Till the Last Breath . . . (16 page)

Kajal had always found herself in the midst of confusion and mental strife. Decisions never came easy to her and even if they did, she always wallowed in doubt and reservation after making them. That day, surrounded by her technical books on Fourier transforms and traction devices, she played out her life in her head in technicolour. It seemed everything had gone wrong, though the worst part of it was that she didn’t have anyone to talk about it with. She was a rich kid, and it was unfathomable for people around her to comprehend that she could have any grief to lose sleep over, beyond the trouble of picking out what new to wear.

It had been a few days since she had decided to snap all ties with Varun, and despite repeated efforts by him to talk to her, she stood her ground. A part of her wanted Varun to try harder, to call her and drop by at her college hostel, insist on dinner, send her flowers, but all she got were a few persistent calls and texts pleading her to give their relationship another shot. Sometimes, she knew she was being unreasonable and irrational, but she had been the understanding person in the relationship for a little too long now.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to run away now or if it was something she should have done a very long time ago. But the thought of staying at the Delhi College of Engineering any more seemed like a pain she couldn’t endure any longer. It wasn’t what she loved. A little voice in her head told her she should have listened to her parents—who were never wrong—and applied for a course in journalism or literature in London.

Her decision was made; it was just a matter of time—she knew—before she would commit to it and tell her parents about it. Her mom, a rich but responsible socialite, wouldn’t mind. She had always found it bizarre to tell her friends that her daughter was doing engineering from a premier institute. Kajal knew her mom’s friends thought they had paid for her daughter’s admission into an engineering college. The day she had cleared the entrance examination was a day of rampant gossip in her mom’s circle. The news of her daughter applying to a college that taught liberal arts and not switchgear mechanics would certainly gladden her.

Only yesterday she had talked to her sisters and they seemed enthusiastic about their sister’s career move. But they seldom opposed her choices in life. She was the spirited little girl who was loved to bits by her family. She wondered how much of her decision was influenced by her recent break-up with Varun and Dushyant’s behaviour towards her. Was she running away from things which had the capacity to hurt her? Or did she realize there was nothing left in Delhi for her to stay back? For she knew she had a perfect life apart from a few speed bumps—Dushyant, Varun and Fourier transforms—that upset her rhythm here and there. Impulsively, she left her hostel room, her hair still in disarray and her clothes crumpled and untidy. She waved frantically for an auto to stop and asked the driver to take her to GKL Hospital.

As the wind hit her face, pulling her back from her own dreamlike world, she started to grapple with the reality of facing Dushyant again. Dushyant had always struck her as someone who loved once, and never again, so she knew Dushyant was intentionally pushing her away. The rage in his eyes, the Angry Vein on his temple and the clenched fists were just a physical manifestation of how Dushyant still felt about her. She had seen and faced his ire before, the day they had kissed their last.

The autorickshaw driver dropped her at the entrance of the hospital and Kajal nervously clutched her handbag. She was sweating now even though there was a slight nip in the air. Her heart was pumping furiously and her mind argued the futility of such an exercise. Reluctantly, she trudged towards the receptionist and asked if the patient was still in the same room as before. The receptionist checked the database and confirmed this.

‘Are you a relative?’ the receptionist queried. She nodded and walked away from her, wondering if she meant anything at all to him. Her steps became smaller and her walk more uncertain as she stepped out of the elevator and went towards the room she had been admonished out of. A deep breath. Two deep breaths. She knocked on the door and waited for someone to respond. No answer. She knocked again and heard a feeble voice from the other side asking her to come in.

She entered the room which reeked of the peculiar hospital smell of sterilizers, phenyls and disinfectants. And of almost-dead people. Before her senses could acclimatize to the foreign surroundings of the room, she saw Dushyant lying almost lifeless on the bed and her face fell. Her throat collapsed as she tried to say something. Tears formed tiny puddles just below her eyelashes and were on the verge of streaking down her now-pale face.

‘Dushyant …’ she choked on her own words. Dushyant’s chest rose and fell periodically and made a horrible whooshing sound every time that happened. It sounded like his life force was leaving him with every laborious breath he took. His eyes were closed and he seemed under influence. Slowly, she walked up to the side of his bed and sat down. Dushyant’s face looked a lot different from the last time; it was sunken and it seemed he had lost a lot of weight. There were blotches on his cheek where the flesh had retreated towards his jawbones. Kajal placed her hand on his chest and ran her fingers on it. She knew Dushyant couldn’t feel a thing.

‘A friend?’ a voice from the other side asked.

Kajal looked up to see a smiling face staring at her, waiting for an answer.

‘Yes,’ she replied, finding her voice momentarily.

‘I am Pihu. He is sleeping, I am afraid,’ the girl said.

‘I am Kajal,’ she responded. ‘Will he be okay?’

‘I don’t know. Arman said his condition is critical. A lot of his organs are failing and he might …’ She stopped.

‘He might?’

‘There is a slight chance that he might not make it,’ Pihu said solemnly.

Kajal couldn’t say anything beyond that. She felt the walls of the room close down on her, locking her in and making her claustrophobic, suffocating her. She sat there with her hand wrapped around his and trying hard to stifle her sobs. Pihu’s eyes were still on her. As Kajal’s eyes surveyed the multitude of tubes, monitors and drips around her, she blamed herself for Dushyant’s pitiable state. She imagined a situation where they would be together and happy, no one would be hooked to life support and no one would be browsing through colleges in London.

‘If it makes you feel any better, I am dying too!’ the girl on the other bed said with a big smile pasted on her face.

‘It doesn’t,’ she snapped. And later added, ‘I am sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

‘It’s okay, I didn’t take offence,’ Pihu replied.

‘But you look healthy …’ Kajal said out of curiosity and shock.

‘I know I do. I am dying of progressive paralysis. It’s creeping up from my limbs and spreading to other parts of my body. One day it will reach my chest and I won’t be able to breathe and end up dead!’

How could she be so nonchalant about something so
deathly
serious? Kajal wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or be in awe.

‘How do you know Dushyant?’ Pihu asked.

‘We are friends,’ she answered, not wanting to go beyond that.

‘Wait! You were that girl? Who came that day?’

She froze. Now, she was embarrassed. It hadn’t occurred to her that someone had listened to her humiliating conversation with Dushyant from that day.

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Actually, we used to date.’

‘You were
his
girlfriend?’ she asked to confirm. She could spot a sense of pity in the way Pihu asked it, as if she was apologetic that Kajal had a boyfriend like Dushyant. It wasn’t the first time, though. Kajal’s friends were always disapproving of her relationship with Dushyant which they believed—though torrid and passionate—was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

‘Yes, I was,’ she replied. ‘It’s been years now.’

‘What brings you back?’ Pihu asked earnestly.

Kajal, although in no mood to talk, was compelled to answer her. ‘I had never stopped worrying about him. He is majorly self-destructive by nature,’ she said and her eyes roved back to where Dushyant lay—weak and dying.

‘I have seen that,’ Pihu added.

‘You have?’

‘Yes, I have. He has been a pain in the butt,’ she chuckled.

Kajal knew exactly what she meant. Every passing second Kajal spent sitting next to Dushyant made her want to stay there longer. As Pihu explained to her how he had charged at her friends, Kajal thought about how different life would have been had they still been together. Maybe she would have convinced him to give up his addictions. Maybe he would have eventually emerged as a better man, and she knew he was capable of that. Dushyant, in his very core, was a nice person, but one had to flail blindly through the haze of tobacco and weed in which he had lost himself to get to that
nice
person inside of him. Maybe that resounding slap on her face was a one-off incident; maybe it was not. Maybe that forced intercourse was a one-off incident; maybe it was not. Maybe it was the start of an abusive relationship; maybe it was not.

‘He hit your friends?’ Kajal wanted to confirm, as she had drifted away on her own thought train.

‘Yes,’ she clarified. ‘Yes, they were making a little noise, but nothing that would make anyone hit them. He is a little, well, you know, self-destructive. Do you still love him?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Pihu probed.

‘I just worry about him,’ she answered, a little uncomfortable about the concern Pihu had for him. After all, she spent almost all her time next to him. ‘Why are you so bothered?’ Kajal asked, almost envious now.

‘I just want to know who can love him. I mean, he is a little rude, isn’t he?’ Pihu chuckled and added, ‘But I still like him. He is a little misunderstood, I think.’

‘You like him?’ Kajal asked.

‘Like, as in
like
? No, no! Not at all. Yes, he is cute. But I don’t like him
in that way
. In fact, the way he talks to me, it’s a surprise I don’t hate him,’ she responded.

‘Why don’t you hate him?’ Kajal asked, because in spite of everything, neither did she. For all the times that Dushyant had been needlessly oppressive and possessive, she had never managed to hate him. There was a growing discomfort in their relationship, but not once did her feelings towards him waver.

‘As I told you, he is misunderstood! And you don’t have to worry about me. I have my eyes on someone else!’ she smiled and winked, and Kajal was caught off guard by an unnaturally excited Pihu.

‘Truly?’ Kajal responded, not knowing what to say.

‘Yes, I know it’s crazy and I know I am dying … Well, that’s a problem. But he is so great and enormously gorgeous,’ she ranted in front of a confused Kajal.

‘Oh. That’s nice.’

‘He is a doctor, and you wouldn’t guess who he is!’ she continued.

‘Who?’

‘Dr Arman!’ Pihu screeched and waited for Kajal to react.

Kajal looked at her dumbfounded, and said, ‘I don’t know him.’

‘Oh. Okay,’ she whimpered disappointedly and added, ‘He is my doctor, and he is treating him, too.’

Although Kajal thought of Pihu as a little bit loony, she noted that her tears had dried up and she felt a little better. She almost felt guilty for feeling better because Dushyant wasn’t getting any better. The thin thread of hope he was hanging on to was burning up fast.

‘And you like your doctor?’ Kajal asked.

Pihu’s mom turned restlessly on the couch and they realized they were talking a little too loudly. Pihu asked her if she could come and sit closer. Kajal nodded and sat on the other side of the bed, and took Dushyant’s hand in hers again.
He is in no pain
, she thought to herself.

‘We just kissed yesterday!’ she exclaimed. ‘He got really scared of losing me and kissed me. I think it was out of pity, though. He didn’t want to let me die un-kissed. Have you ever been kissed?’

Kajal chuckled as she heard Pihu blabber enthusiastically like a child.
Have you kissed someone? Who talks like that?

‘Yes, Pihu, right?’ she asked and Pihu nodded. ‘I have kissed a few guys.’ She still couldn’t suppress her smile.

‘Oh. A few? What’s that like? I mean, how many? Is there a difference?’ she asked fervently. ‘Am I asking too much? Actually it was my first kiss and I don’t know if I was any good and I don’t know whether it will happen again.’

‘Of course it will happen again,’ Kajal assured her.

‘I hope so,’ she purred. ‘So, have you kissed Dushyant?’

‘Obviously, I have,’ she replied and added, ‘And he was a good kisser as far as I remember.’

‘As far as you remember? I will never forget my kiss! Although I don’t have much time to live, but still.’

‘Will you stop saying that?’ Kajal begged. The constant allusion to her dying made her think about Dushyant’s fatal condition and it wasn’t pleasant.

‘I am sorry, it’s just that the more I say it, the more acceptable it becomes for me.’

‘I am sorry. I have no idea what you’re going through. The very thought of death and dying makes me uneasy. Only a few days back he was healthy and everything and now he is like this. It’s ridiculous,’ she said and choked on her words. ‘And you’re dying? Who would believe that?’