22 July, 2013
NEW DELHI
It is pouring heavily from the sky and streets are still
hustling. The unwanted noise of horns and klaxons is resonating in the
environment while my stereo in the car is playing trance music. I am returning
back to my flat after this tiresome party of Prashast. I wish Ahana was there
with me in the party but she told me that she had a meeting with her client at
Raddison.
The flashlight of my iPhone is blinking and the screen is
awakened by Ahana’s call.
“Hey! How was your meeting?” I ask
“It was good and It got over before the expected time so
I went for some shopping.” she replies
“great”
“Can you pick me up from Shambhavi’s place?” she asks
“I thought you have reached our flat.” I say
“I went for a shopping with Shambhavi and then she asked
me to join her at dinner. So -” she says with her innocent voice.
“You said we would go for a dinner tonight.” I frown
while she convinces me why she couldn’t say no to Shambhavi. She is Ahana’s
best of friends and has been so since four years. Albeit Shambhavi is two years
younger than Ahana but still there is a great knot of understanding between
both the girls.
“I will be there in a jiffy.”
“Thank you” She disconnects the call and I accelerate the
car. I roll the volume button and increase the volume of stereo system. I am in
love with trance music. Perhaps the whole world is.
I park my car besides the busy roads of Connaught Palace
and enter the Oxford Bookstore. A man comes up to me and asks how he can help
me.
“I want romantic fiction.” I say and the man wearing a
regular white shirt and grey trouser looks through the corner of his eyes and
points towards the stack of the books. I pick THE FAULT IN OUR STARS and head
towards the cash counter.
“399/- Rupees sir” the girl sitting at the cash counter
hand overs TFIOS kept in a paper bag. I pay the amount and run back to the car.
The falling diamond shaped drops are nurturing my not-so-new black Skoda Laura. Wipers are
wiping the unwanted water while drops are mosaicked on the glass in no time. I hasten
the speed of my car by pressing the first pedal from the right and drive on the
asphalt roads of Delhi.
I screech the break and car lurches to a halt. The
darkness of night and headlights of vehicles are irking in my eyes. A person
hardly 5’10’’ is lying over with his stomach touching the layer of the road.
Right profile of his face is only visible as the left one is kissing the asphalted
aggregates.
There are people, people walking on the pavements, traveling in cars, gossiping over the wine shop, shopping clothes but there is
no one – no one who can assist this person who is lying half dead on the way.
No one has seen him, the blood bleeding from his nostrils and head. Or maybe
they have but they ignored it.
The problem of this country is not corruption but
selfishness is. Corruption is just a side effect of selfishness where people
pay bribes for their own advantage or to save their time. No one cares about
who is dying and who is alive and then there are people especially women who
always want to know each and every thing about others, being it the car they
have got in the dowry or a girl dating some boy.
I hold him up and he is bleeding heavily. His forehead is
scarlet and half of his left cheek is masked with blood. I take him to my car,
open his black jacket off and place it under his head. I run back to the driver
seat and drive horrifically fast.
I have been honking in front of Shambhavi’s flat for last
few minutes. Ahana egresses Shambhavi’s flat and takes her front passenger
seat. She bid Shambhavi a good bye and gives me an intense look with her
reddened nose.
“You are so rude. Couldn’t you just say a bye to
Shambhavi” She says, angry while I try to put the car in first gear.
“We are going to hospital.” I raise my eyebrow.
“Why?
Wait, what’s that on your hand? Is that blood?” She asks and I point her to
look at the back seat where the half dead man was lying.
“Who is he now? What on earth is happening here?” she
frowns and I tell her how I found this half dead man lying on the busy road
where no one came up to assist or help him.
“Are you mad? What if this guy is a terrorist or a
murderer?” She shouts
“He is an engineer” I pass her the identity card which I
found few minutes back while I was removing his jacket.
“But sixty percent of engineers are also terrorist” she
exasperates
“Oh!
Shut up!” I shout
Ahana reads each and every information about him from identity
card. “ARMAN SHARMA” she whispers and turns over to me and asks if I have tried
to call on his father’s number pointing at the ten digit mobile phone number
written on the card and I shake my head no. She starts dialling his father’s
number but it says that the number is out of reach.
Five minutes later we find ourselves in front of City
hospital. Ahana runs inside the hospital and comes up with a stretcher. Two
compounders take him inside while we follow them. Receptionist hands overs a
form to me but Ahana snatches it. “I
will fill this form, you go inside.” Ahana is worried about him too. Dialling
his father’s number repeatedly and filling the hospital formalities is a sign
which she can never hide.
