Parkinson's

Mangal kaka is Dad's younger brother. I know him well. Or I knew a man I called Mangal kaka well- I knew him for his songs; usually old Mukesh songs. He was the only brother who could carry a tune. I grew up in a joint family. He sang while waiting- for his morning tea to cool; for his turn at the newspaper; getting stuff for his bath; walking up and down the old narrow corridor; he sang day dreaming while watching the sky; the lines of pigeons that we fed; walking to the vegetable vendor....we knew things were wrong when he did not sing.

Mangal Kaka is dying - of Parkinson's disease-damnably slowly. He has wasted away; has to be fed, cleaned, changed-turned. His body is now covered with oozing bedsores to which there is no outwardly reaction.

I last saw him two years back-I sang to him - old Mukesh songs. My daughter also sang the songs she knew. We felt he smiled - maybe he did - or cried ? that he can sing no more?

I wish Mangal Kaka hasty death - I wish that he could be thus saved - and his song laid to rest.
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A Question:

Are victims of
Parkinson's
cognisant?
or just not aware
of bodies beyond repair?
Do they despair
for care,
and love
to come their way
their pain to share
knowing, they will
not fare
better-
but waste away
to their dying day.
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Ramblings of a wasted body:

Cankerous sores,
oozing blood
drenched in
sweat, urine,
grime-
sobbing inside
no sound
no word
no blink of an eye-
Oh Lord! Somebody!
please help me die.
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A Plea:

An injured mare
is laid to rest
old pets
put to sleep-
Fuck bloody Salvation!
World, please be
kind to me!

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Is there
no human rights
when there is
no strength to fight?
no compassion?
no bloody shame?
Give me a gun now-
and let me end
his game!