“How many times a day should I use these eye drops?” I asked the doctor.
“As many times as you need to,” he said, “It’s only tears!”
I stared at the bottle. I looked hard at the price. One hundred and fifty rupees for a tiny bottle of tears!
“You’ve got that strange expression in your eyes,” said the wife, “Something stirring in your mind?”
“We’re going to be rich!” I shouted as I walked down the hospital corridor and towards my car. “We’re going to be millionaires! How much did he say this tear bottle was?”
“A hundred and fifty rupees,” said the wife dutifully.
“The Gulf is for oil, Sri Lanka for pearls and India for tears! Whoopee!” I shouted. “Imagine how much we will make from all the tears people shed: For potholes on roads!”
“Power cuts!”
“Traffic jams!”
“Corruption in the municipality!”
“Corruption everywhere!” I shouted. “We can bottle all the tears and sell it, as people cry for…”
“Lack of water!”
“No food!”
“Communal riots!”
“You know something,” said the wife, “Lets start buying bottles and jars and containers. We can call our company “Tears Ltd!”
“That’s a good name!” I said, “Tears Ltd!”
“Why don’t you speak to your friend in America!” said the wife, “he’s a good businessman, and you have always wanted to do business with him.”
“Right!” I said, grabbing the phone and pressing the code to the US. I heard the phone ring and knew it was late at night there, but business was business.
“Hi!” I said, “It’s Bob, I’ve got a business proposition!”
“Couldn’t it wait,” he mumbled, then listened intently to my proposal, “I think you’ll have to put an end to Tears Ltd right now,” he said wearily. “Bob, the problem with your country is that with potholes and traffic jams, power cuts, economic slowdown, farmer protests and..”
“Corruption!” I said.
“Hunger!” screamed the wife.
“Yes, yes,” said my friend patiently, “With all that, you people never protest. Never cry out! You have accepted your potholes, your corruption, your hunger, even your communal rules on love jihad, and not a tear is shed for all the wrong done there! You have sunk into your rot without tears! ”
“What did he say?” asked the wife. “Did he like ‘Tears Ltd?”
“Tears are certainly limited!” I said wearily putting down the phone and looking at the bottle, “No wonder we pay a hundred and fifty rupees for artificial ones..!”,
Robert Clements is a newspaper columnist and author. He blogs at www.bobsbanter.com and can be reached at bobsbanter@gmail.com
