Newerways

  It was one of those nights when the rain seemed determined to wash the whole town away. Sheets of water hammered against the windows, the roads were nearly deserted, and most people were asleep behind locked doors. My husband was resting lightly, as doctors often do when they know the doorbell might ring at any moment. Sometime past midnight, the bell rang. The emergency night staff called him downstairs. “Doctor, there’s a patient.” When he reached the entrance, he saw two young boys standing at the gate of the clinic porch. The smell of alcohol hung thick in the air. One of them was struggling to keep the other upright. The injured boy was slumped against him, barely conscious, his weight hanging heavily on his friend’s shoulder. “What happened?” my husband asked. The friend spoke with urgency. They had slipped from the motorbike. Even in that brief moment, my husband could tell the injury was serious. Head injury. Possible internal bleeding. It was the kind of case that needed...

The August rain had created a thrill and early morning visits to our terrace garden had become very ritualistic. Often we would sweep the terrace with the mopper while it drizzled to remove the grime that the pots created. A pair of yellow beaked common mynas fluttered their wings on the iron rails that supported the solar panels basking in the comfort of shade it provided during a heavy rain. I wondered if they too felt the desire for a cup of coffee and pakoras, but I had nothing to offer. They were gone before I could think of their invincible spirit to soar in all weathers. The next day too it rained heavily; the solitary visitor today that took shelter was a drenched, sick looking flutterer that hid underneath the outdoor unit of air conditioner. My husband changed its position twice to provide it protection. Yet it had no energy left to move and within minutes it passed away leaving us behind to dispose of its corpse. 'One for sorrow, two for joy' crept into my mind. Thi...