Sunday, June 24, 2001		Life Ties

HARRY and Amrita were celebrating their first wedding anniversary by taking off to Kasauli. Their eight-year-long courtship had seen them traversing this zig-zag route on numerous occasions. They wanted to relive those days—when they had boarded a ramshackled bus on an impulse and Amrita had kept throwing up; when he had borrowed a friend's scooter and she had been worried about bumping into an uncle or aunt; or when they took high-speed drives on his brand new motor cycle reaching Kasauli in less than an hour.

The months following the wedding were hectic. They had found no time to be together. So when the anniversary approached, they made a conscious attempt to get away for one full week. Every day of their holiday, they would set off on an unplanned drive and let the car amble along. Chail, Solan, Shimla, Sabathu were the places they drove to, taking turns at the wheel, listening to their favourite music, soaking in the fragrance of the full-in-bloom flowers and seeking comfort from each other's presence. On the last day of their trip, they met an interesting, middle-aged couple in Chail. A rapport was struck and they decided to have a picnic together. The husband-wife were both High Court lawyers and the last break they had taken was for their honeymoon more than a decade ago. They had decided to take this holiday alone, leaving the kids behind. They seemed so much in love.

At the end of an interesting day, they decided to take a lift from Harry and Amrita till Chandigarh, from where they planned to hire a cab to Delhi. The mood was upbeat and the fast paced music in the car revved up their spirits. The men stopped to buy a bottle of whisky, promising their respective spouses that they would have just one for the road. One drink led to another and though they were not inebriated, Harry's control over the vehicle was faltering. Driving at 120 km/h, he panicked and sharply swerved to the left as a child darted out of nowhere. The force with which he turned, blinded him and he crashed into the Tata Sumo ahead. The massive bang with the Sumo, which in turn crashed into a stationary Maruti, resulted in a tragedy affecting four families. The couple, who had taken a lift from Harry, died on the spot. Amrita was seriously injured.

A series of operations were performed. The doctors discovered that she was 8 weeks pregnant and had lost the baby. The front of their car had taken the entire impact of the crash but Harry had been thrown out and escaped with only multiple fractures and superficial wounds. The youngster driving the Sumo battled with his injuries for six months in hospital and following plastic surgeries abroad was able to resume normal life. The third vehicle, the Maruti car, was damaged completely.

It took Amrita three years to recover from the accident. Harry blamed himself for the tragedy. His torment was painful. Words of comfort failed to seep into his agonised soul. The innocent faces of the children he had orphaned haunted him. He wanted to be left alone. His communication with Amrita was snappy and monosyllabic. While she found solace in her work, he was unable to hold jobs. Since they couldn't have children, she tried convincing him to adopt one. But he balked at the idea. He was convinced he couldn't be a good responsible father.

In one such state of acute depression, he tried committing suicide. And he had the ‘bad luck’ to even survive that! Desperate and driven over the brink after two years of the accident, he went to Dubai. Perhaps a change of scene and the challenge of a new job would help him exorcise his demons. Amrita could not get a transfer and she didn't want to leave India. She hoped that the physical distance would heal some of the wounds and help him re-establish his earlier pattern of life.

He kept changing jobs, mechanically going through the demands of his altered lifestyle. He was a loner and didn't want to make friends. Try as he did, he couldn't get a grip over himself. Not a night passed without him breaking into a sweat. He had lost the confidence to drive a car and was dependent on his driver. Yet, he was accident-prone. He fell while alighting from a train, walked into a glass door and injured his face, he slipped from a flight of steps and was nearly run over by a tram. This was the same dare-devil Harry who would take off on his Yezdi motor cycle for wild rides, manoeuvering tough terrains. Now, it was just office work and his own shadows of silence.

Amrita went to see him every three months. He was making no attempt to make the relationship work. Though she saw that they were growing painfully apart, she could not muster the strength to snap ties. All her reasoning, cajoling, counseling and praying yielded no results. He was a changed man. Bitter, angry, violent and stone-cold. Expressionless, his grief had not found an outlet.

Ali was his chief foreman. There was a class and cultural divide between them but Harry liked to sit and have a smoke with the older man, whose presence calmed him. As he got to know Ali better, for the first time after the tragedy, he felt the stirring of emotion in his heart. Ali had four daughters all of whom he had married with great difficulty, arranging respectable dowries and meeting conventional norms. His wife had recently suffered a stroke and was bedridden. Yet, in spite of this private hell he was a gentle and serene person.

Never did he vent his spleen on his workers or make unreasonable demands. He was always willing to work longer hours. Deeply religious, he believed that beyond a point an individual could do nothing. It was all Providence. He maintained, "To tempt good luck, you have to be content and receptive. I have never had to break my head against the wall or lament over my troubles. God has always come to my rescue, in whatever form and measure and shouldered my responsibilities and halved my agonies. However daunting the circumstances, I have soldiered on regardless of what is and what will be."

Ali invited Harry over on Sundays and the latter did not resist. It was a comfortable way of spending a long day with the sounds, smells and sights of a home bustling with activity. He may not have admitted it to himself, but he had grown particularly fond of Farah, Ali's four-year-old grand-daughter, who used to accompany her parents every Sunday. He lavished extra care on her, reading stories, buying forbidden goodies, blushing boyishly when she insisted on sitting in "Harry uncle's" lap, taking her for walks in the garden, feeling responsible and good as she tugged at his arm to show him a butterfly or a flower. The entire family could see how he doted on her but Harry himself was oblivious of the attachment.

When Farah didn't come to Ali's place on two consecutive Sundays, Harry went crazy with worry. More than Ali, he was concerned, insisting they call up and check if all was well. True enough, the little one was at home battling high fever. He was surprised why no one had taken her to a doctor. He could see that she needed urgent medical attention.

Ignoring her parents' casual approach, he bundled her up and rushed her to the best hospital. The doctors diagnosed it as brain fever and told him that he had brought her in the nick of time. Delay would have meant permanent damage or even loss of life.

Relief at her well-being sank in. And then, for the first time since the accident, he felt a feeling of accomplishment. He had actually breathed life into a person. He wasn't just a murderer but also a life saver, giver, nurturer. Could bygones really be bygones? Could Amrita and he start afresh? Maybe even adopt a little Farah of their own ? Well, he suddenly felt he could give life a second chance.