Go, man! Go! Go!

It has been some time since you have seen a story here, right? A friend of mine tells me that he will be a father soon, that sets off some thoughts and recollections, and the result is this story that you read.

I don't know how many of you know that I was childless for about three years after my marriage. We did the usual stuff, but the results were disappointing. We knew that we only got older with each day, and were afraid that soon would be compelled to reconcile ourselves to the fact that we would remain barren.

Anyway, things got so desperate, we went and consulted a homeopath. She was a woman in her fifties, with a son in college who doubled up as our Yoga teacher, and a husband whose hair was all white- but about whose fitness, she bragged to no end. She was sympathetic to our problem, too sympathetic for a doctor, perhaps, and she staked herself- if not the soul, her reputation- to the cause of making my wife pregnant.

Am I too direct? Repugnantly so, I imagine. But then, the doctor was, too.


After trying out her medicines for a few months, she decided to change course, and treat us on a more scientific basis. I learnt only later the scientific aspect of this treatment, but all I knew then was that my wife was to take an abdominal scan everyday and wait for the lab to come out with a finding.

I don't understand how I could have been so naive, but we went dutifully to a lab at T. Nagar, waited for about an hour, and then returned home worrying about the possible outcomes of these daily scans.

This happened for about ten days, and soon, since we saw the same old faces every day, we got to be friends with some of them, and the waiting was not so dreary anymore. But there was a girl, I remember her clearly, as if i saw her only yesterday, she was a slim, sleek, lithe, glowing-with-health girl- she was unimaginably beautiful, the way some of the young Marwari girls are. She came with her husband, they kept to themselves, they didn't even talk with one another. They both looked sad and forlorn. We thought it a pity that such a lovely couple were sterile the way we were.


However, one day, the lab assistant called my wife, gave her the scan reports, and advised us to go and report to the doctor. We went home, pored over the scans, figured out nothing, and then, in the evening got an appointment to see the homeopath.

She beamed at us as we entered, and opening and glancing at the report, our good doctor went literally flush with happiness.

"Go forth and procreate," she commanded us, not exactly so, but to that sense.

It was only then, in reply to our amazed queries, that we were let to know that the egg was ripe for fertilisation.

The way she urged us, we got the idea that the situation had reached a climax, it was now, this night or never- at least for another month.

Armed with the mother tincture of Agnus Castus, an aphrodisiac, we rushed home and fell upon one another in a frenzy.

But alas, I don't know why, but my performance failed to match my passion. As our doctor had suggested, I took a break every fifteen minutes to gulp a strong dose of the bitter, hot, reekingly alcoholic remedy- and then returned at it again, and again, but my flailing efforts gave way to a rapidly rising tide of frustration.

This went for about an hour, I would have quit earlier, but I didn't know how to- but luckily, my stomach rebelled- as my throat burned from the alcohol that had started now to rise up the food pipe- even my breath turned alcoholic.

So, then we agreed to quit: and gentle reader, I am afraid I have to draw the curtains on this sorry, sordid affair.

But not before offering you a thought: if I had know what we were testing for, what feelings would have been aroused by that Marwari girl, whose brooding sad eyes, I still remember?