I needed a fag….desperately. Studies in the 21st century showed that nicotine addiction was mainly mental and physiological. It was the release of stress via clouds of smoke, in one form which hooked as surely the nicotine in itself. Dad used to smoke till he had his first heart attack and I remembered where his packets were kept.
Stealing, like any crime, requires nerve and timing and preferably an alibi. Filching the cigarette was dead easy, compared to trying to find a space to smoke the damn thing without the dozen odd servants about the place learning of it. I finally compromised by lighting up in the guestroom toilet and as soon as I took the first, much-awaited drag, I started coughing horribly!!!
My rose pink lungs were yet to get accustomed to the harsh beauty of nicotine….I compromised by taking small puffs and inhaling very cautiously but still ended up coughing up a fit. Worse was yet to come – deodorant’s were yet to be invented and toothpaste only works on the mouth. I ended up taking a cold shower with lots of soaping….I was seriously starting to miss adulthood.
Ma was usually on her afternoon siesta when I would arrive from school. The cook had my afternoon meal ready as I hit the dining table - greasy parantha’s and oily chicken curry. I got him to give me some cornflakes and cold milk with some chopped fruits. Kellog’s was yet to come to India
My brother was sleeping like a baby when I went to my (our’s then) room. God, that boy was a runt then, I mean now…. But he still slept in the same way, all limbs tucked up and tidy.
I decided to take the hint and lay down beside him and closed my eyes….
I woke up with tubes stuck all over my body and a lot of beeping sounds. I could barely open my eyes and even then everything was blurry. The only thing I could hear above the beeping was someone frantically calling for the doctor.
It was only after a few moments that I realized I was in pain…..comprehensive, all pervasive pain. I could not locate any one segment of my body which was not burning and screaming in agony. I had a dry throat that scratched with an intensity that had to be experienced to be believed. I could barely rasp out my need for water.
But someone was listening and a few blessed drops of moisture made their way into my desert like mouth and I gasped for more. I could hear a voice telling me to go slow and easy, but it was hard enough trying to swallow much less listen to that damned voice.
A while later, no idea how long, I was aware of someone poking at various parts of my body and speaking in a voice like muffled thunder, but I could make out the words.
“Can …. You….Hear…. Me ?”
I tried to speak but couldn’t so attempted to move some part of my body….my fingers worked and my right arm moved, so I moved it.
Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder (it was the doctor clapping his hands near my face, I later found out) and I could hear a bit more clearly. I thought I could hear bro’s voice in the background of the cacophony of beeps around me, so I tried once more to utter his name.
This time, they heard me and there was that runt sleeping beside me…..but I was sleeping and he was standing…..and he was not a runt anymore, he was all grown up. I could make out his eyes and face as he leaned in towards me. What was he doing back here in India
“Dada, can you hear me? Make some sort of sign, if you can” he said
Thank god that squeaky voice disappeared over the years, this voice I could live with. Make a sign, what did he think I was, some sort of retard. I thought I spoke that last sentence aloud, but he could barely hear me. Was I speaking so softly or was he getting hard of hearing.
“The…. blast at the offices…..only 2 survivors……You …. near … window …. flung out …. blast”
I could hear bro speaking, but my mind was unraveling fast. The pain was returning in all extremities….
I slowly slipped into a sea of darkness…..
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