Hey guys!
Long time no see.. well i missed writing here.. it was just that i was lacking initiative..i guess. but this fic is dedicated to smriti for encouraging me to write again.
here it goes:
It's not everyday that you get to meet someone who wants to live. I get calls day and night; I make appointments; I soothe them; and they still die. It's a part of life, I guess. All I'm trying to do is to continue the game, to make sure that someone is out there with a bat to strike the ball over; scoring one more day for his life. Though they all die at the end, that one day.. that one day makes a difference in my life. One day is twenty four hours.. I pass every second of those twenty four hours thinking of how the next second could be their last; and I feel an incredible satisfaction when I hear, "Hey, lady, I'm okay."
I, Anvesha Banerjee Ray, am a suicide helper. In short, my job is getting appointments and persuading people not to die. My job is to give them their lives back.
My first appointment today was a young man. He seems to be of my age, just a little taller than me. He stares at me as I enter the room; and it's his lips which fascinate me the most. His lips were plump, red and swollen, and they kept on twitching every minute. He didn't waste any time, none at all. He was the first patient I've ever had who seemed more confident than the doctor, and for the first time in my career, I felt self conscious.
"So you're Yuvraj Dev." I guess that was the last straw for him. He slammed his hands on the table and started speaking, "Yes, I'm Yuvraj Dev. I'm twenty six years old, and I work in a research company, which ironically, tries to produce antibiotics to cure diseases. And before you go asking me about what I've achieved or not in my life, I will tell you this. You are not the first therapist I'm visiting, but I can bet you my life you are my last. I am sick of this ; sick and tired of going from person to person who pretend they're listening to what I have to say. But you know what? Somewhere inside you; you don't give a shit about what's happening to me."
He seemed to relax marginally and sit down, "I want someone to care. And then, I want to die knowing that there will be someone sitting by my body crying."
I stared at him speechless. Never have I met such a young man who has the nerve to tell me what I'm doing is right or wrong. But my anger slowly ebbs away and I realize that he is right. He is, in fact, so hundred percent right that I feel ashamed of myself, and almost give my faade away. But all I do to retaliate is to utter a few words, "I don't want you to die."
"And why not?" he shot back, apparently he is used to these lines.
"Because you're my patient.. and I don't want you to.. what I'm trying to say is that.. you know I think you're right.. but why death? I mean why do you want to die? I mean you will only die, it will not make matter easier, and then I have to--"
"Lady?" he cut her off, "you're blabbing."
I had the grace to blush, and he continued, "You know what it is? You're scared. You're scared of dying and you're scared of handling deaths. Believe me, it's not such a big deal. All you do is suddenly stop breathing. And then you don't have a worry in the world. You know what the worst part is lady? The worst part is the second before you're dying, when you have so much to tell the whole world that you repent not spending more time on everything in your life. The worst part is to know that you've so much to say to so many people that you don't even know how to start. And at the corner of the room, Death is standing with a stop watch. And you can't resist him."
He was very close to me now, and was almost whispering. For a second I wondered who was the therapist and who was the patient, but then the moment was gone, "Listen, when I go out of this room, you will never see me again. Tomorrow morning, there will be an obituary in the newspaper, and you'll know it's me. You're a nice lady, and this is what I want you to do. Life is short; and even though it seems incredibly long, you'll realize that there's never enough time for anything. Just try to relax and enjoy. Feed the birds, dance in the rain, eat an ice cream even though you're freezing, and learn to skate. Then you can say before dying that you haven't climbed the Eiffel Tower, but hell, you know how to live. I want you to live. And I want you to live for yourself. Life is short and sweet, or short and bitter; but the bottom line is this: it's short. And I want you to spend every moment of your life showing the 16 pairs of teeth you possess to the world. And I want you to promise me that."
And then he leaned forward for his promise and I hugged him. I don't know if it was an impulse, or if his speeches have touched me, but it felt like the right thing to do. I hugged him tightly until he almost choked; and I guess he understood that it was my promise to him.
He realized that the sleeve of his shirt was wet when he was near the door, and his cheeks were dry. He stopped for one last time and smiled back.
Well.. hope you liked it.. and please do comment, because they are things that keep me going.
love,
shreyasi
Cricket
