“Doctor,” said I, “what’s wrong with me?

I don’t feel well at all, you see, I’m getting thinner every day, I’m like a horse without his hay.” Said the Doc, “You’re like a rock, An’ tickin’ over like a clock, But let me see your chemistry, And clear up all this mystery.” He pushed and probed with stethoscope, Chased microbes with the microscope, He could not find a germ unkind, His furrowed forehead finely lined. “Maybe it’s your heart,” he said, “Please lie you down upon the bed!” Then administered a vile injection, Most diabolical of all inventions! He pricked and jabbed and swore and stabbed, Drawing samples that he tagged, “Your heart is fine,” the Doc opined, “I think it’s all a waste of time.” “Maybe it’s inside your head,” He mumbled standing by my bed, “Please proceed to the EEG, And after MRI, we’ll see.” Dials glowed and my blood froze, As levels fell and levels rose, T’was all in vain, so yet again, I told the Doc about my pain! The Doc was going round the bend, Of tether he had reached his end; Then he tightened as he brightened, “It’s a girl!!” he yelled, enlightened. “It’s a malady without a cure, You’re a goner, friend, for sure!” He jubilated, as deflated, I headed for the door, unsated. Medical check-ups come and go, Every day I thinner grow,

For both malady and cure are same, Could I but give them both a name. Life is such a paradox, Of Docs and rocks and clocks and shocks; As if that wasn’t quite enough I had to go and fall in love!

  Subroto Mukerji

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