I have been accident prone all my life. I always end up hurting myself in mysterious ways. To quickly give you an idea of the extent of damage – I have broken both my ankles twice, both my wrists twice, both my hands twice, dislocated shoulder bones, cracked my skull (the effects of which are still predominant), broken my ribs, damaged my shins, had countless cuts and stitches, had numerous incidents of bruises and burns, have had a couple of electrical shock escapades, slipped discs and many times have found myself under anesthesia before an operation and have downed plenty of painkillers. I did forget to mention being attacked by insects and larger animals – dogs, cats, a horse (was kicked), spiders, tsetse flies, snakes, etc.

It is not that I live an overly adventurous life. It is just that somehow I am a magnet for all sorts of accidents. It is in the most mundane of acts where I manage to hurt myself. While waiting at traffic lights on a bike (in India) I have had a tree fall on me, not just me, but I would like to think that I was at the worst possible position. I have jumped off a bridge (all of you can guess which one) and broke a rib. I never try and blame anyone for all this, it just happens with me. I have had a food delivery biker ride through my legs after opening the gate for him, you can only imagine the pain and suffering I went through afterwards.

I have had a car drive over my foot, twice. I have gotten my fingers into a food processor once. Being a vegetarian, I was impressed by the meat mincing capabilities of the machine. I have broken two fingers once in the central glove box of my friend’s car. These were not the same fingers which got stuck in the hinges of a door, that was on my other hand. I tried to catch a friend once who jumped off a tree and the impact of his bare foot on my chest broke my ribs. He was not on a path of self-harm, I coerced him into doing this. Do not ask me why. I have tried to catch a ball once in a game of cricket at the boundary and ran straight into the floodlight pole. Needless to say, I didn’t catch the ball but I did shave part of the skin on my shin, with the bone being fully visible.

I can sit here and write a series of books named Dooderman and His Amazing Dooderbody. However, recently something happened which I would like to share. The the pain from the incident still exists three months later. If you look closely, for the first time instead of a photo of charming me, I have a photo of some hardware in the column. Now I would request everyone to look closely at the photo. What you see is a mixture of things including a marble cutter, chain blocks, an extension hose, hand grinding mill, welding machine, pipe bending machine, barbed wire (thankfully partially covered), expandable tool boxes, metal chains and a bucket.

I am heavily addicted to DIY, heavily. I have a plethora of tools and hardware at home and am in a constant endeavor to try and do everything myself. My family is quite tired of this expedition of mine, but I have found a compromise. I regularly make something for my wife and son or break something they have and then fix it. This has somehow reduced the friction and my family allows me to indulge. My wife also now regularly accompanies me to hardware stores to pick colors, material, etc., of her liking.

A close friend of mine owns a hardware store. I have the weirdest ideas for builds or fixes and hence visit him regularly to get advice on how to fix a situation. I usually rummage through his store to find what would work and what wouldn’t. He has a large store and recently I was looking to build my own frame for a mosquito net. I was interested to see if I can Lego my way through with pipes and angle joints and then bracket the whole frame to the bed. This would provide me with a lot of satisfaction. Hence, I was busy rummaging through his heavily stocked store. He wasn’t sold on the idea but was still entertaining me. At one stage I had to climb a small collapsible ladder to check something kept at a height. I put the ladder right next to the things in the photo and started to climb.

While on top, another customer asked me for something which was in my reach. As I tried to hand over the item to him I fell squarely off the ladder into the pile of things. For some reason my illogical brain told me to not use my hand but my generous bottom to cushion the fall. I landed with a thud and brought everyone in the store to a halt. My friend looked at me in disbelief before bursting out laughing and saying, “The pipe bending machine has turned into an ass bending machine”.

I was bruised a bit in my hands but mainly was ok, though embarrassed. I used some sanitizer on the bruises and proceeded out of the store due while simultaneously the store staff were trying to find out if the hardware was ok. I then proceeded home and the next morning found it difficult to even get out of bed. It was the day I found out that my ass isn’t just fat but a muscle, which I had managed to tear. Yes, I have a ripped ass. All my life my ass has cheated me into thinking it is like a pillow. Nobody today in Zambia knows a ‘pain in the ass’ better than me.

The doctor was also enjoying himself when he said, “Look, I would have tried to pressure bandage it in some way to provide relief, provided the surface area was a lot smaller”.

Dooderonomy will resume later. Until then, goodbye.