The stagnant smell of spirits and medicines in the
hospital verandas always used to disturb me a lot. As someone opens the door of
that spacious hospital room, the squeaking noise of the wheel-chairs and the
operation beds as they rolled over the hospitals marble flooring made a slight
peek into the room. Also some impatient footsteps of the doctors who were on
their rounds followed by at least a dozen nurses and the beep of various
machines which was responding to the signals given by the strings and wires
glued to the patient’s body was heard in perfect clarity. Some of my very close
friends and some doctors and nurses were also with us. Could not remember who
else were there in that spacious hospital room. All of us were assembled in
that room following the doctor’s call for the people really close to this
patient.
Apart from the beep sound of the various machines and
the arrhythmic breathing of the patient, grey and cold silence that prevailed
in the room takes control of the atmosphere again. After few touches with the
stethoscope on the hairy chest of the patient, the doctor said
"Anytime".
I was that patient….
Was it an accident or any other disease that led my
way to that bed..?? Don’t know. Vision was blurring and I could hardly
recognize the visitors. Anyways, their voices could be recognized. One of
them tried calling my name. But the oxygen mask and my overall impuissance was
held up high to be a barrier for making any response to their calls or add some
wit to their conversation.
Suddenly I felt myself failing to grab enough air
through the mask following which I ran out of consciousness. But I'm ‘awake’...like
Mr. Clayton in the Joby Harold’s movie. Feels good to know that I haven't lost
my wit even then. I appreciate that. The visuals, the dialogues and the
background score faded. "It’s time...it’s time to leave all my favorite
people, smells, tastes, roads, bikes and Thrissur"; I told myself.
My chest is congested. I wanted to cough. But I couldn’t even dare to
think of the pain. Perhaps that would be the last time I move my body myself.
It could all get over by that.
I coughed...and saw thick red blood spilling into air,
like big and small ruby crystals, as that cough was released with all
my leftover strength which raised my body almost to a straight legged sitting
position. My own blood spilling into the air – that was the last scene I saw… I
was getting out of the body that I used which was called Varun by the world. As
I came out, my body fell back to bed in a slow-motion. I’m dead.
I wished to be a free man while passing through those
clichés. A free-man, without any strings attached to my relationship table. I
wish I was…and I guess I was...
It was an unbearable freezing temperature in the new
world like a new born baby. The overnight rain has gifted a chilly
morning. The weather waked me. The action packed dream last night placed my
blanket somewhere far from me.
As I got up I felt as if it was my first morning in
the other world...I felt a cold freshness. Loved it...my death…no one thinks of
it in the race called life…its fun to… And the words that pierced first into my
thought were that of Late Bharath Murali - the renowned Indian actor.
"An Iron Rod boasts that he is the ultimate being
on the surface of earth. But, Fire corrects him by melting the Iron Rod the
moment they meet. Then Water comes to defeat the Fire which then boasts of its
victory over Fire until it is evaporated by the sun to the Clouds. The Air
which then mashes and scatters the Clouds is tamed by the Man. Man - he loses
himself when Sleep conquers him. But, Sleep can’t keep his victory for long. It
is only until Death comes to grab him. Yes..!! Death is the real hero."
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