Sunday 8 May 2011

Life .... Interrupted


Life … Interrupted …


The world homed into one dark spot as he lay on the floor. It mushroomed from the centre of his vision towards the periphery. As it moved, it blotted over everything else – his chair, table, dust bin. He was dimly aware of people rushing about him and hands pushing and pulling him. He felt surprisingly soft and shapeless. He felt a rush as if he was receding from everything that was happening around him – a vortex into which he was being pulled inexorably. As he passed, he thought, “Is this it? Am I living through the last moments of my life?” All the things they say about your life passing in front of your eyes were hogwash. None of it was happening to him. He only felt sense of discomfort – deep rooted somewhere in his chest where he seemed to be unable to take a breath. Added to that was impatience – for this to get over so that he could go back to what he was doing; tinged with a sense of misgiving that this might not get over after all.

As the darkness washed on the edge of his consciousness, his thoughts meandered and he found himself grasping at things to stay awake (or was it alive?). He found himself unable to hold onto a single thought – it was almost as if they were slipping away when he tried to focus. He thought of …..

…. The movie tickets he had bought for that evening. Would he now be able to go for the movie? Did it matter at all now? Then he pulled himself up mentally - “here he was, probably dying and all he could think of was the movie tickets? Focus, damn you!” ….

…. That breathless sensation he had felt last week when climbing up the stairs. Rekha had been concerned but he had brushed it away. The excess sweat was probably because it had been humid and the pain in the corner of his chest was probably the large steak that he had indulged in with the liberal rounds of Jack. Maybe he should have had that medical checkup that he had been postponing ….

….. His son’s annual day that he had arrived late for last month. How could he have gotten away from the client meeting? Akshith would understand. He would see the whole play on the handy cam that his wife had recorded on. It was another thing that he had not yet got around to seeing it. The last time he had read a story to Akshith …

....  The times he had wanted to tell his wife that he loved her so. Of course she knew that he did – after all he had chased her skirts for well over 6 years before she agreed to marry him. But with his work timings, he had not found time to sit down with her the way they used to – after Akshith fell asleep – that glass of wine they used to share and talk of the day. When was the last time he held her hand? He found he couldn’t remember. He wished he could call her and ask her to come over so that he could tell her one last time. He found himself worrying – will she be able to manage living without him? Of course she would – she was the efficient and organized one wasn’t she? It was he, who had to get reminded to do things, needed help packing his bag for his travel and needed her to locate his socks and ties. Curiously, he now wished, she wasn’t that independent and that she would need him in some way. At least she would miss him then? Was that a selfish thought – that he should be missed?

.... What people would remember him for? Sure, his family would miss him but would anybody else? What would the people in the next apartment say – that it was a pity that he passed and that they were sorry for Rekha? But would anybody remember him for anything at all. What had he done that they could remember him by? He had gained a reputation at work but that hardly mattered outside the office. Did those coins that he gave the small children at the traffic lights count in terms of memories? Did those old clothes that he gave away count for anything? Somehow he felt that they were inadequate but then he could have hardly been Gandhi walking away into the sunset with his stick and sandals, could he? He had a business and a family and that would take up most of his time. But then, why did he feel strangely dissatisfied with the ending?

…. Did life have a purpose beyond just living? Was there an inner calling to each individual – a higher vocation that he or she had to rise to? How would one find out what that was? Maybe there was a Guru who would tell him what he was supposed to do and he could simply start doing it? What was it? He strangely now wished that he had made a difference to someone in any way possible …

…. Then suddenly he found he could not focus on concrete thought. They seemed to be slipping away like that errant bar of soap on the washroom floor and try as he might chase them, he could not catch and hold onto a single one. Then, he found himself slipping into a void, an inky pool of darkness where he could not get his bearings at all. He felt disoriented, almost as if he was suspended in a tank of some dark viscous liquid and could not see, hear, feel or move. He did not know how long he lay there feeling completely and unconditionally alone. He thought or felt – this was it – he was dead.

Then, he suddenly felt a buzz and a deep tremor in his chest. Something stirred in there – maybe his heart. He focused on that one point and tried to explore that sensation. Suddenly – there it was again – a little sharper and suddenly more painful. He wanted to tell them to stop whatever they were doing to him. Why couldn’t they let him be? There it was again – a third time – sharper than before and clearly something electrical in nature that was causing him to jump and jerk like a marionette whose strings had got tangled up.

Suddenly, something happened and a tunnel of white appeared out of the inky gloom that he had found himself in. Was it a light of some kind? The light intensified and seemed to be exploding into his retina. The sensation of pricking behind his eyes would not go away. Suddenly, some hazy shapes emerged out of the gloom. Somebody wearing thick horn rimmed spectacles was staring at him as if he were caged in a zoo. ‘What are you looking at?’ he wanted to ask. But he found his tongue strangely reluctant to move. It seemed to have got drugged to sleep and was taking its own time waking up.  He tried to move his hand but found that his hand had succumbed to the same strange sleeping sickness. Was he having an OBE that he had read about? Now, he could feel something sticky and oozing on his chest. He tried to lift his head to see what it was but met with the same result.

He decided that he had enough. The horn rimmed spectacles moved away from view and were replaced by a shape that looked distinctly like Rekha seen from behind a white saree hung out to dry on a sunny afternoon. He wanted to call her name but what came out sounded like Akshith’s attempt to speak in his early days. He felt helpless. Suddenly that spot of sensation in his chest expanded and he found that he could now feel his arms. Maybe he could wiggle his fingers – there, he could! He then waited. Rekha seemed to come out from behind the saree after a long leisurely while and he found that he could lift his hand. Things then remarkably took a turn for the better.

In a while, he was able to emit basic sounds and move his arms and legs a bit, turn his head partially. He was told by the horn rimmed spectacles that he had suffered a sudden heart attack and had been saved by the bell. He would have to follow a strict diet and moderate exercise now. He would have to be moved to into a ward and kept under observation and then they would have to run a series of checks on him. He felt wrung out like he had just fallen out of a concrete mixer and wished the man would stop talking. He turned about as much as his semi-awake body would let him and sought Rekha out. She came across in a hurry and smiled – a tired wan smile. She said ‘Akshith is at the neighbor’s place. I picked him up from school. He doesn’t know.’ He only managed a half word ‘Sorry’. Then, he felt a prick of something in his arm and in a few minutes Rekha seemed to be disappearing into a haze as his lids felt leaden and drooped down to sleep.

He woke up to the nurse shaking him awake and giving him a set of pills and another pin prick. Then, blessed sleep. He woke up to a ray of light being shown into his eyes and found the nurse was back with a light of some kind that she was shining into his eyes. He asked her the time and was told it was morning. He looked around and found Rekha asleep in that excuse of a chair, her hair tousled and head drooped onto her chest. He wished he could reach out and brush back that wing of hair that had fallen across her face and smoothen out those lines of tiredness from her face but had to be content with wishing.

They refused him coffee in the morning as well. No caffeine they said. The day’s paper arrived at his hospital room. He could barely lift his hand leave alone hold the blasted thing and read. He signaled to Rekha to come over. She looked drawn and exhausted – fitful sleep in a chair in a hospital room can do that to you, he thought. She looked as if she had aged a decade in a day. He signaled to her to read the paper to him. She flipped through the sports section and the business news and came to the city section. He half expected to see an article about him. But there was none – who would be bothered about a 40 year old businessman who has had a heart attack?

That set him thinking on what he had been searching for in the ink pool of his darkness the previous day. He had been granted a reprieve but did that mean that he could go back to being a good father and a good husband and a successful businessman? What was his higher calling? He found himself wanting to be remembered by people for something that he had done ….

The next few weeks were chaotic. Getting out of hospital and back to home, seeing Akshith and spending time with him (after all, if he could not go to the office, he had to do something?). Holding hands with Rekha – no wine please. Late night chats – not so late at night – he needed his rest now. However, that question still remained in the corner of his consciousness. But he found that he was no longer trying to side step it. He had begun a regular exercise routine that his doctor had prescribed – a brisk walk in the morning in the park (even if he had to drive to get there) followed by deep breathing exercises.

Today was no different – he had come to the park and had completed his walk. The morning felt bright and sunny and a light breeze played hide and seek. He sat down on what had become his park bench and closed his eyes. Breathe in, hold, 1, 2, 3 ….. 10, Exhale, hold, 1, 2, 3 …. 10. Suddenly, he felt a warm wet touch on his knee. Must be a drop of rain he thought and continued with his breathing. There it was again, wetter than before. He opened his eyes to see a small boy holding out his saliva soaked biscuit to share, his hand and chin dripping with saliva. ‘Beecoot?’ he said. He felt a smile taking over him and reached out to the boy lifting him onto the bench. He asked the boy his name but got no response – a blank stare and the biscuit once again offered. Somehow, he felt that something was not right with the boy.

Suddenly, a harried looking woman came around calling ‘Rohan, Rohan’. The boy beside him looked up at her and smiled. The woman smiled back and ran towards them. She profusely apologized saying that Rohan had wandered off from the group and they had been worried that he had got lost. She led Rohan away after making him say bye. Curiosity led him to follow them down to where they joined a group of children who were being told by an old lady with pearly white hair that they should not run off. None of the children was responding. Some had the curiously Mongoloid look of what he knew to be Downs Syndrome while some others seemed to be quite in a world of their own and a couple were on wheelchairs. He walked up to the lady and asked her who they were only to learn that they were mentally challenged kids from a nearby school. The boy with the biscuit was there but was gazing at him intently as if wishing for something. Suddenly the boy broke out into a smile – like the sun coming out from the clouds on a lazy monsoon after just before the rainbow strikes. Then the rainbow struck him – what he wanted to do – his higher calling ….

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