SIX DAYS OF A BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATION

 “Are you better now?”, I asked Soham, a 4-year old crippled child who was born during the nuclear holocaust and had just been moved to my ward.  No, the question just didn’t seem fair. Everything all around answered for him, out loud.

Soham had been found lying abandoned on the streets three years back; since then he had been staying here, in this dilapidated nursing home. There was no trace of his family and he remembered nothing of where he came from. After all, he was just a baby then.

I had finished giving him food and medicines, as was the norm, when he suddenly expressed an ardent desire to know something pleasant. I was perplexed. “Was anything ‘pleasant’ left in this world now?”.  I just and went stood near the window; the calendar said that it’s the month of May; the month of summer vacations, the month of scorching sun, where the only ‘medicine’ used is a sun block; the month of mangoes, ice creams, the month where children played the whole day, sounds of drum beats, guitar strings, as if the wind produced music.... The few schools that now ran did give ‘summer’ vacations but “was it really summer?”. We were wrapped in woollens and drank hot tea, waiting for the sun to rise.

The Almighty knows what struck me, I started talking, with a child-like innocence lurking in my usually dull voice. At 20, sometimes I too felt like a child within but one that was forced to grow up overnight. Like Soham, I too wanted to talk of ‘pleasant’ things but unlike Soham, I was blessed"or punished"with memories...

Photographic memories (at least the few that remained) , what better way to show him the pre nuclear war world;  summer vacations, what better way to start the conversation, I thought. Well, I was one heck of a traveller; from mountains to beaches to wildlife to man-made wonders, from Kashmir to Paris to Rome to London to L.A. to Cape Town, for a 16-year old I had seen way too much, one could blame my parents for themselves being such avid travellers. “Oh, this is you?”, he exclaimed shocked, seeing a photo of mine with my parents. I don’t blame him for his reaction. My scarred face today is a far cry from my sweet and innocent face before. Although, everything was black or white for him, I could see his face showing shades of red and orange as he saw the photos while I narrated the tales of my travel. His eyes couldn’t see the colours but his mind could. My heart, my mind yearned for a time machine that could take me four years back-to my parents, my family, my friends who now were up in the sky weeping along with me.

A not-so quick glance at my broken watch, which I painstakingly wore everyday on my left burnt arm brought me back to the harsh reality. I exclaimed, “hey.... it’s way past your bedtime. You should sleep now”, to which he replied, “But... I want to know more. I am sure there are several more tales to unravel. I sleep half the day and have been sleeping since I was born; not everyday someone talks to me, at least not like this.” He was right; I too wanted to stay, but couldn’t, I am not a free bird anymore. Tears welled up in my eyes; I just blurted out, “I will definitely be here tomorrow.  Don’t I come everyday? Now you need to rest.” Within seconds he fell asleep; that’s all the powerful medication could give him in these four years.

I too returned home, a refugee camp where I had been staying since the disaster. My family, was now a cross cultural group, all united by one cause-the apocalypse and the fact that we shared a common tent. Earlier families laughed, cried, fought, ate, played together, but now they strove to overcome their grief, their cultural differences hoping that someday they would all be at par.

“Hi, you are back? How was your day?”, Liu asked me. As I lay down to sleep, I thought about the day, my conversation with Soham. A small smile crept on my face; it was the first time I had genuinely smiled after the catastrophe. Seeing the charred bodies of my friends, family and parents from a distance while I was lying on the ground motionless, helpless, I was unable to speak... I repudiate those apostles of nuclear power, the venerable scientists and consummate engineers who cracked the foundation of our civilization, by failing to use nuclear power wisely and then calling the apocalypse, an Act of God. God would never do to man what man has done to himself.  Thinking this, I closed my eyes and brought my day to an end.

A new day, I woke up early, earlier than usual. I opened up the only locker I had and held something, holding which I felt numb, I was holding it for the first time since joining the nursing home (three and a half years back); my diary, in whose pages I had beautifully captured the pre war life, through art as well as through words. As I flipped the pages, I came across a CD cove on which was written “HEAL THE   WORLD”; on reading it, I just closed my eyes and music started playing in my ears, I was somewhere else now.....

Stars, half-crescent moon lit up the night sky; a young girl, cute with flawless skin, messy hair tied to a bun walking on the grey, concrete terrace with headphones plugged into her ears, listening a song for the first time; looking teary ran down the stairs to the top floor, corner apartment; as the beautifully carved entrance door swayed open automatically there was a middle-aged handsome couple sitting comfortably on an Italian animal leather sofa with their feet resting on the exquisite Italian leather marble with their eyes glued to their latest curved OLED television. As the girl was just about to run and hug her mother, the news on the television caught her eye; “A TSUNAMI IN JAPAN.... MASSIVE DESTRUCTION”. She drank her tears and went to her room; for the next few days she was glued to her walkman, the disc in which played Michael Jackson’s HEAL THE WORLD.  “Yes, the world, the earth is wounded very badly and does need a lot of healing..... Why doesn’t this stop? One day, even I’ll become a victim, I am responsible, if not equally, but yes responsible for this mess; my cell phone, my car, my sofa, all are...” She had always been sensitive; sensitive to things, animals, to people and their sufferings; had tried her best to help with donations, campaigns, helping NGOs, but that feeling of satisfaction never came through....

The hospital and it’s patients are my life now; I went to Soham’s ward at the end, wanting to give him full attention. When I entered the ward, I saw Soham’s beaming eyes staring out of the window, his face giving a perplexed look.

“Oh, thank god you came, you are so late. I thought you wouldn’t come, maybe you didn’t want to talk about your past”, he innocently said. “Well, I have brought something for you, I guess that’ll make up for my coming late today”, I replied, trying to decipher his changing expressions at the same time. It was, as if he was flooded by a wave of curiosity.

I showed him my diary; he obviously couldn’t read it; but the sketches fascinated him, the alphabets, words and sentences were no less than an art form for him. Over a span of three days, I shared with him, all the experiences in my short, yet long life of sixteen years; about childhood, family, friends, playing with dolls, first day in school, annual functions, always excelling in academics, games, some lows, scoldings from my mom, my grandparents who would always jump in and protect me, uncles who brought expensive gifts, cousins with whom I played and fought, my best friend-mom, my role model-dad, my first cousin’s wedding, my grandmother’s death and lots more... He heard the legendary, inspirational song, ‘HEAL THE WORLD’ as well, on repeat not only because he loved it so much but because that was the only song I had, I was crazy, crazy enough to dedicate one entire disc to this song; I found my walkman as well with the diary and the disc.

As I put him off to sleep, I saw him genuinely smiling, from ear to ear; four days of joyful conversation had done what four years of medication couldn’t, he talked, smiled and even laughed gently. Even the senior doctors treating him smiled; they had to, after all his reports were so much better than last time. As for me, I finally got a summer vacation after four years; I was happy, smiling, even heard my favourite song on repeat, “well, what else do young teens call a summer vacation?”

The next two days passed in a jiffy; it was a jiffy for me, but not for him I guess; I took out an old notebook and a pencil. Our world is incomplete without art and words; making their knowledge a necessity. I knew I won’t be able to make him a pro, but I could definitely acquaint him with the basics. I loved reading, sketching and writing and was quite good in all three; I thought it was time for him to learn something, time to start educating him, how much ever I could within the little time we both had. His skills did not surprise; the way he talked, the questions were the first indication that he was a smart kid. His grasp was quick, his questions witty. We both enjoyed our time with each other.

When I brought him his dinner soup, he expressed reluctance in drinking it, I too had a twinge; but it was my duty and his duty too to take his dinner. He hesitantly drank it. Within seconds, he started coughing loudly. The senior doctor came in and he was relieved in a short time. “It was the soup, the water, polluted everywhere, where should we go, what should we do, all purification techniques fail in some time”, he screamed. Frustrated, he left. My nerves were tensed; if only...... no soup.....

I managed to re-create the whole world for little Soham in just six days, much like God must have at the beginning of the civilization. It is said he rested on the seventh day. My creation existed only in Soham’s imagination, much to my chagrin, or looking at the current situation, relief. “Did I do the right thing?  Was he better off without knowing the beautiful days?”. At home, I looked at the diary, at the CD cover, HEAL THE WORLD sounded like a satire, an irony. As I listened to the song again beneath the night sky, I actually could feel Michael Jackson mocking me. The short summer vacation seemed to have ended.

The next morning, as I walked into my ward, my apprehensions came true. On the seventh day, Soham rested.

 

Reviews

[C. Rose]

I'm so happy you extended this!

Well done :)

[deepika]

Yeah, I have edited and expanded my story SIX DAYS OF S BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATION. wanted to keep both versions, so have posted this separately. Thanks for liking it.

[Marie]

I think I read this before, but it's still a great story. Sad, but inspirational.