Six months into this new life, things have been a blessing. Work at the restaurant is good, though I don’t get to rest the way I used to when I was doing cleaning work. Now I have to stay on my feet constantly, moving between the tables assigned to me and tending to customers’ needs. I hardly ever sit, and I squeeze in a few minutes to eat whenever I can.
The pay is decent……… my salary along with the tips keeps me going. Other than the frequent calls from my mother, always ranting about her problems, nothing much has changed.
On slower days, when the lunch crowd thins out, I’ve found myself doing small creative things just to keep my mind from drifting into exhaustion. One afternoon, out of boredom, I folded a spare tissue into a tiny paper doll ……….. nothing impressive, just a simple twist and tuck.
To my surprise, a little girl at one of my tables noticed it. Her eyes lit up, and she asked if she could have one too. I made a few more after that and made sure to place them on the table whenever children came in. A couple even said they chose my section because they liked the attention I was giving them.
My love for stories and for the fictional man is still the same. I enjoy slipping into that fantasy where he lives with me, loving me in all the ways real life never has. I barely find time and on my half days, I had to wash my clothes, clean my home properly, and try to rest enough to rejuvenate myself.
I was busy handling a customer order when my phone started ringing. My mother’s name flashed on the screen. As usual, she was probably calling to rant, and I couldn’t pick up during work, so I cut the call and focused on my task. But it didn’t stop and kept ringing again and again.
I felt irritation prick at my nerves. I asked a staff member to look after my table for a few minutes and walked to the back to answer the call. Gritting my teeth, I swiped the green button.
“Why do you keep calling nonstop? Don’t you understand I’m at work? I can’t risk my job because of you,” I snapped and only then did I hear her crying on the other end. I took a deep breath to steady myself before speaking again.
“Why did you call me?” I asked, calmer this time.
“Meera… your father is not well. He lost consciousness, and I took him to the hospital in our village. The doctor said he has to be shifted to the city. I’m at a hospital here in Chennai. Please come, Meera. I called Kavitha, but no one answers my calls these days except you. I’m scared, Meera. Please come.” she sobbed.
I asked her which hospital they were in and ended the call. Leaning against the wall, I pressed my forehead with my fingers.
” Why can’t I just block her and ignore everything? Why can’t I be cold-hearted the way she is with Janani? “, I shook my head and pushed the thought away. Then I went back into the restaurant and informed the manager about the emergency. After changing into my salwar, I took a share auto to the hospital.
He had been falling sick often lately, but he usually recovered within a day or two. So what could have happened now?
I arrived at the hospital and called my mother. She said she would come out and take me to the ward where he had been admitted. I hadn’t seen them since the day at the court when I got my divorce.
“I’ll just visit, check on him, and leave “, I told myself as I waited for her.
A few minutes later, she appeared and she looked awful. Her saree was wrinkled, her greying hair tied in a messy bun, and her whole face looked worn and fragile. She wiped her tears with the end of her pallu as she hurried toward me, and before I could react, she pulled me into a tight hug.
“Meera… thank you so much. I….I didn’t know what to do,” she cried, then pulled back awkwardly.
“What happened? How is he now?” I asked quietly and she held my hand and guided me inside, leading me to the ward. It was a general ward, crowded, with at least fifteen patients lined up in rows.
She stopped beside one of the beds, and I froze when I saw the man lying on it. My father looked shockingly thin, as if he had aged ten years in the months I hadn’t seen him. I couldn’t even tell whether he was asleep or unconscious. My mother sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for me to take the stool beside him.
I still couldn’t believe this was the same arrogant, drunkard man I had known all my life.
“What happened? How is he now?” I asked her.
She wiped her tears and pointed to the files kept in the small compartment next to the bed.
“He has been falling sick often, but he usually gets better in a day or two… so I thought he was just weak. But two days ago, he collapsed, and I took him to the hospital in our village. The doctor treated him and said he needed to be shifted to the city. So we came here yesterday. The doctors ran tests and said that sixty percent of his liver has failed.” She said and paused to catch her breath before she continued.
“I don’t know what to do. He hadn’t been working for two weeks now. He was earning from the shop, and I managed with that and the little I got from stitching blouses. But now… all our income has stopped. Akash still has two years left to finish college. Maybe I should make him drop out and send him to work. I can’t manage anything anymore. I’ve carried enough burden being married to him, and now I’m too old to carry any more. I can’t do anything. He has asthma from all the smoking, so he can’t even work now…” my mother said and broke down again, sobbing helplessly.
The doctor arrived at the same time, and we stepped aside to let him examine my father. He checked the IV line, pressed lightly on his abdomen, and noted a few readings on the chart. Then he turned to us.
“Your father has cirrhosis. A major portion of his liver is already damaged, and the remaining part is functioning very poorly. Right now, he’s stable, but his condition is critical.” He said and there was a seriousness in his tone.
My mother clutched the end of her saree, her breath shaky.
The doctor continued, “He needs continuous monitoring, medication, and strict lifestyle control. No alcohol, no smoking … absolutely none. If his body doesn’t respond to the treatment we’re giving, we may have to discuss the possibility of a liver transplant. But for now, we’re trying to manage him with medication and supportive care. The sooner the treatment continues, the better. You’ll need to arrange funds for his tests, medicines, and stay. I understand this is overwhelming, but delaying will only worsen his condition.” the doctor said and I felt something twist inside my chest, sharp and cold.
“I’ll come back in a while. If you have any questions, please speak to the duty nurse,” the doctor said before walking away and my mother started crying softly beside me.
“What am I supposed to do now? I have nothing left at home. No one will lend us money. I’ll take him back to the village. Let him suffer for what he’s done all his life, and I’ll suffer for marrying him,” she said, and I clenched my teeth in irritation.
“Where is Akash now?” I asked.
“He’s at home. I didn’t know things would become this bad, so I gave him five hundred rupees to manage food. He must be running out of money already. I need to go back and talk to him,” she said, wiping her tears again.
I pressed a hand to my forehead and leaned against the wall, staring at the man who had ruined all our lives. I should walk away and let him face the consequences of everything he had done …… everything they had done together.
But I couldn’t. And I hated myself for that weakness.
I didn’t know what to do. And Akash… he still had two more years to finish his studies. Who would understand the value of education more than me? I needed time to think. So for now, I decided to leave.
I opened my handbag, took out two thousand rupees, and handed it to my mother. She looked at me with tears filling her eyes. I placed the money firmly into her hand and glanced at my father.
“Take care of him. I’ll come back tomorrow. Tell Akash to manage for a day, or check if I can send him money through GPay via someone at his college. I’ll transfer it to him,” I said. She nodded slowly.
“If there’s something urgent, message me. I can’t come running and risk my job,” I added before walking away.
I sat at the bus stop, waiting for the bus, my mind spiraling through everything that had happened in my life. If my father hadn’t been a drunkard… if he had earned properly… Janani and I could have studied, built careers, lived a decent life.
And now, after enjoying his life the way he chose, he was once again lying on a hospital bed, needing money and help. No one would step in this time. Everyone must have run out of patience with them.
Everyone except me.
I hated myself for being this weak, for falling back into their web every time. But at least this time, I didn’t have to sell myself to anyone.
I still had time left in my shift, but I returned home anyway. The owner aunty looked surprised to see me back so early. I spread out the mattress and lay down, closing my eyes, but the image of my father in the hospital refused to leave my mind.
I opened Wattpad to read a story, hoping to clear my head like I usually did. But the story I chose was about a woman very similar to me…….. someone who had gone through hell, yet still chose to help the people around her.
Should I do the same? Should I help my father?
And what if I didn’t? My mother would only force Akash to drop out of college and push him into work. He was never close to me or Janani, but no one deserves to be denied their right to education. At least he could have a better life if he finished his degree.
I had no one who ever offered to help me, but maybe I could be that help for my brother… or at least imagine it as doing a good deed for a stranger.
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A/N:
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