As I write this piece in excruciating pain, I wonder if all Januarys are bound to be a bit too hard on me. The two stitches the doctor has sewn in my ankle are starting to hurt even more, and my mind’s filled with other tensions that make this pain seem so petty.
It was very sudden, the way the whole world turned topsy turvy before my eyes, as Sangit lost control of his bike. The road wasn’t lit at all, so he couldn’t see the water on it, not while he was pointing at something that I don’t even remember. So it was pointless anyway!
An innocent suggestion by a hungry Sangit led the three of us, Sagar, him and me, to Bharati Vidyapeeth, possibly the only place nearby with an eatery that doesn’t shut down by 9:30 PM. The frosty weather compelled me to sit behind Sangit on his Honda Unicorn, as I decided to go just for a round, after a long day of studies and assignments.
We collected our parcelled Chocolate Toasts and Burgers, and headed home, when disaster struck. For a moment I thought it was normal, almost a year back I’d suffered an even more deadly accident. I lay on my shoulder, turned behind, only to get blinded by the painful headlights of an Esteem. My right foot was under the bike, while Sangit was thrown away from it. The bike’s irritating Engine knocking sound made me get up on my own, and as I reached my arm to turn the engine off, a searing pain numbed my right leg, and I fell to the ground.
On-lookers rushed to my rescue, completely ignoring Sangit, who I hoped was okay. I was obviously much more hurt than he was, I just didn’t know it yet. As they helped me sit on the curb, I saw Sangit’s worried face emerge from the crowd. He’d come to see if I was alright. My right leg was hurting like anything, and as I pulled my jeans up to see the damage, all I could see under a dim light from some mobile phones, was a pink ‘O’ on my knee. I ignored my hurting ankle, thinking it was just fine.
I don’t remember much of the return journey. Thanks to puna’s deplorable roads, I was given multiple jerks and bumps, amidst Sangit’s account of how he was hurt more, but didn’t care. After coming back to my flat I realised the gravity of my injury. My knee injury was NOTHING as compared to how profusely my ankle bled. I looked up to an anxious, petrified Sagar, assured him I was okay, but knew deep within that this was a big mess. I could walk alright, but for how long, was the question.
Only two of my roommates truly cared about my accident, as I cleaned my wound with Dettol, but it was of no avail. The bleeding didn’t take a breather, and my optimism diminished to a considerable extent. I went off to sleep hoping the blood would clot the next morning – Republic Day. Sangit even placed a ‘footrest’ under my right foot to prevent my bed sheet from getting smeared with blood.
I woke up the following morning with a numb right leg, and a mountain of worries. I wished that I was in Mumbai, where I knew that my friendly physician and my loving family would make all suffering go away. Too bad I was stuck in the worst place on Earth, with the worst injury I’ve ever suffered from. I was on my own now, and no amount of Dettol or Band-Aids could stop the pain. I had to deal with this myself, like I had about a year ago. The only hitch was that I had an exam due the next day (as I write this, the exam’s still 15 hours away) and a very important lecture to attend in my MBA class.
After standing for half an hour in college during a Republic Day function, my leg was left unattended for I thought it had healed. But like most of my judgements, I was just so wrong this time. Frequent releases of blood from my heel got me worried about the seriousness of the wound, and after a nightmare I had during my siesta that day, I finally decided to get myself checked.
I avoid going to any doctor in puna. Unlike the doctors I’ve met in Mumbai, most of the ones in puna are less friendly and inept. For example, the one who attended to me that day kept saying, “You should’ve come earlier” and “Now it’ll pain a lot”, so frequently that my longing to go home increased! He said that two stitches were necessary, for the wound was deep. I hoped hearing that would disillusion Sangit about his wound being more serious.
That time, all I could think was that I wanted to be healthy again, to go to college, to my MBA class, to Mumbai, ride my bike, drive my car, and LIVE more than I have ever had before. A couple of minutes later, the stitching was complete, and the doctor cracked a pathetic joke about taking a snap of the wound to put it as a Facebook update. I sneered and looked more closely at my wound. My beautiful foot looked in such a contemptible condition that I told him to dress it up ASAP. All this while, Sangit stood by my side, comforting me with his rhythmic pats as I became the doctor’s embroidery fabric.
The stitches would stay for 10 more days, ‘5th February’, I counted. Walking even a little was a Herculean task, and I began valuing myself more than ever. The way I’ve survived pain in the past made me proud of myself. My body has stood by me in every calamity, except in this event of pain.
The pain subsided a little in the evening, albeit I knew it would strike back when the effect of the anaesthesia vanished. And as expected, in an hour, my foot began hurting more than ever; I felt the prick of the needle then, and the presence of an external body on my heel. That night I went to sleep in agony, tucked under my blanket as my roommate won’t turn the lights off early, for he had to study.
The following morning I had an intriguing dream. I was jumping happily in a vast garden, the one they show in the Windows XP Wallpaper. I knew this would be a reality very soon. It made me smile, and as I woke up to see my bandaged heel soon after, recollecting Tarun’s words made me feel a little positive. He calls me ‘Achilles’, and well, I hurt my ‘heel’ badly. I’ll leave the dot-connecting part to you!
get well soon :P :P
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