The literal Hindi translation could actually imply 'My murder' as in a murder I committed or my own murder committed by someone else. I know gets to the point where I may have to be committed. Whatever that means.
But this is not really about anything drastic like that. Rather a satirical view of this annual ritual we wimps in the US have come to follow in the form of an annual check up at your friendly neighborhood doctor's office. First you get that appointment. Typically you want to shoot for an early morning chit chat since the blood suck has to happen after you have fasted for at least 12 hours since your last meal.
Last supper notwithstanding there is nothing holy about this experience. You have to drive on an empty decaffienated tummy to the docs office and expect some strange person who might or might not look like they just stepped off a boat from faraway lands stick needles in your arm. This while putting on a face that is ready to make small talk like weather forecasts and traffic nightmares. You don't want to upset the boat person when they are attempting to drain you of the vital fluid - aka blood.
The extraction begins after the extractor stares at both your arms to see which looks juicy enough to yield the Khoon quickly. Once they select the winner a rubber band is tied at the upper arm tight enough to make the donor section more juicy and eager to squirt.
Then comes the longish stainless steel that like an Anopheles at a buffet smoothly glides in to the artery and starts filling up the glass tubes at the rear end of the needle.
Several test tubes later they snap the rubber band off your arm and proclaim you are free to go.
Then you wait to see your khoon's quality assessment. Depending on how fragile or ailment ridden you are there can be multiple tests ordered on your juice and the results are made available within 24 hours. At least if you are a person on his last breath you have the pleasure of going online and looking at what you were made of.
Here is another essay on the subject of first names. As in birth names. Or names provided to an offspring at birth. While the developed world tends to shy away from the exotic like Refrigerator or Coca Cola for their new production there is a plethora of Jims and Johns and Bobs or Robs. Speaking of which I do not think there is a categoric decision point at the time of birth if a child will be hereafter called as Bob. I mean have not yet met a toddler called Bob or Rob for that matter. At some point though the parental instinct to mouth out multiple syllables runs out and they switch from calling the crawler Robert to simply Robbie to Rob. Now speaking of - it is strange that the name sounds like something you would not want Rob to do - i.e. Rob anyone. Then why call someone that? After all Rob Peter to Pay Paul is not exactly a maxim to live a young life? Is it? Perhaps Peter or Paul might want to have a say in it? Then there is this matter of going to the John. Why degrad...
Is ek boond khoon ki keemat tum kya jano, boat mein se nikle hue prani...a variation of a famous recent dialogue.
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