Same drama….similar breathing problem, only a different environment. Call up the wall, panicking. ‘I can’t breathe properly!’ He asks me to step out immediately. I start banging on the shutter, asking the guard to let me out.
Poor guy, gets a fright! We start looking for the oxygen can frantically. They are in the office upstairs, he runs up to get them as I pant, holding on to my chest. A couple of hours before that, one had called up the house to say, I’m not well. But the men, as usual, were drunk out of their freaking minds. Plus, ever since mom and I have left, the house has been converted into a tavern. So, my dear Bhaskar, was busy taking care of the guests. Soon other things will start, too. But not that us being around really stopped anyone, earlier.
I pump as many meds as I can, take the oxygen that makes me feel better and get a lecture. ‘ How could you give that man what he wanted, so easily?’ He’s echoing what other well wishers had said, when I moved here. ‘ I got tired of everything- the accusations, the constant microscope I was under, the back and forth calls which were being made to my friends. The listening in, I got exhausted! Most of all, it pissed me off. My mum died and everyone behaved as if she didn’t exist. As if this was their time to make merry. The fact that they abandoned her, in her last few years, I’m mad about but to watch them sit in what was her house and celebrate, it makes so damn livid.’ I want to yell but I’m too uneasy. ‘ I got tired, for now!’ I repeat, as I have been for the past week.
I look for SB but can’t find her. So SC, just imagines lying on her mum’s chest (as usual, that’s why she was called chipkoo) and falls asleep, as the cough syrup kicks in. Tomorrow will be another day.