When The Time Is deep, dark and lonely~

This story bagged a Silver Baton....

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 37; the thirty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "and then there were none"

The first time I woke after several hours in the hospital bed, I knew something was seriously wrong. There was severe pain, as if, a series of operations were carried out on my body. Groggy after coming out of a deep sleep, a sense of catastrophe gripped me as I groped my way to awareness.

The room was over-heated, and I was sweating under the blanket. Fluorescent lights humming against the ceiling, seemed perfectly tuned to the hollow and labored groans of the ward. The air was thick with cleaning liquids, phenyls, scents of medicines and Savlon; soft whispers of the doctors and nurses, and the beeping of life support systems made everything eerie…my eyes drifted towards the right bed. A tea-tray, neatly decked with white porcelain tea-pot, a plate of biscuits and the sliced lemon was formally waiting. The young patient looked terribly pale and fragile; however, seemed peaceful with those IV tubes attached to her wrist. A soft thumbnail crested on her fingertip looked ridiculous. My eyes, fierce in concentration continued searching …

Two nurses were making an empty bed at a distance; a man wearing an orange plaid jacket and rubber gloves broke the path, swinging a bucket in his hands. As he brushed past the curtain… a yellow brittle light billowed dust. Looking at the light, I had an urge to get up and walk to the window... I tried to raise myself, but, my exhausted body refused to move. The oft-repeated trials gave me a wringing pain around the shoulders; I turned around, and froze….both my arm were gone: all that remained were a pair of stumps, heavily swathed in thick bandages. It was incredibly difficult to think of myself as disabled or handicapped....

My two year old daughter’s face floated in front of my eyes; afraid of uncertainties I wanted to scream but I lacked the strength. Perhaps, the strong tranquilizers were taming my nerves, arteries and mind. I kept breathing; heartbeat after heartbeat was the only measure of time… 

At an age of thirty six, the car-crash had me completely destroyed physically. Children often exhibit a fearful response at the sight of a crippled or deformed person. I started thinking about my little baby... wondered, how she'd react looking at my deformity... I feared, it would scare her little heart. Now I had both, the suffering as well as the guilt.

I looked towards the transparent glass-door; my husband was talking to a bunch of people, mostly office people I thought… My eyes were searching for my little girl…strayed; she was nowhere in the vicinity.

I was wide awake now, though head was still full of confusion. Suddenly a figure moved closer at the foot of my bed, lumbered forward and pressed my shoulder tenderly. He ran a cold hand over my forehead. It was Dilip, my husband. I couldn't talk, my tongue just shriveled at the back of my mouth.... it was dry, leathery and hard. He smiled pulling the blanket over me. This was his way of murmuring consolations. There were dark shadows under his eyes; I realized, reality can never match up to the pictures we tend to display.Looking at his disheveled look, I felt very sorry for him. 

But, now I was all ready to find out more about me …about my recovery…and the reality! He recognized the anxiety and broke his stony silence this time. 

He said,’ Don’t you worry, sweetheart. You'll live for hundred years---and without any body's help!! All will be well. In another, two-three months, the specialists are going to fit a prosthetic (artificial) device, and then start with the rehabilitation process….’, he said looking into my eyes. His voice was shaky, quivering a bit....but I believed in what he said. He was one, I knew, who'd been scrupulously honest. So, his words gave me the strength. However,...I was deeply anxious about my two year old! 

‘Oh Dilip,’ I moaned weakly…'but, who is going to look after me in the hospital for all these months? And most importantly, who will look after our baby…?? Your boss won't consider giving you long leave at this point of time!'

He saw the anguish in my eyes; his face flushed, but, not in anger or pain.I saw a strange relief on his face, he looked alive and more or less normal.

‘Honey, don’t worry, I am here… The company has handed pink slips to many senior executives--- I am one of them…but, darling, whatever happens…happens for good. I am here to help you…we’ll fight it out together and see the light one day; hence, smile, feel special ....never give up!’ 

I was listening. There was a heaving inside me....our breaths somehow mingled, as though we were one body. I stared at my savior's face... so earnest, he was....

There was a quiet moment, I mumbled nervously:’ And, what about Mini…her future, her dreams, Dilip?’

‘I have some more wonderful news. We have our parents willing to back us at last....They have forgiven us. Apparently, they have realized that it is possible to pair off two people from different castes, backgrounds and they make marriages successful. 

They’re already in the house, taking care of your home, your child, your husband and helping us in this time of struggle. I've got a job already. The new job has offered me a good hike…we can now look for a four bed-roomed, company-owned apartment in plush Worli sea-face. In any case, I'd been toying with the idea of selling the present small flat and taking a bigger one, as you know.

I heard Dilip...he came like a woodpecker, pecking at my heart. Colors tumbled within me as inside a kaleidoscope. Truth is stranger than fiction.

I murmured a quote: “I long to believe in immortality. . . . If I am destined to be happy with you here--how short is the longest life. I wish to believe in immortality--I wish to live with you forever."

I asked: ‘Who said that, Dilip?’

‘Keats to his beloved Fanny Browne in a letter’.

I marveled at Keat's words…surely his thoughts were sincerely unique.

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