By Neel Anil Panicker
“You see the sun’s a pale yellow, but the fields golden hue; the pathways a misty hue, but trust me, it leads to a horizon that’s bathed in blue. You see…”

“Cut your you see crap,” lashed out Ritesh Deshpande in a agony filled voice.

Mrs Indu Deshpande shook where she sat, her robust fifty year old self trembling for a few uncontrollable seconds, more than shaken by the sudden viciousness of her  husband’s verbal assault.

True, she knew him as an irasicble, ever complaining, ever unhappy soul.

But this was even by his standards, a bit too much.

From her safe corner wall, and separated from her husband by an oblong teakwood table, she spued on her husband.

There he sat, his lean boneless frame, reclining against the sofa back, two near invisible kittenish eyes staring into the mosaic floors below—a pitiable sight if ever there was ala a hapless chicken gazing into the sharp blades of the butcher’s knife, awaiting the fatal blow that would end its misery.

Misery in Mr Deshpande’s world was one gargantuan pile up—the latest to climb up the moribund steps was what the world was up against—the deadly Covid19 virus.

As Mrs Deshpande  watched her husband, her X-rays eyes skimming  and scanning, probing the source of his recent malevolence, his utter dumping of common courtesy and shunning of all traces of geniality, she understood where the problem lay—a TV news flash in the morning that preferred that alcoholic men over seventy with a history of blood pressure, diabetes and hyper tension, if they contracted the virus, are sure to die within 48 hours.

A sly smile emerged on Mrs Deshpande’s lips.

She knew it was a win-win situation.

#neelanilpanicker #covid19 #virus #corona


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