"Dad ! Dad!" The panic in the voice at the other end made my blood run cold. Taking a deep breath, i replied, "What is it son, what's happened." All i could hear was deep wracking sobs, then, " Kumar.. Kumar..I.. I think he's dead. What should i do..?"
My son. The intrepid adventurer. He had left home that morning, with a biker friend, on a holiday to the beauteous, scenic Jharkhand. At twenty-one, the world was his oyster. Young, but very responsible, he had always been into sports and prided himself on fair play. Football and biking were the two major loves of his life at the moment. That was how i had been too, when i was his age, until that fateful day.
It all began with a crazy challenge. The bike seemed an extension of my body almost, as we raced thru the streets of Bandra, almost every other night. I and my best buddy, Farukh. It was his birthday that day, the fourteenth of August, and he was in an elated mood. His dad had gifted him, the bike he had always coveted, the bike of his dreams. "Let's do it buddy," I could still hear the lilt in his voice, as we stood near the bikes, donning our helmets. It was my turn to drive, since we had already reached the Expressway, and had to turn back for home. "But we shouldn't." i replied. "It's too dangerous, specially at night. " What he had been suggesting was that we return, driving on the opposite lane. " At our speeds, we'll be just a blur, c'mon man! Here i'll drive if you don't want to." The way his eyes looked, no burned, thru me, with a world of scorn and challenge in them, i gave in.
As we zoomed across the highway, i could hear his whoops of delight. It was then, that the head lights hit us. The truck coming from the opposite direction, veered towards us, and in that one blinding moment, my life was shattered, never to be the same again.
When i came to, i was lying on the road, besides the divider. Heaving myself up with a superhuman effort, i found myself sitting on the road. It was still dark. Still night. Stunned, for a moment, i wondered where i was. Then it hit me. "Farukh ! Farukh !". Hoarse with fright, my voice sounded like a whisper to me. I saw him then. From the way he lay on the road, i knew it was all over. Crawling towards him, oblivious to any danger to myself, i shook him first, crying out his name. Heart thundering in my chest, my body palpitating, i refused to believe the evidence of my eyes. Feverishly, i felt for his pulse. There was none. The bike lay mangled, twisted, like the body of it's owner. Putting my head over his, i wept, softly at first, then great racking sobs as hysteria took over. How many cars must have passed, i lost count. Not one stopped. Some even reversed before taking off, as fast as they could. Feeling for a handkerchief, to stem the flow of blood into my eyes, obscuring my vision, from a probable head wound, i found my cell in my pocket. Dialing as fast as my fingers could, i found my dad's number and called. Incoherently i explained what had happened. "I'm coming. Try to stay on the left side of the road. Be safe" The reassuring voice of my dad, steadied me." I remember, seeing the time. It was three a.m.
When i came to, i was at a hospital. My parents sat beside my bed. They told me i was lucky to have survived, with just a superficial head wound, and a few cracked ribs. Since the doctor was my fathers' brother i had been admitted. No questions asked. "Farukh, dad ! Where's Farukh ?" I asked. "He is no more," my dad answered in a low voice. "His parents must have been informed by now." Bewildered, i asked, " But, but dad! Didn't you inform them ?" My father averted his gaze.
It was the biggest cover up of his life. They had come to the accident site, my uncle and him. They had picked up my unconscious body, and after ascertaining that Farukh was indeed dead, they had picked up all my belongings, and whisked me away. Of course, the police came, but my dad claimed that i had been simply dropped off to the hospital by a good samaritan, who had then left. The story that was then given to all our friends and my late friend's parents. But deep down, they knew. I knew, as did my conscience.
The office, when i was well enough to rejoin, seemed to reverberate with Farukh's presence, as it had when he had been alive and working in the cubicle next to mine. All the good times that we had shared, all the tricks that we had played on the others as a team, replayed constantly in my head.
At first, it was subtle. A few snide remarks, some insinuations dropped here and there. Then came the boycott. People wouldn't answer when i talked to them. Colleagues who had been full of bonhomie before, left the room when i entered. No one would invite me for parties, anymore, or for movies. After a year, i could take it no more and had a nervous breakdown, after which i resigned my job. We left town, my parents and i. Relocated to Banglore. Life started anew. My counseller was an old wise man, who steered me back into my life with his kindly hand, and wise counsel. I put it all behind me. I thought i had until today.
My life had flashed before my eyes, as with my son, i awaited the ambulance that would take his friend to the hospital. Life does give a second chance, i realised, for he lived, my son's friend. Now my son goes about campus, quite the hero, because he saved his friend's life, with his quick thinking, even though it meant having to face the consequences and a tedious police case.
Older, wiser, i was grateful too. Life had allowed me to bury the ghosts, make amends. Yes, life had come full circle.
My son. The intrepid adventurer. He had left home that morning, with a biker friend, on a holiday to the beauteous, scenic Jharkhand. At twenty-one, the world was his oyster. Young, but very responsible, he had always been into sports and prided himself on fair play. Football and biking were the two major loves of his life at the moment. That was how i had been too, when i was his age, until that fateful day.
It all began with a crazy challenge. The bike seemed an extension of my body almost, as we raced thru the streets of Bandra, almost every other night. I and my best buddy, Farukh. It was his birthday that day, the fourteenth of August, and he was in an elated mood. His dad had gifted him, the bike he had always coveted, the bike of his dreams. "Let's do it buddy," I could still hear the lilt in his voice, as we stood near the bikes, donning our helmets. It was my turn to drive, since we had already reached the Expressway, and had to turn back for home. "But we shouldn't." i replied. "It's too dangerous, specially at night. " What he had been suggesting was that we return, driving on the opposite lane. " At our speeds, we'll be just a blur, c'mon man! Here i'll drive if you don't want to." The way his eyes looked, no burned, thru me, with a world of scorn and challenge in them, i gave in.
As we zoomed across the highway, i could hear his whoops of delight. It was then, that the head lights hit us. The truck coming from the opposite direction, veered towards us, and in that one blinding moment, my life was shattered, never to be the same again.
When i came to, i was lying on the road, besides the divider. Heaving myself up with a superhuman effort, i found myself sitting on the road. It was still dark. Still night. Stunned, for a moment, i wondered where i was. Then it hit me. "Farukh ! Farukh !". Hoarse with fright, my voice sounded like a whisper to me. I saw him then. From the way he lay on the road, i knew it was all over. Crawling towards him, oblivious to any danger to myself, i shook him first, crying out his name. Heart thundering in my chest, my body palpitating, i refused to believe the evidence of my eyes. Feverishly, i felt for his pulse. There was none. The bike lay mangled, twisted, like the body of it's owner. Putting my head over his, i wept, softly at first, then great racking sobs as hysteria took over. How many cars must have passed, i lost count. Not one stopped. Some even reversed before taking off, as fast as they could. Feeling for a handkerchief, to stem the flow of blood into my eyes, obscuring my vision, from a probable head wound, i found my cell in my pocket. Dialing as fast as my fingers could, i found my dad's number and called. Incoherently i explained what had happened. "I'm coming. Try to stay on the left side of the road. Be safe" The reassuring voice of my dad, steadied me." I remember, seeing the time. It was three a.m.
When i came to, i was at a hospital. My parents sat beside my bed. They told me i was lucky to have survived, with just a superficial head wound, and a few cracked ribs. Since the doctor was my fathers' brother i had been admitted. No questions asked. "Farukh, dad ! Where's Farukh ?" I asked. "He is no more," my dad answered in a low voice. "His parents must have been informed by now." Bewildered, i asked, " But, but dad! Didn't you inform them ?" My father averted his gaze.
It was the biggest cover up of his life. They had come to the accident site, my uncle and him. They had picked up my unconscious body, and after ascertaining that Farukh was indeed dead, they had picked up all my belongings, and whisked me away. Of course, the police came, but my dad claimed that i had been simply dropped off to the hospital by a good samaritan, who had then left. The story that was then given to all our friends and my late friend's parents. But deep down, they knew. I knew, as did my conscience.
The office, when i was well enough to rejoin, seemed to reverberate with Farukh's presence, as it had when he had been alive and working in the cubicle next to mine. All the good times that we had shared, all the tricks that we had played on the others as a team, replayed constantly in my head.
At first, it was subtle. A few snide remarks, some insinuations dropped here and there. Then came the boycott. People wouldn't answer when i talked to them. Colleagues who had been full of bonhomie before, left the room when i entered. No one would invite me for parties, anymore, or for movies. After a year, i could take it no more and had a nervous breakdown, after which i resigned my job. We left town, my parents and i. Relocated to Banglore. Life started anew. My counseller was an old wise man, who steered me back into my life with his kindly hand, and wise counsel. I put it all behind me. I thought i had until today.
My life had flashed before my eyes, as with my son, i awaited the ambulance that would take his friend to the hospital. Life does give a second chance, i realised, for he lived, my son's friend. Now my son goes about campus, quite the hero, because he saved his friend's life, with his quick thinking, even though it meant having to face the consequences and a tedious police case.
Older, wiser, i was grateful too. Life had allowed me to bury the ghosts, make amends. Yes, life had come full circle.
This truly is like, what goes around, comes around..
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