Literary Weekend

Just as I made plans this weekend – which included a movie, some grocery shopping and dinner straight after the weekly pooja that was to be held at our residence this week, I notice the scratch scar on the corner of my ten month old’s lips getting bigger and visibly uglier. I knew this was no ordinary scratch mark, because unlike the rest which would heal and dry up, before finally disappearing on it’s own within a couple of days – three at most, this was turning into a green and white tissue mess. I decided to hurry to the doctor that very evening, fearing the most, and unfortunately even the pediatrician could not quell my fears, as he could not put a definite finger over contact dermatitis or herpes. So, heavily disappointed, but to some extent relieved that I managed to get an appointment with a skin specialist the following morning, with which I had to tag my mother in law along, the latter was confirmed.

The good news? At least the virus was detected early and antibiotic cremes are in place. Today is the second day, and the lack of visible improvement is responsible for my ever restive spirit today. As usual, under such circumstances, my post natal anxiety takes over, and I tend to scourge the internet for plausible reasons behind this, as well as to cross check if the doctor did not make a mistaken diagnosis.

Anyways, this week too, Bikram Vohra did not provide any inspiration and rattled about some of the so-called people who are known to come to parties, or dinners and love to croon about themselves and how indispensable they are to the world. Bikram mentions, silently observing and laughing at them, likening them to some form of entertainment. It has been a while since I have attended a social gathering, including the Eucharistic Mass (I know, shame on me) and so I do not recall any such crooner, who’d love to take up the life of the party or gathering into their hands gleefully announcing their substantiality over every one else.

Lastly, I contacted a free zone company in one of the northern emirates to enquire about their lucrative offers that kept flashing over the social media for freelance permits. Even though I am far from being even a writer (and imagine how much time it will take me to be a good one), I went ahead to request prerequisites for a permit in literary writing. The email provided by the amiable receptionist outlined the terms and conditions for the same, but those I did not find conducive to me. It would mean having to take up a very basic medical insurance, etc and a visa not connected to my husband’s. Definitely not too securing. But will give it a second thought. Always.

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