Somewhere between anger and helplessness and tears.
My aunt has cirrhosis , they now say.
Living forty years, on a year-worth of memories. Amidst charcoal gray portraits that adorn the empty walls.
Like the protagonist in Khamosh pani, why didn’t she fight for her life?
Did the decades of pining away cause liver disease, like some character spiraling to THE END in an Updike novel.
The botch up with the gall bladder, the elevated enzymes that the &*(# doc missed the first time around. After all the health issues she’s had, the hypothyroidism that see- sawed and the steroids she must take to manage, all patchwork .
Horrified, I look through Medline, wishing I didn’t know what all this meant.
Well. So be it.

Bhukri the momma stray with seven pups is doing very well, thank you. Strange how she ambles out of darkness at dinnertime, maybe she likes rotlis. I’m surprised at her reactions sometimes. She bit the maid, but is fine with the neighbourhood kids hitting her when they want to play with her pups. Animals are seriously smart., so I think

A closure worth a warhoop with Citibank cards. After threatening dire consequences. Brimstone and fire. Politely, of course.