Author's Note: Felt like writing something sad and angsty after reading Kri's awesome bittersweet story.
Ashes & Smoke
In the ten years I’ve been practicing surgery I’ve lost many patients, but none haunt me as much as her. I’ve had nightmares all week, as I’ve tended to do whenever her death anniversary draws near. I can still see her body, all torn up and mangled inside. I can still hear the beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor turning into the tone of a flatline. I can still smell the stench of blood and sterile chemicals. I can still feel her warm hand as I grasped it, begging her not to leave me. And I can still taste the salt of my tears as they dripped down my mask and into my mouth. In an instant, my world shattered. I broke down in the operation theater and howled in agony.
When she was being wheeled in I didn’t even recognize her at first, half her face was destroyed by the impact. It was only when I heard her whisper-moan “Abhay” that I realized in horror who she was. The adrenaline turned to ice in my veins at the sound. It was the late shift and no other surgeon was available. There was no time to call anyone. I would have to be the one to cut her open, to keep my hands from shaking at every incision and every stitch in a desperate bid to save her life. In the end, I couldn’t do enough.
Today I’m the head of the Emergency Department, a position I’ve worked to achieve with great dedication and determination. I gave up my dream to fulfill hers. I couldn’t save her, but I could keep her dream alive. While I felt bad about letting down my mother, I know she would support me if she had the faculties to understand why I did it. After all, she too had madly loved someone one-sidedly.
Even now, when I hear that a young woman who’s been in a car crash has been brought to the ER, chills run down my spine and I instantly think of her.
Around this time of year, everyone knows why I get quiet and moody. They all try in their own way to console me.
Peroz attempts to be my therapist, but he’s unable to really offer me solace.
Sia makes sure to call me. She never mentions the incident. She talks only about casual things and chit-chat in order to divert my attention.
Esha sends me a postcard from whatever part of the world she’s currently at.
Ansari simply texts me:
“Yeh jo saala dard hain naa… isse kabhi rishta todne ka nahin. Bole toh, dard bhi ekdum khaas ehsaas hain. Jab tak tereko dard mehsoos hota hain, tab tak tu zinda hain. Aur agar zyaada takleef ho toh apun ko phone karna.
(This stupid pain… never break your relationship with it. Meaning, pain is also a very special feeling. As long as you can feel pain, you are alive. And if you become too troubled, call me.)”
Prince brings me a tiffin made by his wife, to make sure I eat.
Madhavi Tai offers extra prayers at the temple, and brings me prasad.
Aai is often too ill and too far gone to recall what happened, but when I lay my head in her lap and she runs her hands gently through my hair, like how she used to soothe me as a child. And for a few moments I do feel better.
PC (Dr. Chakravorty lets me call him PC now) will come and reminisce with me about her.
Dr. Ali is maybe the only one that really understands. He neither offers advice or tries to boost my morale. He simply silently sits with me in support.
These people have been my rock ever since the catastrophe, though life has taken us in different directions and locations, we keep in touch as much as we can.
My batch of surgery residents of FMS have been separated for a while. Only Peroz and I are left at FMS. Peroz decided on being an Intensivist. Sia runs a private plastic surgery practice in Australia. She’s married and recently had a baby. After the incident, she and Peroz both came to me. Esha and Ansari joined too, silence conveying what couldn’t be said in words. No grudges, no rivalries, no apologies, no condolences, no words spoken at all. Just a group of friends quietly sharing their grief in a tight huddle.
Ansari left not long after Sia did. He practices general surgery at a hospital in Pune and has become head of the department there. I’m not sure exactly what transpired between Ansari and Sia. Peroz had vaguely mentioned something about “Sia 2.0” and payback. I didn’t press, nor did I question Sia. There was a guilt in her eyes that I recognized too well. Although they eventually became cordial with each other, the hurt ran deep, and they never engaged in their previous style of banter.
Peroz and Esha dated for a bit. They broke up but stayed friends. Peroz is engaged to a research scientist he met at a convention. Esha travels a lot and does charity work as a doctor, providing medical care to the less fortunate and those in low accessibility areas. She still has a side-gig as an “influencer” and uses her social media presence to raise money for the charities she works with.
Aside from these people, there’s one more person I share a special kinship with, Dr. Aditi Saxena. Despite the huge betrayal of trust by her late husband, she never remarried or dropped his surname. She did, however, finally seek a small slice of happiness for herself. She adopted a baby girl, who is now five years old. Aditi was nervous about being a single parent, but I assured her that my mother had raised me single-handedly and she could too. Furthermore, Aditi had the support of many people, me included.
Tomorrow, Aditi will fly in from Patna to join me for the shradh (ceremony performed in the honor of the dead). She will be mourning a man with whom she shared a past and I will mourn a woman who lost her future. We’ve performed this ceremony together for the past ten years without fail, just like how we stared at the bodies in the morgue together that night.
It’s impossible to know exactly why Deepika got in the car with Vikrant that night. Whether he forced her or she went willingly I don’t know. I’m sure she would’ve never consented to go with him had she known he was high at the time. The post-mortem tox screens revealed as much. Perhaps the crash was an accident due to Vikrant being under the influence. Or he deliberately wrecked the car to punish Deepika for refusing to continue their affair. All we know for sure is that by the time the paramedics arrived Vikrant was dead at the scene and Deepika’s fate… Well, I’ve already recounted what happened to her.
Her family came to perform her last rites. I think that would’ve made her happy. It’s unfortunate that reconciliations between families often come too late. Her brother lit the funeral pyre. I was there to watch. In the end, all that was left was ashes and smoke.
I retreat to my cabin to complete some paperwork. This was Deepika’s old cabin. Her successor had made some changes to it, and when I took over I attempted to put it back the way it was as much as possible. I even keep her old nameplate next to mine. Every time I get a new batch of junior residents they ask about it, and I tell them Deepika’s story. How she was a bright, passionate, brave and caring doctor with an unshakeable dream.
There is a portrait of her hung on the wall. I refuse to put a garland on it, not because I’m in delusion of her death, but because here in her cabin I feel her presence acutely. Sometimes I imagine her, still advising me. I tell her about my day and I ask her for her opinion on a diagnosis or treatment plan. I complain about Jamshed, or crack a joke about my residents. I discuss how PC keeps talking about retirement, then delays it again.
I told her I would wait for her, and in the end she did come to me, just not in the way I expected.
Many people have told me, even pleaded with me, to move on. Even Deepika had counseled me to move on. I had asked her how, and she didn’t have an answer for me then. I still don’t have the answer. Deepika’s dream was always her one true love, and now that dream is my companion and my reason for being.
It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer. But tonight, my only wish is to sleep soundly.
9.30 pm and I am sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen with tears filled eyes. This was so painful. I legit have goosebumps and chills. You have outdone yourself with this one Shiny. Loved every bit, every word and every sentence but the most favourite parts were Ansari's advice and the heartbreaking conversations of Abhay with Deepika's photograph. Brilliant 👏👏👏👏
What a heartbreaking OS by you, @ShinyMishka! 👏
Tears were flowing from my eyes while reading it 😭
P.S Thanks a lot for the tag! 🤗
Hey Mishka,
It was painfully beautiful!
Loved it.
Edited by truptishree - 2 years agoWhat a brilliant piece of writing! You are, indeed, an extremely talented writer and I’m sure you will become a celebrated writer, if you are not already one. Abhay’s love and pain were so poignantly expressed. This, for me, will remain the final chapter for this story! This is closure for me. No matter where the makers take this story, how they glorify Vikrant and Deepika, Dhadkan will be for me this, your version, where the protagonist is the beautiful Dr. Abhay Sathe and his tragic and yet elevating love for a woman who, unfortunately, didn’t know better! 💗
9.30 pm and I am sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen with tears filled eyes. This was so painful. I legit have goosebumps and chills. You have outdone yourself with this one Shiny. Loved every bit, every word and every sentence but the most favourite parts were Ansari's advice and the heartbreaking conversations of Abhay with Deepika's photograph. Brilliant 👏👏👏👏
Thank you so much. Even I was sad writing it. I tried to put myself in Abhay's place and imagine what he must've gone through and how he dealt with it. I'm glad you liked Ansari's piece. That was actually the most difficult part to write. I had to really think how I could summarize Ansari's pov that was in line with his character in a couple sentences.
