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advice, anurag anand, author, drunken driving, Inspiration, life, life lessons, marriage, relationships, short story
Nishant entered the house and made for the living room couch with a visible swagger – the kind of extra cautious walk meant to refute the influence of excessive alcohol for any onlooker as well as one’s own self. Yes, he had been drinking. But he had a valid reason behind it – a bunch of old friends getting together over drinks to reminisce old times. Only if Sharada would understand, he thought, rubbing his throbbing temple before allowing his body to land on the leatherette couch with a thump.
“Just look at yourself… What sort of an example do you think you are setting for Aarav?” he could almost hear the retributive words of Sharada, his wife of the past eleven years. She wouldn’t understand, she rarely made any attempts to now a days. ‘You always have a reason… And no, I am not saying you shouldn’t drink at all. Only, why can’t you drink within limits? Do you even know how much it pains me to see you in this state?’ she would probably say before bursting into tears. And if there was one thing that Nishant continued to fear even after eleven years of marriage, it was Sharada’s crying. He hadn’t succeeded in discovering a remedy for his wife’s tears as yet.
It had been a worthwhile outing nonetheless.
Nishant was the zonal sales head for a large pharma company, a job that virtually sucked every ounce of his energy between Mondays and Fridays. Mostly, even his weekends weren’t left untouched, urgent e-mails and calls that simply couldn’t be ignored kept him on his toes. Amidst this demanding schedule he had somehow managed to isolate few pockets of time that remained strictly his own – weekend mornings which he spent playing tennis with Aarav, and Friday evenings. The company he kept on Fridays wasn’t fixed, but the engagement was – he could be found in one of the many popular bars of the city, sipping his favoured brand of Rum mixed with Coke Zero.
This Friday had been no different. A school friend who had long migrated to Dubai was to be in town for a few days. The news had been broadcast on their WhatsApp group and on the same forum a get-together was proposed and hastily planned. Of the fifty odd members in the group, only four had managed to turn up, but that didn’t deter those present from making the most of the occasion. They remained chatting about their childhood crushes and reminisced anecdotes from a world that now seemed like a distant dream, drinks flowing freely all this while making the merriment all the more fanciful. It was only when the restaurant was virtually empty and the manager had to request them to settle their bill that they reluctantly agreed to wrap up their evening.
Nishant had had one drink too many, he knew, but he wasn’t complaining. The buzz in his head was a happy one. Snippets of conversation from the evening kept coming back to him during his drive back, making him guffaw in random bursts. He was glad to be alone in the car for he had no desire for his sanity to be questioned at this hour.
However, now, within the comfort of his home, he could feel the impact of the alcohol. It was as if someone had left a lead ball to roll uncontrollably within his head, making him wince at every impact.
He took a few minutes to steady himself, before getting up. He was heading towards the bedroom now, meaning to snuggle quietly into the bed. Sharada was obviously asleep and he wasn’t going to risk waking her up right now.
He paused in front of Aarav’s room and inadvertently pushed open the door. The night bulb’s tawny light was reflecting on the boy’s face as he remained cuddled in the arms of peaceful sleep. He was sleeping on his side, just as Nishant did, and this made the doting father’s lips curve into a smile. For that brief moment Nishant forgot everything, even the raucous pounding within his head.
Aarav would be up with the first rays of dawn and would spare no effort in pulling him out of bed at that obscene hour. The boy cherished his cricket coaching sessions with his dad, and, despite the inconvenience, Nishant too was looking forward to the next morning.
He planted a silent peck on Aarav’s forehead and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As he entered the master bedroom, he could make out Sharada sleeping form on the bed. The sleeping light was switched off – she preferred total darkness while sleeping – and his eyes took a few seconds to adjust. In three measured steps he was on his side of the bed, and just when he was about to kick off his shoes, Sharada’s phone went off with the standard I-Phone chime. Nishant held his breath and stood still, like a child caught red-handed stealing a cookie from the kitchen jar.
It took a few rings before Sharada propped herself on the bed and reached out for the phone. Like a child she rubbed her eyes with the back of her first, before sliding her finger across the screen. ‘Hello,’ he heard her sleepy and somewhat peeved voice. She hadn’t seen him yet, thank God!
Suddenly he saw Sharada’s expressions change from shock to absolute horror. Strangely he could clearly see her face and each emotion induced twitch on it despite the darkness. He could even hear the caller’s voice with absolute clarity.
“I am calling from the Gurgaon Civil Hospital madam,” the voice said. “Are you related to someone by the name of Nishant Lamba?”
“Yes, he’s my husband.” The quiver in her voice was palpable.
“Can you please come down to the hospital immediately?”
“Why? What happened?” she was nearly screaming now.
“There’s some bad news… It seems Mr. Lamba’s car was in an accident on the highway. Some passers-by called the ambulance and he was brought to the hospital a short while back.”
“Is he okay… I mean, nothing too critical I hope! Please tell me…”
“Madam, why don’t you come to the hospital as soon as you can,” the man’s tone left little doubt with regards to Nishant’s condition. Only, standing there beside the bed, he was still trying to fathom the meaning of the word’s he’d just heard.