I am a writer by profession. I am always hunched over computers trying to meet deadlines for story submissions. Years of bad postured writing have now taken a toll on my back.
My wife is young and looks like she is still in her twenties. She is also disgustingly healthy and had no sympathy for me.
‘It is not serious.’ She said.
‘But it is!’ I cried ‘I might die!’
‘Do not be so melodramatic. You have simply pulled a muscle, something a bed rest will cure. Still to be on the safe side I will take you to the doctor. Any way it is totally your fault. You eat too much and have put on weight.’ Looking at me critically.
‘Here I am in so much pain, and you can only say that I am fat?’
‘Well a little exercise will cure both your pain and your weight’ She responded callously.
I pulled myself in hunchbacked position, and dressed in great agony. Then we started the epic journey from the bedroom in the first floor to the garage on the ground floor. When we were going down, I was reminded of an incidence in my childhood. My grandfather had a cow. Somehow she had come up to the first floor in search of my grandpa. She did not know how to get down. Four men perspiring freely had to put in a lot of effort to get her down the stairs. Though four men were not required to bring me down, my wife was perspiring freely by the time we managed to come down.
We went down to the doctor. The next few minutes were spent in touching, bending and whimpering. ‘What is wrong?’ I asked, perversely hoping it was something serious so that I could prove my wife wrong. I had visions where she would be mortified and beg for my forgiveness with tears in her eyes and I would forgive her magnanimously just before dying.
The doctor gently said, ‘Nothing serious. You have a weak back. I will show you some exercises which will strengthen your back.’
He handed me a printout which showed pictures of a man in various impossible looking positions apparently folding himself into pretzels all with a happy and relaxed smile on his face.
When we returned home, my wife said, ‘See I told you – it is all about your muscles’
‘What do you mean – my muscles?’ I asked querulously.
‘Apparently you do not have any’ she said tongue firmly in cheek.
She was assisting me with the dog pose which is apparently very good for firming the core when our dog Pluto walked in. He welcomed me to the doggy club with some barks indicating his delight till he was firmly evicted by my wife.
Hearing of my condition, a lot of friends came to visit me. They all had various suggestions for cure from acupuncture to Ayurveda to horse liniment. I made a mental note to buy a shotgun as soon as I was able to stand up properly on my feet so that I would be able to fight these assaults from my well-wishers better equipped in the future. To cut a long story short, I recovered within a week, but one thing I have realised is that to succeed in life, you need three things, a wishbone, a funny bone and most importantly a backbone.