Definitely Yes, Maybe II- (AR) END pg 65-1/12

PART 14:

FOUR WEEKS LATER:

There is nothing more grueling and demanding than a surgical rotation in Medical school. Sleepless nights, long hours in the Operating room peering over the surgical residents to get a glimpse of the surgery and working under grouchy interns who themselves have probably not slept in days had worn me out in the two weeks that I had been posted there. I looked forward to getting away from the hospital during my off hours and would find myself ending up at Rahul and Muskaan's place more often than not. Muskaan's mom, visiting from Punjab to take care of her daughter and new grandson was a generous host. More than my mom's cooking I looked forward to her fresh aloo paranthas or makke di roti and sarson da saag. It was also a reason for me to hang out with little Akash Garewal, their one month old son. Snuggling him in my arms was one of the most relaxing things these days. Muskaan was glad to hand him over to me while she caught up on her daily dose of Hindi Soaps on television.

"Hai rabba! Inhone Prem ko maar daala!" I was startled by her outburst one afternoon.

"Muskaan!" I shook her worriedly as she bawled in front of the TV set.

"Who is Prem?" I asked, worried that one of her relatives had passed away.

"Heer ka Prem!" She gave me a you-don't-know-who-Prem-is look.

"Heer? Prem? What are you talking about Muskaan?"

Muskaan's mom cleared her throat at her daughter's faux pas and left the room.

Hesitantly, I asked, "what do you know about Armaan and me?"

"Oh sorry jee," Muskaan apologized and squeezed my hand, "kya hai na….Rahul told me that you still love this man from Italy…..isn't that why you and Rahul never….?"

I nodded my head silently. Besides Rahul and Anjali, no one had ever heard about Armaan in my family or friend circle. Anjali had stopped trying to convince me to get 'over' him and Rahul had never mentioned his name after our walk on the Brooklyn Bridge. As far as I knew, mom and dad had no clue and were not in a hurry to get me married yet as they knew I was too busy with my career right now. After Anjali's wedding to Atul a year ago, mom was reassured that if her wild and restless daughter could settle down with a decent man, so would her younger one would, at the opportune time. Little did she know that I had no plans of getting married! Even if Armaan came back to my life miraculously, marriage to him still seemed farfetched, given our varied backgrounds and life histories. He was like the Kohinoor diamond in my life, I could remember and cherish, but never wear it on my finger.

"You're right Muskaan," I smiled, "but Rahul is lucky that Armaan came into my life……otherwise Rahul would have never known what he was missing," I touched her chin and teased her.

Gone were her tears. Her face lit up as usual whenever we talked about Rahul.

"Riddhima….you are right jee…..Rahul is very lucky! But you know Rahul would have never married you….you know why?"

"Why?" I asked quizzically.

'Because it was never meant to be…..dekhna….you and Armaan are meant to be…..it will happen…aaj nahin tho kal…zaroor hoga…..and if it doesn't happen……my cousin Harminder is still available jee!" We both burst out in laughter. Harminder had lately become the butt of our jokes as he had been touted as the most eligible bachelor of Punjab by Muskaan's mamaji, but was close to 40 and still single.

I punched Muskaan playfully, "yeah right! You and your eligible cousin! Anyways, marriage is certainly not the be-all and end-all in life…I'd rather die single than marry just for the sake of marrying."

"Riddhima," Muskaan became a little serious, "Mazaak chhodo tussi……what about Balwinder then? He is only thirty…..and pakka Punjabi munda!"

I picked a cushion from the sofa and threw it at her, "Muskaaaan! Stop it now!" I couldn't help laughing again. Soon, we were both rolling on the carpet in uncontrollable laughter till Rahul came back from work and stared at us curiously, "What happened? Everything OK?" He placed his briefcase and the New York Times he was carrying down on the coffee table and sat next to Muskaan.

"Excuse me guys….I think I should go now…..it's getting late," I composed myself and stifled my giggles as best as I could.

"No…no…Riddhima…sit…sit," Muskaan gestured.

"Got to go dear," I cleared my throat, 'Hey Rahul…..can I have the New York Times? I need something to read on the subway."

"Sure….I'm done……read the article about the economic rebound on Wall Street!" He smiled.

"I am so glad jee that you both didn't marry….warna dono sofa par baith kar sirf newspaper hi padhte rehte……romance shomance ki baatein kab karte?" Muskaan placed her head on Rahul's shoulder.

"Exactly!" I snapped my fingers, kissed little Aakash on his cheeks and walked out of their apartment, still giggly from my afternoon with Muskaan.

…………………………………………………….

IN THE SUBWAY TRAIN:

Muskaan words still rang distinctly in my ears, "you and Armaan are meant to be…..it will happen…aaj nahin tho kal…zaroor hoga…….." Even though I believed in what Muskaan had just said, as days went by, my hope was wearing away although my faith was unshaken.

To distract myself, I settled in a seat and skimmed through the newspaper. There was always a lot to read in the NYT. I remember how I used to race to the front door on Sunday mornings to be the first one to read the newspaper, but lately even the little pleasure of my past life had ceased to give me that thrill anymore.

As I was about to fold the paper back into my bag, a headline caught my attention:

SECRET SOCIETIES OF ITALY SHIFTING THEIR BASE TO AMERICA:

Any news about Italy rarely escaped my eye. I sat up and unfolded the paper to read what it said.

'Long known for their notorious mafia and secret societies, these Italian gangs seems to have travelled thousands of miles over the Atlantic and established base in various cities of America. New York seems to be a favorite of these small gangs which operate their network nefariously through various Italian businesses and stores in the Italian neighborhood of Little Italy of the city. Italians in America have an organization called the ''P2 society,'' strongly resembling that notorious secret society, the Mafia, in Italy. Various crimes of revenge and terrorism have lately been traced to this gang. The latest outrage in New York attributed to the ''P2 gang' occurred yesterday, when a bomb was thrown into the midst of a crowd of Italians who were dining at a restaurant in the heart of Little Italy. Even though the police managed to reach the sight, members of the gang managed to escape at the last moment. A name tag by the name Tony Lanza, believed to be one of the gang members was found at the sight of crime. The NY Police Department would greatly appreciate any leads into the identity of any of these gang members…….'

On an impulse, I got off the next station and took a taxi to the closest police station.

…………………………………………………….

POLICE STATION:

"So…Ms Riddhima Gupta…..how do you know Mr Tony Lanza?" I sat across the police superintendant, who seemed bemused rather than curious about how an Indian Medical student knew a potential gang member.

"I remember meeting him in Italy….three years ago…..he…he was kind of a guide at a local vineyard….uh..uh….that's all officer."

"Hmm….do you tend to remember all guides? Do you have any pictures?" He asked.

"No!" I wanted to say Tony-NO but Armaan-YES, but I didn't want to put Armaan's life in danger especially if he had nothing to do with this gang. " Well…..he helped me a lot….with …wine selections….travel..etc….that's why I remembered him…..and decided to help," I sat with my fingers crossed, "and…and I had no idea he was a potential criminal."

"Well no one has mafia or terrorist written on their forehead…do they Ms Gupta?" He chuckled, "Ok Ms Gupta….our artist will take you to the other room……please give us a description of the Tony Lanza as you remember him….and if we find him….we will call you to identify him….thanks for being a good citizen Ms Gupta."

"Thanks officer!"

I described the Tony Lanza, I still remembered vividly and to my surprise the artist had captured him pretty well on his canvas. My heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Tony again. Hopefully, he was my link to Armaan's whereabouts.

……………………………………………………….

A FEW DAYS LATER:

I was almost half asleep in the surgical call room one night, when my pager went off around midnight.

"Oh God!" I cursed the surgical senior resident, Steve who loved to work the medical students to death, for paging me for the umpteenth time that night.

"Hi Steve!" I called him back.

"Hey Ridz! Come on down to the ER! We have a number of gunshot wounds…..we could use some help here." Steve rattled off.

"I'll be right there," I jumped into my crocs, placed my stethoscope around my neck and slipped into my lab coat as fast as I could.

"Gunshot wounds?" I shuddered at the thought. I hated this surgical rotation- blood and gore were not my idea of medicine and becoming a doctor. I would be happy reading X-ray films in a dark room as a Radiologist or work with sick elderly people or harmless non violent babies when I was done with my training.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM:

"Hey Ridz! Go to Bay 12…..I am going to the OR with the chief," Steve caught me in the hallway and ordered, "ask the intern to take care of the two in Bay 14."

"What's in Bay 12 Steve?" I asked.

"He is stable….still conscious….so I want you to take a quick history and do a physical……and then join us in the OR…got it?" He rushed off and then turned around, "by the way…..he might be related to you."

'Related to me?" I frowned.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "Sameer Gupta…his name….you are a Gupta…aren't you?"

"Oh come on Steve!" I rolled my eyes, "Gupta is like Smith and Jones…..don't tell me all Smiths are related."

"Whatever!" He was out of sight as the sick-bleeding-to-death were being wheeled away to the OR.

I picked Sameer Gupta's chart and walked into Bay 12.

A man lay on his side, covered with the hospital bed sheet, his little bag pack next to his pillow and his forearm dangling from the head of the bed.

"Excuse me Mr. Sameer Gupta…..I am Riddhima Gupta…..a fourth year medical student….here to check you out."

I saw his body stiffen under the bed sheet, his arm stir a little as he let out a groan. I looked over his chart once again- he had been shot in the left arm and left leg as per the nurse's notes, but there was no reason to believe that he couldn't talk or move.

"Mr Sameer," I placed my hand lightly on the bed sheet, "can I talk to you sir? I need to ask you a few questions."

I felt his arm left arm stir under the bed sheet as I touched him.

"Oh…I am sorry…does that hurt?" Quickly, I withdrew my hand.

He groaned but shook his head, buried in the pillow.

"Do you prefer to talk in Hindi?" I asked. It was not unusual to run into people in New York who were recent immigrants, and preferred their native language especially if they came from the interiors of India.

He shook his head again.

"Can I have a look at your wound?" I asked impatiently and without his permission slipped the bed sheet off his wounded arm.

My world came to a standstill the moment I saw his exposed arm. The tattoos were distinctive-unmistakable, even though they were partially hidden by a blood soaked bandage around his upper arm.

"ARMAAN?" I stood agape, the bed sheet trembling in my hands as he raised his wounded arm to cover his face.

Eyes which had shed pools of tears over the last three years suddenly became numb and bone dry. Vivid scenarios of this moment had filled my mind and dreams over the past three years, but never in my wildest imagination had I visualized such a meeting.

"I am Sameer," he groaned, "Sameer Gupta." His husky drone buried in the pillow.

Liar! I wanted to say. In the three years I had spent away from him, I had come to know him better than in the three days that I had spent with him. I knew he was lying once again. He was hiding from me. That's why he had stiffened under the bed sheet when he had heard me introduce myself.

"I know you are Armaan….because only he can hide from me the way you are……" My voice choked with mixed emotions of anger and pain.

"You are mistaken signo..," he paused, "mistaken Dr Gupta."

"I am not a doctor yet….I am just a medical student." I replied as coldly as I could.

"I am Sameer Ms Gupta," he growled against the pillow.

"What 's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Romeo and Juliet, 2. 2" My voice quivered as I recited Shakespeare the way he had in the balcony three years ago.

I saw his body shake as if he was sobbing in the pillow. Pursing my lips and swallowing my tears, I quietly undid the soaked bandage around his arm. As my fingers brushed against his wounded arm, he lifted his face from the pillow gradually and turned over on his back.

We were face to face now. I saw a flicker of a smile on his face as he gazed at me longingly. The smile soon vanished, his invisible 'Sameer' mask back on his face.

[YOUTUBE]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgDsU2HhPQ4[/YOUTUBE]

(Lakshya)

Hariharan:
Kitni baatein yaad aati hai
Tasveerein si ban jaati hain
Main kaise inhein bhooloon
Dil ko kya samjhaaun

Sadhana:
Kitni baatein kehne ki hai
Honton par jo sehmi si hai
Ik roz inhein sun lo
Kyun aise gum-sum ho

Hariharan:
Kyun poori ho na paayi daastaan

Sadhana:
Kaise aayi hai aisi dooriyaan

Hariharan:
Dono ke dilon mein chhupa hai
Jo ik anjaana sa gham
Kya ho paayega woh kam
Koyi kya kahe

Sadhana:
Dono ne kabhi zindagi ke
Ik mod pe bhi jo paayi
Hai kaisi woh tanhaai
Koyi kya kahe

Hariharan:
Kitna viraan hai ye sama

Sadhana:
Saanson mein jaise ghulta hai dhuwaan
Kaisi aayi hai aisi dooriyaan

Hariharan:
Kitni baatein yaad aati hai
Tasveerein si ban jaati hain
Main kaise inhein bhooloon

Sadhana:
Tumse aaj yun milke dil ko
Yaad aaye lamhein kal ke
Ye aansoon kyun hai chhalke
Ab kya kahen

Hariharan:
Tumne hamko dekha jo aise
Toh ik umeed hai jaagi
Phir tumse pyaar paane ki
Ab kya kahen

Sadhana:
Aa gaye ham kahaan se kahaan

Hariharan:
Dekhe mudke ye dil ka kaarvaan
Kaisi aayi hai aisi dooriyaan

Sadhana:
Kitni baatein kehne ki hai
Honton par jo sehmi si hai
Ik roz inhein sunlo
Kyun aise gum-sum ho

Hariharan:
Kitni baatein yaad aati hai
Tasveerein si ban jaati hain
Main kaise inhein bhooloon
Dil ko kya samjhaaun

Unshaven, disheveled and worn out, he could have passed off as an unfamiliar Sameer Gupta just like he claimed, but his transparent blue eyes were unmistakable. I had learnt to read those eyes long before I knew I was in love with them. Who was he trying to fool? Our gazes held each other for a long time; memories rushed back once again. Love, anger, happiness, ecstasy and rage all wanted an outlet from my suppressed emotions of three years. I had lots of questions but his soulful eyes answered the most important question lingering in my mind- yes, he was Armaan and yes, he did love me even if his words denied it.

'Armaan," My voice cracked; I touched his face gently but he averted his gaze.

"Trust me….Ms Riddhima…..I am Sameer." He repeated and lowered his eyes.

"By repeating that name, are you trying to convince yourself that you are Sameer?" I gave him a wry smile and then froze the moment the blood soaked bandage fell off his arm. He gave me an incredulous look; I am sure my words rang a bell inside the so called 'Sameer Gupta.' I distinctively recalled our conversation in Italy when I kept harping on the fact that I was engaged and he had teased me then that by repeating those words, I was convincing myself of being engaged rather than convincing him.

I must have turned as pale as ghost at the sight of his wounded arm, when he held my arm firmly, "Riddhima! Riddhima! Are you okay?"

Lines of worry crossed his brow as his firm grip prevented me from falling over.

"If you are Sameer…..why do you care about me?" I caught hold of my balance.

He sat with his head lowered, silent.

I composed myself and wore my medical hat once again. "You don't have to answer that question……because I know the answer…..anyways…..how…how did this happen?" My hands trembled as my heart secretly wept to see the wound on his arm.

"Accident," he turned his face away and stared at my hands.

"What kind of accident?" I asked matter-of-factly and checked his wound thoroughly.

"Just….just a drive by shooting."

"Armaan," I replied softly, "Why are you hiding yourself? Are you in danger?"

"Riddhima…..please don't ask too many questions right now…..I can't tell you anything."

"Why Gupta?" I asked as I cleaned his wound with an antiseptic, "why did you choose Gupta?"

"So I can…I can," he paused.

"So you can still be a part of me?" I asked, gazing into his eyes.

"You have changed Riddhima," he gazed back into my eyes, a faint smile on his face.

"Armaan……three years….some things change." I covered up his wound and buzzed the nurse to get ready for the OR, "and some…..never change." I added softly and washed my hands.

"Riddhima……where is your…?" His finger pointed at my bare ring finger.

"If you are Sameer….why do you care?" I taunted him.

"All men like to fish," he chuckled, his characteristic dimpled smile back, peeping through his unshaven bristles, "even when wounded….especially if there is a beautiful medical student in the room."

"You haven't changed," I chuckled sarcastically, "well the answer to your question is……I am on surgery…..no jewelry allowed in the OR." I deflected his curiosity. There was no way I was going to open my book of life to this man without knowing his side of the story.

"Oh…I see," he moaned and then suddenly turned pale. I was startled to see the bed sheet covering his legs turn crimson red as blood gushed out from his wound on his thigh.

"NURSE!" I buzzed the intercom, "bring some ice packs and pressure bandages right away…..and inform the OR that Mr. Sameer Gupta is on his way."

"R..I..DHIMAA!" His hand flailed on the bed as he tried to reach out for me.

As the nurses and ER doctors attended to him, I squeezed his hand, "Sameer….you will be alright…..we are taking you upstairs…..don't worry….I will never let anything happen to you," I assured him. The ER staff gave us a curious look at our bond, but never asked any questions.

"He is my relative….Gupta….," I forced a smile at the staff and allayed all their doubts.

As they were wheeling him away, I saw his bag which had been lying beside his head. It had accidentally slipped to the floor. I was about to run after them, but decided to keep the bag with me.

"Excuse me!" A cop interrupted my thoughts.

'Yes officer…..can we ask you some questions about the patient they just took to the OR?"

"Mr Sameer Gupta?" I asked.

'Yes…..did he give you any personal information?"

"Uh…no…not really….we never had time….he was badly wounded," I fumbled a little and hid his bag behind my legs.

"Any personal itmes? Bag? Did he have anything with him?"

"Uh…well….I really don't know officer," I shielded the bag as best as I could.

"Thanks Ms…uh? Gupta," he read my badge, "medical student?"

'Yes officer," I replied.

"Good! Be careful…..all these members who landed up here tonight are dangerous….part of some gang….watch out dear."

'Sure officer," I prayed for his quick exit. As soon as he left, I dashed with the bag tucked inside my lab coat and hid it inside my locker as fast as I could. I had promised that I would take care of him, just like he had ensured my safety- I would ensure he would be safe and far from the probing eyes of the law.

…………….to be contd……………

wonderful update.👏.....now i'm impatient to read the next part..lol😆...and i hope she rummages through his bag and finds the letter he wrote earlier...😉...and i know its weird..but i had imagined these two would eventually meet in the hospital with armaan being rushed in for medical care...weird...