It was probably sometime in the year 1971, when I was around 12 years old, that there was a very widespread epidemic of eye flu christened Bangladesh Eye Flu. It was probably named so because it was brought in by the huge influx of Bangladeshi refugees into India around the time of the Indo-Pak war. It was very infectious; every third or fourth person seemed to be getting it.
As boarders in PPS, there were very few ways of getting away from classes. Worse still, probably the only way to be able to go home during regular school days was if we got very sick. This Bangladesh Eye Flu was like a gift from God. Those who were getting red eyes were sent home immediately because of fear of the spread of the disease.
However, these kinds of ‘gifts’ have a way of playing hard-to-get, really hard-to-get. I and some of my close ‘associates’ just wouldn’t get it no matter how hard we tried. We even tried touching the eyes of the inflicted individuals and then touching our own. Nope, it just wouldn’t happen. Damn! What do we do now?
Necessity is the mother of invention, as that old cliche goes. The ‘gang’ came up with a cunningly brilliant plan. We would arm ourselves with a bit of toothpaste on one of our fingers each. Go to the MI room building. Just before we present ourselves for examination, we would instill that bit of toothpaste into our eyes. It would cause the eyes to go red for just enough time to be diagnosed with the eye flu. We would then get a letter of exemption from school on account of eye flu. Can you beat it? It worked.
Armed with that letter, we went to the housemaster in charge and got permission to go home. I don’t quite remember how, but I was on a bus alone to go from Nabha bus station to my destination in Khanna town. The journey of the “great escape” began, and with a million things going on in my little head, it did not take too long to culminate.
The bus guy dropped me off just outside my home. I slowly walked towards the house, both happy and nervous at the same time. As I walked, I was rehearsing my dialogue to deliver to my parents.
When the home door opened, I was told that my parents had gone to some friend’s house for dinner. I wasn’t sure how long they would take, so decided to ask someone to drop me where my parents had gone. I hopped onto the back carrier of the bicycle of an employee of my father’s and we were on our way.
Reaching the place, I rang the doorbell. Ding! Dong!
The domestic help in that house took me into the drawing room, where the hosts and my parents were sitting. My parents were surprised beyond belief. Such a thing had never happened: that the school kids would be allowed to go home in the middle of a school week.
“How come you are back from school?” asked my father.
“The school people sent me home because I have eye flu,” I replied with some confidence. I seemed to have forgotten for a short while, that my dad was an eye specialist.
“No, you don’t!” said my dad with a harsh voice.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said meekly as I handed over the letter from the school.
After a brief but tense few moments, my father smiled and gave me a hug. He was happy that I was with them.
Oh, wait a minute! I suddenly realized that both my parents were wearing dark glasses at night, a sure giveaway that both of them were having the great Bangladesh Eye Flu.
Sarbjit Singh
B-187
Medical Director & Consultant Ophthalmologist
Dr. Shamsher Singh Eye Hospital,
Khanna, Punjab, India.
Web Address
PS: One of the stories from my book “My Random Musings” is on Amazon. Click here to check
Ha… ha… An old memory, very aptly penned down..
Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it.
Yes Brand !!! Interesting story…I remember this from the last time you wrote it on what’s app đź‘Ť
Thanks @Tari