Good News

I sat up in bed,
for hours, to make up
for the tears shed
in vain, by drinking
water from little
bottles of different
colors and shapes,
on a cold night in
February, listening
to a late-night radio
phone-in programme,
letting the coldness
in the air
take over my mind
by penetrating the skin
to make me thought-free.

A song too many I bore,
with no promise
of relief
for an overburdened
mind and also, bladder,
until he called in
who said
he was prepared
to die exactly
two hours,
twenty minutes and
forty-two seconds later.
I pulled the rug over,
turned the volume up,
RJ cleared his throat,
the caller said,
“Hello, I wanna talk.”

Spurned in love,
voice weakened by
hunger and sorrow,
the caller told
his story of dejection,
the usual.
Thirty minutes of
negotiations later
the caller said,
“I think I still have to.”
The call got
disconnected there.
RJ said, “Uh-oh, well,
enjoy the next song.”
I drifted off to sleep.
The next two days
I checked
the papers
for the bad news
and somehow,
there was none.

P.S. The radio part actually happened two nights back. The good Samaritan RJ took the call offline while he played the song for the listeners.