Accident

Date:- June 5th, 1997

Time:- 23.30 Hrs

Venue:- Parklane Hotel Banquet Hall

Ramada Hotel Staff Get-together was in full swing. My Boss was searching for a person who could drop the Banquet Manager who was completely squashed. Of the two teetotalers, he opted for me and I was requested to drop the Banquet Manager at his residence. I nodded my head in the positive and started walking towards the parking basement.

Time:-1.32 AM

Location:- Rathfile Cross roads, Secunderabad

A loud braking screech of a bike beats the air and a bike hits the divider. The Driver crash lands on the harsh crude granite stones that were on the right side of the road. The driver suffers multiple cuts on the face, one on the forehead; the nose was cut across three places leaving it hanging and two minor cuts on the lips. Blood was gushing out of the nose, painting the pink T-shirt with O +ve blood.

Nothing happened to the pillion driver and the motorbike is intact as well. Not knowing what to do, the Banquet Manager started to scream for help and with no trace of any humans there, he started to cry. An auto passing by that road stops there and the auto driver reaches out to help me. He grabs me immediately and heads straight to the CDR hospital where I’m admitted in the Causality ward. He then decides to sneak out to avoid police queries. “ LONG LIVE THE AUTO DRIVER”, I owe my re-birth to him.

The House Doctor is called upon and First Aid is administered within minutes. The news spreads like Forest fire and phones start ringing at all the key locations of the city including the MD of my Hotel who in turn calls the MD of CDR Hospital to appraise him about the mishap. The House surgeon orders for all the required tests, the most important of all being the Blood Alcohol test. All the tests result in the positive and copacetic with the results, the House Surgeon asks the Duty Doctors to get the Operation Theatre for an emergency Surgery.

Surgery starts 6.30 AM and ends at noon. By that time, my face had swollen almost double its size and the Doctor says the next 24 hours are very critical. My father was in Bangalore when the incident happened and by the time the news reached him, it was already 36 hours. My Dad could make it to the city only after two days. Remember, it was those days of “No Mobile phones”; even a pager was a luxury.

7.30 AM, 8th June

I was able to faintly hear a voice saying “Your Daddy is here” and the word “Daddy” kindled my efforts to regain my consciousness, almost two days after the mishap. I could see a spectacled person shocked to the atoms of his body, standing near the door trying to take his steps towards me, sobbing while he was walking. The sight was pathetic to watch and no father would ever want to see his kinfolks in that position. Being the emotional person he is, he continues to sob and tears start running down his cheeks. I made an attempt to wipe the liquid off, but, was unable to. My Dad was briefed that I was out of danger and might require a plastic surgery after a couple of months. With Catharsis happening in the form of tears, those words brought in a world of relief to that poor destabilized soul. My father was asked to leave the room, but a young lady who stood by the side of me continued to stay. With questions of who the lady was flurrying his mind, he quietly left the ICU.

Before the spark of who was the lady could rage into a fire, he decided to ask one of the Attendants there about her. My Dad was told that she is his friend and is here ever since the Operation got over. “These people allow the friends to stay and not his own Dad” he told himself with sporadic streaks of jealousy running rampant on his despondent face.

My Dad was offered accommodation in the hotel where I worked, but opted to stay in my bachelor room at Begumpet. At around 8 PM, the girl who was with me in the ICU walks to my dad and suggests him to go home and rest. This suggestion triggered a host of questions which included the following.. “What’s your name, How do you know my son, Where are you parents, wont they search for you etc. With lot of patience and respect, she answers the volley of questions which still leaves him with a trail of questions which he chose not to ask at that point in time. He then suggested that she goes home and told her that “I want to stay with my son”. With the fort of father-son bond winning over the nascent friendship between me and her, she was left with no options than to head home.

After a couple of days, I was moved to a separate room and the sudden wish of wanting to see my screwed up face took birth in me. There were a lot of thoughts that ran in me and I was able to arrive at some conclusion with what the doctors, my friends’ spoke of my face. A series of ‘What Ifs” ran in my mind forming a big plume leading to highly futuristic thoughts. What If my face is f***ed? I will have to leave the industry or move to back-office Operations? What If Ritu drifts away because of this? People will no longer call me “Baby face”; girls will stop looking at me …….

Slowly as the anxiety gained momentum, I started walking towards the mirror and did not know how to react. My face had a lot of stitches with traces of bloody open cuts. My nostrils had a lot of switches and pained heavily when touched. There was absolute despondency in the air and I was almost shattered. Seeing his shattered son, my father came closer to me and touching my shoulders he said, “We will do a plastic surgery and I will arrange for the finances, don’t you worry”..

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