On Breathlessnesses

(when you have a cold or are claustrophobic or otherwise without air to breath)

When you breath in, your lungs and your belly should feel full and the ideal is the gush of air leaving your body like a flush. In e minor. Leaving behind a cool cool sensation in the lungs. Like peppermint. No, spearmint is stronger. Or maybe like alcohol evaporating on centre of your palm. But then, when is the ideal ever reached.

On its way in, the chest is squeezed out, nostrils are flared, mouth, slightly open. The breath in happens in short hiccup or sob-like bursts. Like when you are just about to start the crying. Collectively, nostrils, mouth, chest all seek out any air that may be willing to go in. But the volunteers are limited. Nobody seems to want to go inside to flush it of its staleness and fill the empty spaces. The nostrils flail around in desperation. The chest expands out till it feels like it might burst. And the mouth snaps shut. Some prisoners are taken.

But what does one good apple do in a basket of bad ones right. Whatever little air goes in, mixes with the bad. The staleness within does not change. Then, there is the realisation - if you don’t let it out, there is no space for more.

Once again, nostrils are opened out, chest is opened out, the mouth is opened wide. But nothing comes out. It is feels like a vacuum. The air particles stubbornly play hide and seek inside your lungs. They appear to have disappeared. Or maybe, it was a trick, nothing went in, in the first place. And all the while, you are holding your breath. Waiting. Waiting for something to come out. Nothing does. And there is no room for anything to go in either.