Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please (22 page)

The boys started playing cricket again in the mornings. The mornings were brilliant – the warm sun shining on their heads, and the air, getting colder every day, making every breath invigorating, especially after the tension and fear of the past few days. Anand ran hard to catch the ball each time it passed by. His legs felt as heavy as iron bars. He wasn’t alone in this, the others were feeling a sense of release too. He saw Happy, the obese son of the local grocer, run two runs one morning! Happy was known to move only when he would have to reach out
to food!

They played proper matches – school kids versus college boys. It was a small park; the older boys couldn’t get enough of a run up to bowl it fast. Also, they couldn’t hit the ball out of the park – that got them disqualified according to
the park rules. Skill mattered more than power in those games, and Anand’s team, that comprised of school kids, won two games out of a total of six. They might have won more, if Baapu would have been the ‘keeper and could have caught some of the nicks that Anand had generated.

Six glorious days of sunshine, cool air and cricket.
There was no one to shout at them if the ball disappeared inside the rows of flowering bushes that the gardener had planted along the periphery of the park. Everything was full of adventure, except for the two empty houses beyond the pitch. Anand would look at the windows of Baapu’s flat every morning, hoping he would find them open. But they remained tightly shut. The family hadn’t come back.

Peace returned and schools reopened. Anand stood at the bus stand on the first day, and saw burnt and charred taxis at the local taxi stand. The black and yellow ambassadors were charred grey with paint peeling off from their surface. The tyre rims looked hol
low and sooty because of the smoking tyres. And he saw burnt homes. The first one he saw was the bungalow of his dentist. She had fixed his front teeth after a rogue cricket ball had knocked them off while he was batting. Completely burnt down. And then they passed Baapu’s school. It was burnt down as well. Windows broken. The classroom he could see beyond the boundary wall was bereft of furniture.

He was glad to see his two Sikh classmates in c
lass. They lived in his neighborhood and there was no violence in their locality. They seemed normal and happy, like everyone else.

A week later, Anand went down to the park as usual, in the evening. The
laundry boy, Jagdish, grinned at him. “Oye! Nandu, look, your ‘keeper’s back!”

“Where?” Anand asked, wide
-eyed with surprise and delight.

“Over there!”
pointed Jagdish.

A short boy was sitting near the fence, scratching the railing with a twig. He looked like Baapu, but it wasn’t Baapu – it couldn’t be! Where was the
patka
? This boy had short hair! Anand walked close to him and touched him on the shoulder. It was him!

“Baapu ....?” he asked, gingerly.

“Oye Dosa!” Baapu turned and grinned.

“What happened to your hair?” Anand asked out of curiosity.

“I got myself a haircut. Come, let’s toss the coin”, Baapu tried to avoid further questions.

“Where did you guys go to?” but Anand had plenty of doubts.

“We went to Ambala to a relative’s place. It’s quite safe there. We came back only this morning. Come. Let’s toss.” Said Baapu as he took Anand’s hand and guided him to the playground.

Baapu and Anand were in the same team, and their team bowled first. As they took fielding positions, Anand walked up to Baapu.

“Would you like to wear my cap, Baapu?” he asked.

“No...
But why do you ask? I’m OK, there’s no sun”, Baapu replied.

“No, not because of the sun – I’ve never bowled to a ‘keeper without a hat, Baapu. It feels strange” Anand’s voice was full of tender care.

“New game, Nandu. I’m getting used to it. You will too”, said Baapu, and walked back behind the stumps.

Anand walked to the top of his bowling mark. He turned, and as he started his run, he raised his hand. “Six to go Preete!! Outside off! Game on!!” he shouted.

And Preet Mohinder Singh Gill squatted six inches outside off stump, waiting for the nick that he knew would come.

***

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

By Lynn Misquith

***

Unless you have bad times, you can't appreciate the good times.

- Joe Torre

A New Dawn

T
he weather seems to be too gloomy outside. The sky is lined with silvery grey clouds, it's pretty breezy around and I am sure that the soil will get soaked anytime. The glossy leaves tactfully flaunt their beauty on trees as the birds nestle with comfort in their cozy nests. The clouds get denser and denser and I can now hear the pitter patter clash in the background. Bliss! What a view! The naughty kids are busy dropping paper boats in the flowing water gushing towards the channels. How I wish I could relish my childhood all over again. As I sit down on my couch sipping up my hot filter coffee, I recall the same day seven years ago, which pulls back unforgettable bitter memories that, keep ringing in my mind every fortnight.

It was a Monday morning and I had to rush to Mangalore to my mother's place as I had received a call from her that highlighted the leakage from the ceiling owing to the heavy downpour. Accompanied by two masons and a carpenter, I set my foot in my sweet home where my beloved wife and darling daughter dwell, they were delighted
to see me. After a short morning tea break we set off to my ancestral house in Mangalore. Like most of the typical Indian women, my mother conveyed a warm welcome to the workers. She treated everyone equally with due respect. When she got to know that the workers belonged to our own farmland, she was filled with joy. She again forced us to have the breakfast that she had prepared that morning and we obliged.

Soon we were upstairs in order to examine the havoc caused due to heavy rains. The leakage had created a lot of dampness on the whole floor. The repair would consume a lot of time and the workers had to be sent back home before twilight. The workers immediately got going with their assigned duties, they performed their work devotedly; filling up the leakage gaps, clearing up the mess around, replacing the broken sheets with brand new ones and enjoying the frequent tea breaks as insisted by my mom which she served with her handmade delicacies. They winded up late in t
he evening and to our bad luck the weather conditions worsened.  The public transport system was disrupted, Western Ghats being a landslide prone area. Only light vehicles were allowed to pass through that route. The workers were darn exhausted and wanted to flee back home as soon as possible as they had commitments to carry on the following day. They even resisted to rest at my place. Now I had an additional responsibility to drive and drop them back home.

The climatic conditions got really worse by then. I had the dilemma of staying back. My better half and my daughter kept on insisting me to stay back and get back the
next day. But I finally started off.

There began our
journey at quarter past eight in the night in a small, dinky
Maruti Omni
van. Heavy downpour lashed our way. We soon got out of the city roads. On the highway, the drains were getting clogged and there was water flowing everywhere, hardly any pedestrians and vehicles were around. The streetlights had switched off and the bright halogen lights from the few vehicles that lined the highway was the only source of light. It was cold outside; with half a heart we parked the carked near a roadside food joint and had our supper.

Once we were done, we hit the highway again. It was a silent night. The moon was ensconced in the clouds. There was an absolute silent that reigned the highway with not a single soul around After some time, the pouring ceased and we heaved a sigh of relief as the drive ahead looked smooth. I maintained a regular speed of 60 kmph on the newly repaired roads. I looked at the rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of the workers who were by now fast aslee
p. The fluorescent signboard told me that
Charmadi Ghats
were just two kilometers away.  

The dipping temperatures had given rise to a thick layer of mist because of which the windshield started to fog up. I switched on the fog lamp and maneuvered over the terrain with a great difficulty.

It was then, when I came across a truck speeding in my direction. I tried to keep a control over the speed but because of the wet roads the entire vehicle skid and within a fraction of a second, things my world crumbled to the ground

There was a collision that was followed by a shattered bonnet and a broken widescreen. My head hit the steering wheel as the shards of glass adorned my face in a gruesome manner. Warm blood spurt out of my forehead and an eerie silence invaded the site.

The workers were shaken out of their sleep. Fortunately, they were alright. They somehow managed to get out of the car in spite of the jammed doors of the car.  It was ten in the night. A few lights flashed at a distance. One of the workers raced towards the village only to return with a handful of villagers who helped the workers get me out of the mangled remains of the car. By then, a huge crowd had gathered around the place. There were torchlights flashing at the scene of the accident. My condition had worsened by now due to excessive blood loss. Because it was a remote location, there were no hospitals around the place. I was shifted to a small clinic that was located nearby for immediate first aid. . In the meanwhile, the villagers were successful in informing the emergency services and within no time I was shifted to the ambulance.

For the world outside, I was a mute spectator who was well aware of the surroundings. I could see blurred faces and hear muffled voice. I felt dizzy and weak. I was aware of the fact that the workers were desperately searching for ways to contact my family.

The ambulance came to a grinding halt at the entrance of one of the hospitals. Some compounders and nurses came running. The moment they heard that it was an accident case, their concern transformed into a frown as they cringed at the thought of attending to me. We approached many hospitals but none of them agreed to take me in. Without a police complaint, they wouldn't take in any such critical case as they wanted to avoid all the risks and consequences associated to the same.  Well, this is what technology has done to us. It has become so advanced that it has started eating away the core human values.

Finally and fortunately, one of the hospitals agreed to take me in. It was one of the best hospitals in the town. Immediately I was taken on the stretcher and shifted to the casualty ward. My clothes were cut off with a pair of scissors and I was wrapped up with the hospital robes. Immediately
I was put on drips and several pain killers.  The workers were advised to reach out to my family as soon as possible. They had no clue as to how they would break out the tragic news to my wife and for that matter, my daughter. So, they decided to first approach my mother and brother. After delivering this sensitive news to my mother, they came over to my place and told my wife that I had met with a minor accident. My wife initially believed them as she could see no wounds on the workers’ bodies. In no time they were in the hospital. Having seen me later, everyone was sure that my condition was critical. My wife was in a great shock looking at my state and my daughter was very scared.

The wounds were like deep incisions and even after a lot of effort, the bleeding hadn't stopped. The doctors advised for a body scan immediately. I was directly taken to a center that was beside the hospital for a thorough scan. My family had to wait back as the doctors didn't prefer them accompanying me. The other doctors advised my wife to take a
bold step by asking her to sign on the documents of handing me over to the hospital in order to continue the treatment and stay strong and not loose heart. In an hour, I was brought back and shifted to the Intensive care Unit. After this, none of the family members were allowed to meet me until the next day.

The Assistant doctor came over with a file containing the reports of all the medical tests that I had undergone. The X-ray of the right leg showed a major crack on the
thighbone. My facial bones too were severely damaged. I was lucky enough to have kept my skull and spinal cord intact. The deep cut on the right eye-brow caused severe swelling which kept the eye lid completely closed.

There was a huge loss of blood due to bruises and injuries, and my family was asked to make arrangements for blood. It was a panic situation for my wife, having to make all the arrangements.

By the next morning I slowly gained consciousness. I could barely see anything around. I looked very pale. I felt weird lying in the ICU. It looked more like a mechanical workshop to me, with its tools and machines around. According to the hospital rules only my wife and daughter were allowed to visit me and that too only twice a day, the rest of the visitors were asked to peep into my room through the small glass window to avoid possibility of further infection. My only mode of communication was writing on a piece of paper.  When my daughter saw me in this condition, she made it a point to gift me with a rose every single day that, according to her, would spread its fragrance and ensure my speedy recovery.

During our regular chat, one day she mentioned about her getting elected as the Head girl of the junior cabinet and that how badly she wished to see both her parents around
at her oath taking ceremony. And here I was, completely sure about the uncertainty that was associated with my ‘speedy’ recovery. 

Meanwhile, I had started to experience sever chest pain, luckily the reports never showed any internal damage to the ribs.  A team of doctors was already working on the procedures to be followed during two different major surgeries: one for the face and one for the broken leg. As the time of the operation approached near, all my siblings, friends and relatives came down to render their moral support to my family.

And finally, the day of the operation knocked on the door. To be frank, I was a little scared. The tears in the eyes of my wife and the helpless that reflected on the face of my daughter made me feel weak. I could see them walking briskly beside my stretcher when they were taking me to the operation theatre. Once inside, I could see various equipment, scissors, tongs, and of course, cotton wool. There was a dim yellow light and everyone else appeared as an alien with the masked face. The stench of formalin got mingled with the smell of blood and made me feel nauseated. As I closed my eyes, I prayed to God for giving my family and me strength. The procedure finally started.

Eight hours later, I was shifted to the ICU. My wife and my daughter had been pacing up and down the corridor all this while and heaved a sigh of relief on seeing the doctors shifting me to the ICU. All my relatives and friends thronged the doctor’s cabin and came out only after getting an assurance that things will be alright.

The next day, when I opened my eyes, I felt like a mummy on seeing my bandaged body. A sudden pain shot up my thigh and the jaws. I felt something rigid in both the areas. They had put rods and wire meshes in my jaws and the thigh to ensure bone alignment. I was finally shifted to the special ward in two days. And that was when Murphy’s Law proved itself correct, yet once again.

Instead of following the path of recovery, my health worsened. What I could faintly remember from that time was the doctors mentioning some kind of blockage in my blood. They were trying their best to keep my life out of danger. Every night, I could hear the silent sobs of my wife followed by a gentle touch of my daughter. She daily went to a nearby church to offer her prayers. I felt so helpless. The doctors had given up hopes and had already started preparing my family mentally for my demise.

But, I wanted to stand up again and tell them that I would always be there to care for them. I wanted to run in the open with my daughter. I wanted to tell my wife that she was the best wife that anyone could ever have. I wanted to thank the workers who had left no stone unturned to make the ends meet for my recovery. Most important, I wanted to thank the almighty for being my source of strength.

No, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted to enjoy my life and finish the pending tasks. I wanted to see my daughter graduate and then I wanted to grow old with my
wife. I wanted to play with my daughter’s grandchildren and I wanted to take them to the park in the evenings.

And that was when the miracle happened. The determination to live filled my body with positive energy and my condition started improving. My wounds healed faster and the irregularities in my report were long gone.  Everyone around was surprised and called it a ‘miracle’. And finally the day came when I was discharged from the hospital.

Being very weak, I was on liquid diet for a month. The physiotherapist made it a point to host a session for me daily to help me walk again.  Slow and steady, I got rid of my crutches and the wheel chair and was able to trudge in the house on my own. I followed the medication prescribed by the doctor with full faith and sincerity.  A month later, the plaster on my leg was cut open and I was free to move!

I looked back at the last three months and was overwhelmed by sheer the intensity of the happenings. The accident, the recovery, the uncertainty, the threads that made the cardigan. I was happy to be back to normal routine.

After a month, a new vehicle was purchased. I decided to revisit the place where all of this had started, after all, what goes around comes around. So, one fine morning I set out on the highway after having my breakfast. It was a beautiful drive. I let the sunshine seep in. Finally, I reached that spot. I parked my car and walked down to the place where the accident had happened. I could see broken glass pieces lying there. The half broken signboard had seen it all, it was a silent witness.

And suddenly I was transported back into the past. I could see myself lying there, scared and shivering. I could see the workers who tried their best to help me out. The faces of all those doctors and nurses conjured in front of my eyes as I tried to remember it all. I could imagine the plight of my family when they had been informed of the tragedy.