It was Friday night and my "drunk caller" had made some really exciting plans for us. Though I didn't know what they were but they were still wonderful, simply because it were her plans for us. I was all set for Friday night, almost waiting impatiently though the day for it. I managed to survive my day through office and there was just one small thing that had to be done before party night which was to collect my blood test reports. My "drunk caller" had been reminding me about collecting the report for days but I simply kept forgetting because I felt I was no longer sick. Until today when my on and off fever was giving me the chills - quite literally.

I was pretty confident that the report would have nothing on me. Still I asked the lab attendant what the report said and she said it I had Typhoid. Nonchalantly I walked out, even putting the lab attendant through a mild-shock. I stopped by at a premeditated restaurant for some decent food for my acidity while I googled what typhoid meant and what it could do. I couldn't eat more than a bite and started walking back home when I realized that I was getting dizzy that I wasn't able to walk. I came back home and puked. Then some more and a bit more. Till there was nothing more to puke.

My "drunk caller" called. Friday night booze party had just started for her. I could barely manage to utter a few words with all the strength I could gather. She expected me to come and I wanted to go. I tried to get up from the bed but I couldn't. I promised myself I wouldn't drink, and made one more effort to get up but I still couldn't. I promised myself I wouldn't touch her to ensure she doesn't get infected and made one more attempt to get up but fell back again. All the strength of my life was being spent in talking to her. I told her she would have to go with her other friends and after some convincing and cajoling she hung up on me. I always got panic attacks when this drunk girl would be randomly out on the roads. I wanted to call her back, just check if she was alright. A couple of attempts later I managed to reach her to hear the words "I am going to see someone".

I was relieved, if not happy. After all a girl like her didn't deserve a liability of an old man like me. There was a certain calmness on her face, in her demeanor that deceived the adventurous and fun loving person she was. Impressively she had the powers to transfer that calmness. All of my few encounters with her were about experiencing this calmness in her. Her calm and calming nature, her willingness to listen and support through my earlier illness were more than I could ever ask for. Though I was worse than bad for her. My inhibitions of going out with her for the fear of being "caught" by my office colleagues, (She was still conflict of professional interest), my unadventurous attitude towards her Garba cravings, I couldn't give her sex. In some ways I was relieved on her finding a back-up option immediately. Anybody would be surely better than me. I was nothing more than a weak moment for her. A failed one that too. 

I continued my puking in peace. Swinging between hoping to survive till the next morning, to hoping someone would take me to a hospital right then. All those offers of help by my "drunk caller" made sense. I sometimes wished I could invoke those offers now, sometimes wished I could reach my parents home the next morning and sometimes just wished I could go to sleep and survive that moment. 

This is what my sickness gave me. Realization that home and parents were the greatest support systems one could ever be blessed with. Liberated my "drunk caller" from me. Most importantly left me hanging with the same question again - what is the type of girl I need to marry. If she was the same as me, we would die of boredom. If she was going to adventurous and fun then I would bore her to death.  

Till I figure it out, a song for that drunk caller I used to call mine https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB-5XG-DbAA