Ache Hierarchy

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There is no part of this blessed body that is not prone to aches and cancers.

But some of them are infradig, while others are posh.

Everyone applying for sick leave during my schooldays (as RKN wrote somewhere) would cite headache, but not diarrhea although it was more prevalent. There are two reasons for this: first the trouble is nasty, and then so is its spelling (I had to take the help of blog-spot's spell-check. It is funny that 'blogspot' is not one word for itself, nor is its 'spellcheck'; it asks me to split up each into two words or hyphenate: Thurber wrote somewhere that the 'old boy' Webster was a great hyphenator).

Around 1982, DB and his family went on a holiday to Puri where unfortunately young and shapely Mrs DB fell suddenly ill and sank into coma (that lasted full four months). DB's elder brother who was a well-connected Physician promptly shifted her to the PG Hospital in Cal where admirable care was taken of her without the primitive and risky brain surgery.

Our HoD got a telegram from DB seeking almost a full semester's extended leave, mentioning that his wife was in coma. That HoD who was a stickler for form called me to his Office and asked what was wrong with her. I replied that she had an attack of cerebral hemorrhage. He then wondered why DB didn't mention that in his telegram. I replied that it is a horrible word and challenged him to spell hemorrhage right. He promptly asked me to get lost instead (I had to again use blog-spot's spell-check for it just now; the British-Canadian spelling is: haemorrhage).

Toothache is horrible because it interferes with your sleep (like ear-pain: Otitis for your HoD). You apply clove oil and all sorts of ointments (unguents), swallow pills (including the blue ones) and even household analgesics and antibiotics (sundry sins from meta to genta); still, just as you drop to sleep it shoooots! and you are painfully awake, waking up your sleeping wife, kid and even your neighbor with your high-decibel groans and grunts. The right tablet (Ketanov) alone lets you sink into your cherished dreamless sleep after you have destroyed everyone else's.

Toothache is not as lowly as bellyache but ok for leave; yet it is no way as aristocratic as headache. A wide variety of tablets relieve headache, but yours is special, you claim. And there is no way to disprove: not even your whole-body scan (it is all in your head).

One might think that this is due the lofty position of the head held high over your shoulders. Not so, not so. Anything connected with your high-class genius brain such as Clinical Depression (I had it), Bipolar Disorder (Mood Swings for you and me), Epilepsy, Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, and Raving Madness (I am borderline) in that order are all YOUR fault (since nowadays you tend to identify yourself with your brain and its broods rather than your bag and its baggage).

Strict taboos in leave letters for a day or two.

Sugar Complaint (no one calls it Diabetes anymore, not even that HoD who had it in ample measure and used to boast about it) is pardonable because it is known to be genetic (your parents' or even grandparents' fault, not yours). Also because poor you can no more eat Khejurgud Rosogollas along with your guests or hosts (you may raid the fridge when everyone else is away or asleep).

Anything connected with Heart is Right Royal. It could be Sudden Supermassive Heart Attack (Cardiac Failure or Thrombosis or even more deadly and impressive Infarction), or just mild Angina, or Heart Surgery requiring either stent (or is it stunt?) or Quadruple Bypass; although the baby boy has been eating like an Alipore Zoo's Otter, smoking like Harry's chulha, exercising like Mricchakatika (The Little Clay Cart), or is as slim as the Empress of Blandings.

But the Real Heart Aches are a strict "No...No".

I mean the ones that result in: "He died of a broken heart".

This last sentence is stolen from Maugham's Painted Veil.

One evening Dora and Srikripa were visiting us in our Qrs B-140 and I got bhatting about Saratchandra to flaunt my (pretended) deep knowledge of Bengali Literature. And I mentioned the uncanny (or is it canny?) resemblance between the plots of Painted Veil and Grihadaha, both of which I read at the same time in my late teens; pontificating that both were based on the frivolous Eternal Triangle but with this trend-setting twist that ends up in the Dog It Was That Died stuff. I remembered the two male Angles: Mahim & Suresh (?), but couldn't recall the Female Angle of Saratchandra's novel.

Dora got upset and crestfallen because she too couldn't recall the name which she said was tingling the tip of her tongue (and she was nowhere near my senile age excuse).

Next evening when I was on my walk on the Salua Road, I heard a shout: "Sir, Sir!" and turning back I saw Dora running towards me with a triumphant "Achala, Achala", and quickly running back to whatever fun they have in the evenings in IG Hall. Kids will ever be kids. And I too recalled wondering what a deliciously inapt name Sarat chose for his 'chanchal-hearted' character!

Coming to Cancers, the most common male cancer, the Prostate Cancer, to which RSS and Arorasaab (of Aniket's Diwali story) succumbed, is looked down upon (because it is down below). On the other hand Blood Cancer (Leukemia) is wholly acceptable; maybe because blood is not confined to any one part of the body and is age-sex-indifferent.

Actually I wanted to talk about Bookache and titled this post so; but, as every compulsive blogger knows, the keyboard has its own wayward style!

Some other day for Bookache which is in the holy Heartache category.


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