A/N: Hey there everyone! :D :D Here is the next update! :D :D
Small note: Extracts have been taken from 'The Kite Runner' to describe situations over here, so that's a small disclaimer.
Happy Reading! :D :D
18th February, 2001:
Sometimes, one moment can change your entire life. It could be for the best or for the worst, I don't know. All I know is that your life never remains the same after it. Mine isn't. Not anymore.
Nearly a month ago, I led a simple, happy life. A life that felt foreign to me, but it was something that I loved nonetheless. Maybe it wasn't meant to last forever. Or maybe I threw it away because it was something I could never fit into. My life in this one month is something I can only remember in fragments, but even what I do remember makes me want to fling myself off from somewhere. Oh right, that's out of option for me.
How does one jump when he cannot use his legs anymore?
I will never regret saving Mota Babuji's life that day at the factory nor will I ever resent the fact that I chose to go to the factory that day instead of Ishaani. It won't be a question ever, because my life is less worthy than his, or Ishaani's. The only thing I regret is ending things with Ishaani on such a bad note because somehow, I cannot speak to her at all no matter how much she tries. I haven't spoken to anyone much, really, in this one month. Not even Maa or Baba, so Ishaani is still a far shot. Doctors say that I'm still in shock of what's happened to me. Shock seems such a petty word; I could tear my lungs shouting at the top of my voice for the pain in my heart to stop and it won't even take away a drop of it.
The doctors also say that I need to talk about what happened with me that day so that I can relieve myself of all the emotions that I'm blocking out. Maybe that's why I haven't cried so far - because I can't. I'm cold; I'm numb. Besides, what's the point of talking about something everybody already knows about? But fine, since the doctors think that it will work, let me see how much it does. This is the first time Maa has let me use my hands for any writing work, and I choose to let you know.
I'll tell you all about what I remember from the day of my accident, undiluted and the exact way I remember perceiving things through the snatches of memories I have.
We went to the factory, we were taking a tour around the place, I saw that hot rod about to fall upon Mota Babuji and I did the first thing that came to my mind - push him out of the way. But what hit me next was ceaseless, suspended, excruciating agony that lasted for an eternity. An eternity after which I felt my knees buckle and my world begin to fade, the noise and light following into peace and dark.
It was about then that I passed out.
-x-
Faces poke through the haze, linger, fade peer down, ask me questions. They all ask questions. Do I know who I am? Do I hurt anywhere? I know who I am and I hurt everywhere. I want to tell them this but talking hurts.
I know this because some time ago, maybe a year ago, may be two, maybe ten, I tried to push a man with half-mooned spectacles and a yellow helmet out of harm's way. The man, yes. I see him now. We are in a car of sorts, the man and I, and I don't think Baba is driving the car because Baba never drives this fast. I want to say something to this man - it seems very important that I do. But I don't remember what I want to say, or why it might have been important. Maybe I want to tell him to stop crying, that everything will be all right now. Maybe not.
For some reason I can't think of, I want to thank the man.
-x-
Faces. They're all wearing green hats. They slip in and out of view. They talk rapidly, use words I don't understand. I hear other voices, other noises, beeps and alarms. And always more faces. Peering down. I don't remember any of them, except for the one with the gel in his hair and the Amitabh Bachchan mustache, the one with the funny cross on his cap. That's funny. I want to laugh now. But laughing hurts too.
I fade out.
-x-
She says her name is Parvati, like Lord Shiv's wife'. Her graying hair is parted in the middle and tied in a ponytail, her nose pierced with a stud shaped like the sun. She wears bifocals that make her eyes bug out. She wears green too and her hands are soft. She sees me looking at her and smiles. Says something in English. Something is jabbing at the side of my chest.
I fade out.
-x-
A man is standing by my bed stand. I know him. He is normal-complexioned and slightly stout, has kind eyes. He wears spectacles too - what are those spectacles called? Half-mooned? Wears it slightly tilted like a famous person whose name escapes me now. I know this man. He let my head rest upon his lap when I was being driven somewhere many years ago. I know him. There is something wrong with my mouth. I hear a bubbling sound.
I fade out.
-x-
My right arm burns. The woman with the bifocals and the sun-shaped stud is hunched over my arm, attaching a clear plastic tubing near my arm. She says it's the Potassium'. It stings like a bee, no?' she asks. And God, it does! What's her name though? Something to do with a Lord. I know her too from a few years ago. She used to wear her hair in a ponytail. Now it's pulled back, tied in a plait. Ishaani wore her hair like that when we first spoke. When was that? Last week? Parvati! Yes.
There is something wrong with my mouth. And that thing jabbing at my chest.
I fade out.
-x-
I'm back into the mists of my dream and I can see a girl edging towards the end of something I cannot see, but I know is certain to be there. She is the girl of my dreams - Love - the woman who could sweep everybody off of her feet, not the one who petrified me beyond what I could ever describe. I run towards her just as I see her luscious hair fly, feeling her staring at someone who was following her. The boy chuckles, or maybe it's Love. I inch closer just as the boy is staring down the cliff, talking to Love who was now suspended mid-air, looking curious. He suddenly looks up at me before jumping off the cliff and I see. He's me.
I wake up. The stout man is back at my bedside. He is my Mota Babuji, I remember now, and with him are my parents. The former's face reminds me of a girl who has beautiful black eyes. I'm thirsty.
I fade out.
I keep fading in and out.
-x-
The name of the man with the Amitabh Bachchan mustache turned out to be Dr. Rastogi. He wasn't a super star at all, but a surgeon. 'Where am I?' is what I wanted to ask but my mouth wouldn't open. I frowned. Grunted.
The doctor smiled; his teeth were blinding white.
"Not yet, Ranveer," he said, "but soon. When the wires will be out." He spoke English with a thick, rolling Parsi accent. The doctor crossed his arms; he had hairy forearms and wore a gold wedding band.
"You must be wondering where you are, what happened to you. That's perfectly normal, the post-surgical state is always disorienting. So I'll tell you what I know."
I want to ask him about the wires. Post-surgical? Where was Parvati? I wanted her to smile at me, wanted her soft hands in mine.
The doctor frowned, cocking one eyebrow in a slightly self-important way. "You are in a hospital and you've been here for five days. You have suffered some very significant injuries, Ranveer, I should tell you. I would say that you're very lucky to be alive, son."
He swayed his index finger back and forth like a pendulum when he said this.
"The rod nearly got you through and through and caused you to enter into a neurogenic shock. My friends from the neurology department had to perform an emergency surgery for you were beginning to have an internal bleeding. Had we gotten to you a little later, you wouldn't have made it. Infact you've barely made it at all," he explained further, patting me on the arm with the IV just as he plunged something into it, and smiled. "You also suffered from a broken rib that caused a pneumothorax."
I frowned. Tried to open my mouth. Remembered about the wires.
"That means a punctured lung," the doctor clarified. He tugged at a clear plastic tubing to my left. I felt the jabbing again in my chest. "We sealed the leak with this chest tube." I followed the tube poking through bandages on my chest to a container half-filled with columns of water. The bubbling sound came from there.
"You haven't suffered from any other laceration except the one the entry wound has left you," the doctor said. "The impact it had left a rather nasty mark on your back. It will get much, much better with time, though there will be a scar. That is unavoidable."
I nod my head and stare at him blankly. I try to shuffle on the bed but I find myself stationary. Maybe I'm too tired to move.
I fade out.
-x-
I wake up to find Mota Babuji next to me, staring at me with a complex look upon his face. The moment he sees me awake, however, it quickly turns into a small smile. He raises my bed so that I'm in a much more comfortable position, while he smiles at me gently.
"How do you feel now?"
"Better," I wheeze out slowly, but even that cost me air. The doctor had rid me of the chest tubes and wires finally, and had now kept me on just oxygen. I find it very, very hard to breathe, and at times, it feels as though the air betrays me.
"Good," he says, patting my hand. I look at the window and ask him slowly.
"Days?" I whisper now, not wanting to waste away another gulp of precious air.
"It's your eighth day over here today," he replies back, stroking my head lovingly.
I nod my head and try to move, but I find myself incapable to move at all. But I was considerably stronger than what I was when I last tried to settle myself. Why couldn't I move myself now? I try harder and harder to move myself but my legs wouldn't simply budge. But it doesn't make sense - I can feel the cold metal of the bed touch my toes, then why can't I move them? I try harder and harder, unaware about how Mota Babuji was trying to restrain me from doing any damage. But I have no care about the world - why aren't my legs moving?
"Ranveer... No, stop it... Ranveer!" he yells finally and I cease trying immediately, turning to look at him fearfully. But what I see shocks me - Mota Babuji continues to stare at me but I can see him tremble, tears threatening to fall from his eyes while his face is now completely pale. I cannot understand anything for nothing makes sense. Unless...
"Please... Please..." I croak again, hoping that he would understand what I wanted to know. What I needed to know. The wait was making my breath cease.
"Ranveer, the doctors... When they had to operate upon you, you had an injury in your spinal cord because of which you've lost your motor functions from your lower half. You... You won't be able to move your legs at all, atleast not without- Ranveer? Ranveer!"
But I cannot draw in any breath. I don't know whether it was the shock of knowing that I was paralyzed from the lower half of my body or the fact that I tried so hard to defy what he said that I managed to snuff out all the air from the lungs, but either way I couldn't seem to draw in any air at all. Mota Babuji stares at me in shock as he raises an alarm, simultaneously rubbing my chest to ease me out.
"Can't... breathe..." is all I manage to say once as I find my world dimming away, not before several faces suddenly pop in front of me.
I fade out once again.
-x-
I stare at the wall blankly. That's all that I can do, really. After the whole panic that I created five days ago, the doctors had kept me on a slightly higher dose of sedatives for the shock of the event to sink in, but they don't seem too happy. Maybe that's why they took me off of it yesterday. I haven't really spoken to any one since that day, and in spite of everyone trying to assure me that everything would be alright, I can see how hopeless they all are. Not all of them - I can't vouch for Ishaani. She hasn't been here to visit me yet.
The only source of relief that I might had remotely felt was when the doctor told me that I would regain my motor functions back because my injury was of an incomplete nature. There are a lot of terms that I don't understand about my condition at all, and yet all of them are crucial to my well-being. The only three distinct terms that I've managed to hold on to are 'neurogenic shock', 'T5 injury' and 'pneumothorax'. The doctors say that my lungs are making a steady recovery so my breathing problems are to be sorted soon.
But about my legs, there is no guarantee yet. I could get the movement back in it completely in as soon as three months, or maybe after years. Maybe not at all. All it depended upon was my will. Will, yeah right. It's so easy to say 'you can't lose faith', or 'you need to fight', or even how 'you need to have strong will'. Live in my shoes this moment and then tell me about it.
And voila, look who's here.
Ishaani enters the room meekly and somehow, I have it in me to stare into her eyes directly, just as she does. I cannot fathom what she's thinking, but she doesn't look too alright to me. That doesn't deter me from trying to channel my imploding frustration over her, even though I fail miserably. It only implodes within myself more, making me feel reasonably sick. Ishaani, in turn, comes and takes a seat beside my bedside, speaking blankly.
"I hate you." I don't bother to reply; she doesn't wait for one.
"You did this on purpose now, didn't you?" she asks once again, this time her voice choking. I only cock an eyebrow in question, but otherwise remain silent. She ploughs on further.
"When I asked you to take care of Papa, I did not mean to get yourself killed. There's a difference between the two," she tells me quietly. I still remain silent, but this time I turn my face away from hers, not letting her see the only tear fall from my eye in those thirteen days.
She doesn't wait for a response. She gets up and walks out from the door.
I fade out for the last time.
-x-
I was discharged three days later on a wheelchair, a three-hour appointment with the physiotherapist daily who would be coming home to have the sessions. The doctors said that the shock was something I needed to come out of on my own for there was no cure for it. Nobody particularly looked happy with my situation and I could see how much agony I was causing them all, but I couldn't help it.
I cannot help it.
And since then, every day has been the same. I constantly lie on my bed the entire day, everyone catering and tending to my needs. Even Baa comes to visit me twice a day and gives me some sort of a traditional kadha to have for strength. On any occasion, I would have jumped with joy at the fact that she was doing so much, but today... nothing matters to me anymore. It is as though I've been sucked into a vortex of darkness from which there is no rescuing. I've submitted myself to a world where there can never be any love, any happiness, any life.
Mota Babuji is paying for all my treatments, Maa and Baba are working day and night to make me well, but I'm a cold shell. The kids and Falguni Maa try their best to engage me into conversations, but I can barely concentrate for more than five minutes. And Ishaani... well, we never talk. She sits by my side for hours without speaking a word and then leaves, that's all. That's all we can do now. I don't know why she's putting up with me; I don't know why she's wasting her time upon me. And no matter how much I pray to God, nothing works.
I haven't gone out anywhere. I've been home for exactly fifteen days, and I've only seen the four walls of our room and the rays of the sun entering through the windows. My friends and teachers from school have come and visited me, telling me kind words, strong words. I haven't been to school in a month, and my teachers brought me my results for the internals - 92%. This might probably be the last exam I give. Henceforth, I won't be able to take part in any of the events at all.
This is it.
This is my concrete coffin staring at me.
But no matter how much I try, I cannot bring myself up to accept the fact that this is going to be my life. And yet, my fear outdoes my will. My physiotherapy sessions aren't yielding even the slightest of results so far. The doctor says that it's too early for any progress to happen and that we need to work harder, but my thin hopes are already sinking.
So am I.
Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D
Next chapter:
Epistle 32
Rihana, yearning to break free from the predetermined fate of being a tawaif's ...
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