Wednesday, May 08, 2013


Walking into an emergency ward of a hospital is surely the most harrowing time of one’s life. I could see the anxiety plainly on the faces of other people who were rushing in along with me. Some were rushing out, slip in hand, going off to the chemist to fill a prescription.

Thank you morguefile

I kept my head down and willed myself not to cry. It was difficult. Just this morning I had left my wife at home, eight months pregnant, her belly swollen beautifully. Her hair in a disarray, face glowing with happiness. Everything was fine, doctors assured us. The baby was growing just fine, all we had to do was to wait for a month to hold our darling in our arms.

Shortly after lunch, I got a call from Suman, my sister-in-law, her voice was high-pitched. “Didi has fallen down the stairs. Sudha-didi and I are taking her to ___ hospital.”. She did not need to say “Come immediately”. I spoke to my boss and was out of the office in 2 minutes. I drove anxiously towards the hospital. Within an hour I was in the parking lot. I called up Suman and barked:


“Emergency, Bed 32”, she was equally brief.

I looked frantically around at people in various states of illness strewn around the emergency ward, searching for Bed 32. Suddenly I spotted Suman waving at me from left corner.

She was smiling.

”The baby is fine.” She said. “Didi has a hairline fracture in her left shin. She has to wear a cast for a month”

I looked at Sona, and brushed the wayward hair off her forehead. Her eyes were damp, and her face still bore traces of terror. But she was smiling.

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