PriVeer TS: When The Tides Turn.
"There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own."
Failure had a smell.
ACP Ranveer Randhawa wasn't a stranger to it. He couldn't be, considering his job. During his early days of training at the police academy, the smell of failure was what he had anticipated. The smell of acid and charred skin of some woman who was a victim of some entitled bas***d. Or the smell of the garbage and piss on the narrow lanes of chawls where he had chased many a goons. It was the smell of desi tharra that most of the bars reeked of, as many a men sat there tired of their lives and themselves, searching for distraction in a mindless brawl. Failure's smell also consisted of the clean, antiseptic smell which lingered in the hospitals he frequented to check upon the victims of random, senseless, violent crimes. Ranveer was accustomed to it. It was what he had expected, really.
It had been only after some years during which he had proved himself to be capable of the title of ACP that now adorned his uniform that he realized that his world view had been too narrow. Too stereotypical. For failure was not only found in filthy chawl streets and unruly bars. It was also found in the most elegant seven star hotels where a high end escort was made available for a politician in his autumn years. And in page three parties where the scions of prominent families chugged white powder like it was manna from heaven. In a case of domestic abuse which was then discounted as a lovers tiff, the evidence hidden in heavy make-up and expensive jewellery.
So, yes.
Failure had a smell. He had become indifferent to it, eventually. It had been easy to see that humans were a f**ked up species doing f**ked up things. Money, name and fame made monsters out of people. He wasn't really surprised with what people were capable of. Bothered? Yes. Enraged? Sure. Did he want to lock each of these scums so deep into the prison that they never saw the light of the day? Definitely. But he wasn't disappointed by the heinous crimes committed by them. He had stopped expecting good of people. And he didn't know, considering his uniform, if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
So it was ironic, then, that ACP Ranveer Randhawa was very much taken by surprise when the whole incident with his Di took place. He, who had hardened his heart to tears. He, who looked deadly criminals in the eye without flinching. He, who had seen more blood than he cared to admit, he lost his breakfast on the way to the site of the accident.
He remembered the day quite clearly. He had been going through the files, working on a case of an extortion deal gone wrong leading to a homicide when the call had come. His first instinct had been to chastise Verma for bothering him when he was working on something so important. It was only after a minute that he turned his attention from the file to the voice on the other end of receiver. Fragmented words, broken sentences reached his consciousness. Accident. Hit and run. Doesn't look good. Blood. Di.
By the time they had reached the accident site, his legs shaking as he ran towards the crowd of police officers, they had already taken Di away in an ambulance. But Ranveer had seen the blood. So much blood. He had almost thrown up a second time. He remembered Verma telling him about the details but he couldn't understand a thing he was saying. All he could see was the red, some of which had seeped into the ground. How could one tiny human contain so much blood? He turned around and raced to the hospital.
The drive to the hospital could have taken five minutes or five hours. He didn't remember. Time had lost all meaning. He probably shouldn't have been driving in his condition but in that moment, he didn't give a damn. He had rushed through the corridors, going from the general ward to ICUs to Operation theatres. With each step, his dread increased. Coldness seemed to make a home in his bones, making it hard to walk. But he walked. His feet had taken him to his destination, like they knew. He knew. He had put his palm against the wall, knees bent, head bowed as he had struggled to breathe. He was drowning and there was not an anchor in sight. He had a hazy recollection of a nurse asking him if he was okay, if he needed the doctor, needed help. He almost laughed, then. Nothing could help him now. Years of training finally clicked into place and he pushed the panic down and pulled open the gate of the morgue.
It hadn't been hard to find her. There was a tag neatly placed with all her details. Aarti Randhawa. Thirty four. Dead on arrival. Cause of death: head trauma and blood loss. Ranveer had dropped to his knees and stared at the cold hard ground until the nurse had come and gently walked him out of the morgue.
He had listened emotionlessly to the doctor, staring at the white walls as he explained his Di's injuries in detail. About how her head had most probably banged on a rock as the car had hit her. How her skull had been fractured. How the right side of her brain was so squished from the impact that it had moved onto the left. And how all of it was fatal but maybe there would have been hope if only she had been brought to the hospital on time.
He had looked at the doctor then. Gave him a look of such anguish that the doctor, who was a professional and accustomed to giving the news of regrettable death to relatives, had flinched away from him. Like his grief was contagious. Like he would burn down the whole city. Maybe it was. Maybe he would. Maybe he'd start with this bloody hospital.
A crying baby in the arms of his mother had brought him out of his reverie. And it was then he realised that his world was not yet finished being destroyed, that fate was a lot crueller than he had ever anticipated. Because it was then he remembered what he had forgotten in his panic.
Aryaveer.
Itti Si Khushi Sab TV
Udne Ki Aasha
