To Uma who turned 5 on Friday

The pictures were chosen from Getty.

A very bad poem with inappropriate Shakespeare references written in a hurry for the sickly Basu

Ahana Basu was down with a flu

from where it attacked, no one really knew [1]

All day she spent indoors, weeping and sighing

and thinking up last words, just in case she was dying [2]

She listened to music to get inspired

But all it did was make her more tired. [3]

She tried not to scratch and she tried not to curse [4]

Her brother might overhear - things could get worse.

So, she logged on and browsed, remaining invisible [5]

In hiding, she knew so much more was possible

Sometimes she’d be down and start feeling all alone

Then she’d get up and dab on some eu de cologne[6].

And she'd tell herself, each time she felt like a spotted toad
"Just a few more days and then the chicken will cross the road."

---

[1] But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,. What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,. I am to learn. (Antonio, act I, scene I MoV)

[2] I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here impórtune death a while, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips. (Antony, act IV, scene XV, A&C)

[3] I am never merry when I hear sweet music. (Jessica, act V, scene I)

[4] A pox o' both the houses! (Mercutio, act III, scene I, R&J)

[5] O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! (Cassio, act II, scene III, Othello)

[6] All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! (Lady Macbeth, act V, scene I, Macbeth)

Fast forward

The country is going to the dogs, they used to say, They had wished it would get better but believed that it probably wouldn’t happen. This needs to stop, they said now. They wished it would happen soon and believed that somebody just needed to do something.

And somebody did something, the same something he had been doing for years. This time everyone else stopped and took notice. We’ll join in, they said, agreeing to be part of a list signatures that would be passed on until it became too heavy to travel.

They began talking about it on tv, in newspapers, over the dining table, applauding limited characters and even more agreed to join in the something for real. They’d protest in the same way - not till death, but just a day - to show support.

Then it was Friday. They were excited, knowing they’d have a ball. Tomorrow is Saturday, they said. And Sunday came afterwards.

Or so Yada would say.