Ambika

The odour of burnt leather assaults my senses, overpowering everything, even the sensation of the fiery twisted metal all around me. I try to open my eyes, but the heat seems to have welded them shut.  I can’t feel my legs, presuming I still have any. Darkness sets upon me, and it’s almost a welcome relief as my body slowly gives up its feeble attempts to stay alive.  Then Noise!! Screams, the whining of sirens, rushing footsteps; I hear someone say, ‘This one’s still alive, Get the defibrillator, Quick! ’ I feel hands upon me as they try to get underneath my clothes to reach my charred body. I feel an icy metal surface come into contact with my chest, ‘Clear!’ somebody shouts and I feel life coursing through my body, or is it electricity? I do not care, I need more. The voice seems to agree with me and with one more command, another jolt rocks my body. Then silence. ‘To be back from death, just to die again’, is all I can think. Then amidst all that quiet I hear a dull thumping; a rhythm that seems to permeate through every pore of my existence.  I realise it’s my heart making one last stand. And this time I must help too.  Utilizing every fibre of my will, I crank open my eyes. The effort almost makes me pass out but I somehow manage to cling onto my senses. ‘This one’s conscious. He needs medical attention immediately, get him on the stretcher’.  I feel strong arms lifting me up and placing me on a platform. My neck bends at an awkward angle and my eyes behold the wreckage in front of me. And amidst all that pain and destruction, I see her.

I woke up gasping for air, looking around wildly.  A nightmare, that’s all it was. But it had all been so real. I could still picture the entire scene in my mind’s eye. Funny how some accidents scar you both on the inside and the outside.  It had been eight months since that accident. Eight months since my body sustained severe second degree burns, leaving me disfigured forever. My world had then become limited to my bed. In the beginning it was a struggle in itself to reach out and pick up the glass of water lying on the bedside. Things like the incessant burning, my pain, and my family’s pain on seeing my pain were slowly getting to me.  The prospect of me remaining a vegetable for the rest of my life was slowly but surely eating away all my optimism. Things would have gone a lot worse (and trust me they were pretty bad already) had it not been for the individual who was sleeping right beside me; my wife.

Ambika was lucky. She was in the car with me that faithful day, but the impact tossed her aside and she was relatively unharmed. All she had to show for the accident were some bruises and a small scar on her cheek. On some dark days I mustadmit, I envy her fate. But those are really dark days; most of the time I really thank the good lord for her presence in my life. Dark curls framing an angelic face, lips that could, depending on her mood, form an adorable pout or a thin slash of disapproval, Bambi eyes and a snub nose. As you might have already gathered, not ugly at all and what really matters is that she’s even more beautiful on the inside. Not many women would decide to still stay with a husband that’s been reduced to a pitiful excuse for a living, breathing human being, and even less would do so willingly.  If anything, I feel her love’s increased for me even more. As I watched her, her eyes suddenly flickered open. It was this peculiar trait that she’d recently developed, she somehow always seemed to sense me watching her.
“What’re you looking at mister?”
“Nothing,” I replied “just admiring the women in my bed”.
“Mmmmm, what would you give for a closer look?” she said snuggling up to me. She smelled of crushed lilies. I was happy as anybody with burns and scabs all over his body could be.

Further pillow talk was interrupted by a polite knock. Jeevan kaka has been serving the house before my birth. To my knowledge he’s never taken a day off work or asked for money other than his wages. Silent and subtle, most of the time we barely realize he’s around, but we all know that the lifestyle we’ve gotten used to in the house would come crashing down onto our ears if not for him.  Tall and unbent even at 70 he’s an impressive sight with his shock of white hair and bushy eyebrows. Though cordial and respectful to all, I found his recent attitude towards Ambika a bit startling. Kaka never really liked her from the beginning, but always maintained an amicable dynamic with her. But after the accident I feel Kaka, somewhat foolishly, on some level blames her for coming out unscathed from the crash, leaving me to burn. He sometimes neither answers to her nor responds to her queries. I took this up with my parents and they told me that everybody was shaken up by this entire incident and that I should make allowances. I understand and hope that with time, things between the two would go back to normal. Ambika understands too, but I sense at some level she is hurt.

“And what would Sir like for breakfast?”
For obvious reasons, I prefer breakfast in bed. “Toast and a glass of milk”, I replied.
“Very good sir”, and turned to leave the room.
“One minute Jeevan! You haven’t asked what Ambika would like to eat”.
He turned back, “O-oh sorry sir, I didn’t realize that she too would be joining you for breakfast, Ma’am would like then?”
“I’ll have the same too. Thanks kaka”. And with a nod, he quietly left the room.
“His attitude towards you bugs me to no end.” I told her.
“Its fine dear, things should gradually become alright. Now why don’t you get ready for breakfast?”

Wincing, I got out of the bed and slowly made my way to the bathroom. Though each step was an effort, it also gave me great pleasure because all that physiotherapy was finally paying off. And again it was all thanks to Ambika. I had resigned myself to remain bed ridden for the remainder of my life, but it was she who encouraged me, inspired me to not get overwhelmed by the odds stacked against me but to fight and overcome them. She signed me up for these physiotherapy sessions. At first even the simplest motions brought tears of pain to my eyes, but slowly and surely I made progress until I finally got to the stage where I could walk by myself without help. Yes it’s true, I owe her a lot.

Jeevan wheeled the breakfast tray into the room. He laid out our plates and with a quick ‘Enjoy your meal, sir’ left the room.  For the past few weeks Ambika has been trying to bully me into stepping outside the house, and today was no different. Walking around a bit in your own home is fine, but in the outside world while attracting stares from everywhere; I shudder at the very thought. “Just think of it as a tattoo gone wrong”, seeing my look she hastily amended, “alright, a whole body tattoodone by a blind drunk old man hung upside down, gone horribly wrong”.  I could not but help smile, and I knew my resistance would not count for much. Ambika usually gets to have her say and way.

While eating breakfast Jeevan once more entered the room. “Jai sir is here to see you. Would you like to see him now?” “Sure, Jeevan bring him up.” Jai Bose, my childhood friend, but more importantly a psychologist by profession. I’ve always maintained that Ambika was all the therapy I needed, but everyone felt it was necessary to seek expert help too, so I decide to humour them. “You boys catch up, I’ll take a bath in the meanwhile” and saying so she got up and headed towards the shower.

The door opened and in came Jai, immaculately dressed in his shirt, tie and formal trousers.
“Hey burns! Feeling any hot today?”
I really did not mind, in fact I enjoyed matching wits with him and I suspected his frivolousness was a ploy to get me to stop all that self pity
“You are a psychologist sir, don’t you think constant reminders about a patient’s traumatic experience could damage his psyche?”
“Yeah maybe, but then again I’m doing this for free.”
Intelligent eyes surveyed me behind black framed spectacles, “Seriously though, how are you?”
“I am feeling quite good. I can even walk around a bit now.”  I replied.
“That’s excellent news! It’s time then to get out of the house now, don’t you think?”
“Funny thing, Ambika was just badgering me with the same advice right now. Maybe, let’s see.”
“Ah, Ambika, where is she? “
“She’s in the shower”
“Oh, good. Well inferno (*sigh* he’ll never learn), I am here to tell you about another intriguing case. Interested?”
I fancy myself to be an amateur psychologist. Jai always drops in with interesting stories about his patients. We have always been fascinated by the human brain and how it can adapt to any kind of situation.

“I’m all ears.”
“Well here it is then. You might find this interesting because it is very similar to yours. He too suffered severe second degree burns in an accident, the only difference being that his wife did not survive the unfortunate incident.”
“Poor man, “I said, “I couldn’t even imagine where I would be without Ambika”
“Ah, but then things got interesting. Part of the poor man’s brain began to manifest traits of his wife until he couldn’t differentiate between what was real and what was not. He hallucinates that his wife is still alive and well. “
“Strange are the works of the brain” I mused, “Why don’t you help him out of this delusion by telling him his wife is nothing but a figment of his own fractured imagination?”
“I am afraid to do so. Who knows what effects such a revelation might have on him? It could break him completely and undo all that progress he’s made till now. I believe his brain itself will let him know when he’s ready.” He looked at his watch,”Well, I’ve got to run now. See you later in the evening”
“Don’t you want to meet Ambika? She’ll be out any moment.” I asked.
“Never mind, I’ll meet her sometime else.” And he turned to leave.
“Wait a minute Jai, what’s this guy’s name?”  He told me.
“Ummm.. could you write that down, I didn’t get that entirely” He wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it over to me.
“I. M. Kasab Eiadd, that’s an odd name” Jai smiled sadly and said,
“Sometimes strange men have strange names.” I watched him leave and then turned my attention towards the piece of paper again. Somehow the name felt familiar, and it was not because of the obvious reason. I identified with it somehow, but like a slippery pebble in a glass of oil, I just couldn’t get my hands around what exactly. Oh well, perhaps Ambika could figure out what was so special with Mr I. M. Kasab Eiadd.

I heard the shower stop. “She’ll be out any moment.” I thought happily and finished off my milk.   

 –

Hari Nair
MTech(IS) 3^rd Sem
DTU

Gift to my Grandad

Thank You

Dear Appupa

Well I’ll be honest from the start, its 4.17 am in the morning; I’ve been thinking about what to get you, and I’m stumped. Picking out Ammuma’s Sari was by no means an easy task. Khadi, Tusser, Kanchivaram, handmade, machine made, I must have browsed through at least 50 of them before settling for one that I actually liked. Right now as I write this I’m not even sure how my choice will be received by you all but hopefully everyone will like it, especially Ammuma. In her case I’ve always known from the beginning what I needed to get her, it was just the selection that was the tough part. But you Sir, have proven to be an exceptionally difficult person to shop for.

You see the reason behind this is that I believe a gift should not be given just because the occasion demands that one be given.  It should hold some value in the hearts of both the receiving and gifting parties. In Ammuma’s case, this Sari is actually the fulfillment of the promise I made to her when I was god knows how many years old. So it naturally means a lot to both her and me. No such pact exists between us. You’ve never asked, and neither have I ever offered to buy you anything from my first salary. But I really want to get you something too, so I have given this a lot of thought, trying to come up with some suitable options. But I soon realized that whatever I could come up with, be it a watch, t-shirts, walking sticks or pens,  was something you already possessed and that too in surplus amount. So it wouldn’t really be useful. Actually no, as I’m writing this I realize that you would indeed happily accept any of the above, just because it’s a gift from your grandson. The actual reason behind me not going for something like a Titan is something far more selfish; I want to give you something that’s special and I wouldn’t personally derive the same pleasure giving a simple watch to you as I would giving that Sari to Ammuma.

Finally I’ve come to the conclusion that I really can’t buy you anything. Simply because unlike Ammuma’s sari, whatever stuff I buy you would only be materially significant. It’d seem like merely going through the motions; like a formality.  No, I want my gift to be more. To mean more. So I’ve decided that if I can’t buy anything for you, I’ll create something for you. Now if I was a painter I’d paint you a picture, or if I was a singer I’d have composed a song and sung it to you, but since writing’s the medium I’m the most comfortable with, I’ll try to do this with words. ­­

Your principles have always acted as a lighthouse for the family, guiding us to safe waters during troubled times. I’ve always regarded you as the only role model of my life, and hell, if I’m able to conduct my life even half as honorably as you have I’d be an extremely happy man. I’ve always believed that the worth of one’s existence shouldn’t be judged by the success achieved by him, but by the difference he’s made in the life of others. And I’m sure each and every one of us in this room would be very different people hadn’t you been a part of our lives. Be it about cricket, politics, religion, science, mythology or just life in general, I treasure each and every conversation I’ve had with you. They’ve played a major role in defining my value system and how I perceive things.  Even more though, I treasure the time I got to spend with you while having those conversations. It’s only after staying in Bangalore for such a long time, that I realized how much I valued those morning and evening walks with you. And not just the walks, sitting with you and verifying if all the medicines had been properly derived, listening to you explain the finer points of the Gita to Ammau, you getting that tad bit irritated when Ammuma’s nagging got a bit too much to handle, your frustration with those never ending Malayalam TV serials…..… I miss them all. In a nutshell, all I’m trying to say is that today I’m working in a respectable company and earning a respectable income, I’ve also had a moderately successful academic career, and to a large extent it’s because of you and you’re presence in my life. But most of all I owe you for my principles. They definitely wouldn’t be what they are if I didn’t have you to observe and learn from.

So Appupa, this is it. My gift to you. It may not be much, but these are 888 words straight from the heart. I won’t call them the best 888 words I’ve ever written but they’re definitely the 888 most honest ones. Of these 886 of them are also though, the most unnecessary ones that I’ve ever put on paper. That’s because everything I’ve said and everything I’ve wanted to say but somehow couldn’t, can all be summed up by the first two words you read.

I love you.

Oh, and a happy belated birthday!!

-Hari