 
Which is another story!
  
Now, a common cold irritates you 
And these common remedies offered
Are all mostly counter-irritants.
You may eagerly try, as an adjunct therapy,
Multiple cups of coffee, 
Whose caffeine content, 
Would leave you excited for a while or for long,
Depending on your expectation, 
Age, dosage and constitution;
But would certainly get on your frayed nerves 
And you would be unable so much as to close your eyes.
What a pity!

Well, your kith and kin would, at once, 
Be miserable and – that’s the risk – vulnerable (to cold).
Now, in this miserable condition, 
If I were you, I would irritably ask:
Why call it a common cold,
Now that it is not so very common, 
Not certainly at any given time?
Look round: there is none but you,
In any given group—suffering. 
That would certainly make you feel 
More wretched than necessary:
Why me?

As part of the syndrome, I may have,
in spite of the fact that I am already a blockhead,
Head congestion, nose blockage, headache,
A runny nose, a rise in temperature—all as add-ons, 
Given to me free—without asking!

But, again, a linguistic objection:
Why call it a runny nose?
It is apparently an inappropriate adjective,
Seeing that no nose, human or sub-human,
Can run on its own.
It – willy-nilly – keeps you company
And that’s all!

Now to a different kind of cold—
The uncommon cold, 
From which a number of us seem to suffer.
It visits you off and on 
And may even, for choice, stay forever!
For, it is particularly attached to you, the lovable you,
(as it used to be to your parents and or grandparents).
One good thing, however, about uncommon cold is that 
It doesn’t spread.
But now, our brand ambassadors on the media,
Cute or uncouth, 
Would be silent about it,
Having nothing to offer.

So, I should now put it 
To the Nobel Prize Committee
To institute a double-prize
For anyone or any team that would come out
With an instant and safe remedy for this wretched illness,
Known as cold—common or uncommon!

Let me offer a suggestion before I stop: 
Now that we all seem to go back, again and again,
To the same blind-alley system—of medicine,
Much like the wasp in a room,
Repeatedly runing into the windowpane.
Why not think laterally,
As Hahnemann did?
Or differently, as Patanjali
Or the ancient Chinese did? 
Or as the Herbalists do?
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