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Oh, just one thing. I realized it some time ago, your feelings are sometimes not reflected the way you want by your keyboard and sometimes sincere comments may sound rude.
I just realized, when I request for something, for example,maybe a few instances where the critic found an error, some people may mistake it as a challenge to their comments. But my requests are simply requests. So, please forgive me if ever unintentionally, I may have been rude.
And another thing, if anyone feels I try to be over-humble, my intentions are just of being polite. I don't think heated arguments are the best routes to friendships.
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I'd appreciate it tons if you could take the time to comment on it.
Criticisms and appreciations are both heartily welcomed.
Sorry Dada
I rushed through the front doors and galloped straight towards the reception with my heart performing on a trampoline. The conventional smell of medicines that one could easily relate to the hospitals instilled in me a mild wave of nausea.
‘Ramlal Dinkar?’ I puffed.
The receptionist, on the phone, did not seem to pay heed to my interests. ‘You don’t say so? .... Aw….you ain’t gonna do that ? You would! ..... How seriously-truly-obscenely wicked of you! ’ She gave a hysteric laugh.
There was a metallic clang as the elevator landed beyond the foyer. People, all sorts of them, hurried out as the doors quivered open.
‘Ramlal Dinkar?’ I repeated, this time more forcefully and with a certain tone of exasperation, tapping my fingers on the mahogany.
The receptionist did not seem pleased. With an expression, as if someone had stuffed a week’s unwashed sock in her nose, she fed the computer with some information and muttered, ‘606!’
I ran across the room, scurrying past the trays and carriages, round the huge sofa. The elevator was almost full. The doors shuddered together and began to close. Squeezing through the crowd, pushing away people en route, I made a huge leap towards the elevator. I wedged my left foot between the doors and shoved them apart.
The doors engulfed me inside the cavernous elevator. As the machinery started inside the shaft, I heard the receptionist say, ‘Aw…. he left you despite knowing that you were sick! SICK!’
The elevator slowly rose. I chanced a look around. Besides me, trusted to a nurse was a cadaverous old man in a wheelchair. His head was lolled onto one side and his hollow eyes stared into infinity. Life had deserted him, at least in a spiritual sense. I was immediately absorbed in a pensive mood.
‘Oh mom, com’on! It’s my last year at school. I have to go on the tour. All my friends are!’ I spoke in an assertive tone, on the verge of breaking into tantrums.
‘I don’t know son.’ My mother looked uneasy. ‘Your grandpa’s been so ill lately.’
‘Oh dada’s so strong, he’d-’
I was interrupted by a slow and familiar screech of my Grandpa’s wheelchair. He slowly drove towards us and a few yards from me, came to a halt.
He had grown pale and extremely thin over the last few days. He coughed more often than he breathed. A moment of indecision had caught me.
I moved towards him and sat on my knees. I held his hands in mine and spoke, ‘Dada, my school’s going on a trip and…..’
He, in his calm manner, gently caressed his hands over my head and spoke, ‘Go.’ His lips turned into an upward concave, his sagging skin more profound than ever. He, then, coughed.
Almost mechanically, I walked out of the elevator, oblivious to my surroundings.
‘The tour was a blast mom. Awesomely dawsomely fabulous!’ I performed a little pirouette on the spot.
‘Dada….. Dada…..’ I shouted. No one replied. An alien feel seemed to have settled in the house. ‘Where’s dada, mom?’
I shot a questioning cum tensed glance at her. The truth already began to prick me. She did not answer but only wept. Her silent tears completed the story. I felt like a goat who had been heavily fed before being slaughtered.
A guilty teen looked up at me from the white vinyl below. I felt terrible, sunk into the deep abyss of contrition.
Involuntarily, I stopped in front of a door. ‘606’ was plainly stenciled upon it. I placed my hand on the knob but did not turn it. There was a certain eagerness to look beyond but it was accompanied by an acute dread of the outcome. The door for some reason, was the heaviest I had ever encountered. It took a great amount of fortitude to spin that small protrusion.
The room was brightly illuminated by the stark fluorescent lights providing a shimmering aura to all the objects within the room. Right in front of me, was a high bed and on it lay a frail body. For a moment I visualized the bed floating amidst a sea of clouds, with bright beams of light focused on it from all four directions, carefree of material possessions.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw the chest on the bed heave ever so slightly. I rushed towards the bed and set on the stool. I looked at him intently. He seemed asleep and even the oxygen mask couldn’t conceal the tranquil smile on his face. He had grown extremely pale and weak. Contrary to the gloomy ambience, he appeared like a white expanse of pure serenity.
I was so lost that it took me quite some time to register the beep of the cardiac monitors and the hiss of the respirators. The profusion of intravenous bottles and lines connected to the impaled blood vessels by sharp needles unhinged me slightly.
I closed my hands on his wrinkled arm and whispered, ‘Dada?’. He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head to face me. His smile broadened and an intense satisfaction seemed to have embraced him as if he had just completed his four holy pilgrimages. A tear swam out of his watery blue eyes; a tear that appeared to have been yearning for freedom for a long time.
He tried to get up, to speak, oblivious of his physical incapability to do so. A doctor, whose presence I was ignorant of until now, seized him by his shoulder and helped him settle comfortable on the bed. ‘Injection time.’ He smiled as a gesture of amiability.
The needle on his syringe was about three and a half inches long and a sparkle of light danced off its shaft. He pushed it into dada’s arms, all the way to the hilt. Dada gave a dry gasp of pain. My skin crawled at the thought of the needle piercing though his arms into his tissues as the dark red blood swirled up in the clear solution.
‘Ow! God! Ow! It hurts!’ I leaped on one foot holding the other one in my hand trying to locate the pike.
‘Oh come on here now. You’re such a strong guy.’ My dada spoke. He took my foot in his hands and searched for the culprit.
‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’
‘You’re a strong guy. Superman, eh? My 10 year old little superman. Ah…here’s it. Close your eyes… its gonna be painless. Yes… here it is…here!’
I slowly opened one of my eyes and realized that the pain was gone. ‘Its gone! Thank you dada!’. And I jumped into his laps, wriggling and laughing.
I shuddered at my helplessness as I saw all those sharp needles piercing those fragile veins of his. All I could do was place my hand on his. His strained body relaxed and his smile returned.
He continued to look at me with those calm blue eyes of his. He couldn’t speak; he seemed to be communicating with his eyes.
‘Did you enjoy the tour?’
It was the last straw. Guilt swam its way out on tears. I placed my head on his arm and cried- profusely, loudly. My soul was shattered, lost in the chasm of misery.
It took me quite some time to get hold of myself. I realized that I did not want his sacred ash to be flown in the sea of my tears. I wanted his departure with a heart that was satisfied and I knew that my tears weren’t the apt farewell gift. I wiped them off with my sleeves.
My hand was relaxing on my thighs when dada reached out for it and circled his fingers around my first finger. He had a sort of an assured look and he closed his eyes.
‘It’s really scary! It’s toooo dark!’ I was walking alongside grandpa in a forlorn alleyway.
‘It’s going to be fine, son. You trust me?’
I nodded. He stretched out his hand towards me. I caught hold of his finger with my puny hand. A sense of security comforted me and I knew then, that I was not afraid to cross that alley.
The grip on my finger loosened. The cardiac monitor blipped loudly, the pattern went barmy. The peaks slowly began to flatten. There was a sudden rush in the room. ‘Hurry, Hurry! The paddles…fast!’
The doctor placed the paddles on dada’s chest. His right thumb made contact and a powerful electric charge spread through the chest, arcing from one paddle to another. His body jerked upwards; his arms flopped across his chest with his hands twisting inwards. The doctor repeated the procedure- once, twice but the lines on the monitor had gone flat-completely.
While dada was momentarily in the air, I knew he wouldn’t have to return to this delinquent world.
***
I rummaged through the drawer. ‘Mom, where’s my medical file. I need it for the interview. Mom!
‘Here , Ravi.’ My mother handed me the file and rushed back for the kitchen.
I turned the first few pages.
Name: - Ravi Dinkar
Cause: - Appendix
Date: - 12 June, 1999
A small piece of paper flew out of my file. I reached out for it and found it to be a railway reservation.
A wave of repentance washed me away. I hurried out of my room to my dada’s rocking chair.
I knelt besides it, closed my eyes and muttered, ‘Sorry Dada.’ A silent trickle of tear ran down my eyes.
The ticket in my hand was booked for Ramlal Dinkar, 12 June, 1999 for Amarnath. But the ticket had never been used….
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Originally Posted by Nikhar
