“I Will Never Forget That Day”
Everything became so dizzy for me. Claria held my hand and walked me towards the reception. I just followed her. At the reception, she took one information form and looked at me. I was completely out of it — lost in thought, afraid, confused. I didn’t know what was happening around me. Fear gripped me, everything felt unfamiliar and overwhelming.
I was still in my school uniform, and all of it made me want to cry out loud — but I held it in.
Claria took the information pad and asked me to come sit with her in the patient waiting area. We sat on the chairs, and she gently asked,
“Are you coming from school?”
I nodded my head.
“Which standard are you in?”
“12th,” I replied softly.
She looked at me with care.
“How was your exam? Did you do well?”
Again, I just nodded.
Then she asked,
“Who is he?”
“He’s my father,” I replied.
Claria touched my head, trying to calm me down. She took the pad and said,
“What is your father’s name?”
“Vikramaraj.”
“Age?”
“51.”
“What happened?”
I explained everything I saw at home. She noted down all the information. Then she asked me to sign the form. I had never signed a document before. I didn’t even have a signature. She gave me a pen. I looked at the form, then at Claria. She gently said,
“Sign quickly.”
So, I just wrote my name — Vinoth. She looked at me, then at my signature. She raised her hand, took the form from me. Suddenly, I thought of correcting something, so I took the form back, changed “vinoth Vikramaraj” and gave it back.
Claria quickly moved to the reception area and submitted the form. Then she went into the ICU.
It was 3:25 in the evening. I was the only person sitting there. I was counting every second. Then, my mother Seetha entered the hospital. I saw her from afar. I ran to her and hugged her tightly, finally breaking down and crying loudly. She hugged me, crying too, but trying to calm me down. I couldn’t stop. I was crying for everything — for my father, for the fear, for missing Ramya, and for all the plans that didn’t happen.
My mom led me to a nearby chair. She wiped my tears and placed her hand lovingly on my head. Her motherhood soothed me.
Suddenly, Nurse Claria came in again. She asked,
“Who are you?”
My mom replied, “I’m Seetha. He’s my son.”
Claria asked my mom to come aside. My mom told me to calm down and went with her. Claria told her,
“Your husband had a heart attack. Three blocks in his heart have been identified. He was also intoxicated. We’ll do our best.”
My mom started crying. Claria held her and said,
“If you cry, who will console your son? Jesus will help you. Don’t worry.”
She took another form and asked my mom to sign it. It was a consent form — the hospital wouldn’t be responsible if anything happened during surgery. My mom, crying, signed the paper. Claria rushed inside the ICU.
I was still crying. My mom tried to calm herself and came out of the room. She sat next to me and said,
“Don’t cry, my love. Everything will be okay. The nurse said not to worry.”
She held me close, her right hand on my head, comforting me.
We both waited at the hospital. I had no idea what would happen next. Claria seemed tense, collecting medicines from the pharmacy and talking with the specialist doctor. Everything was happening so fast. That day, I’ll never forget.
The hospital was eerily empty. No outpatients, no ward boys, no cleaners, no visitors — even the receptionist had left. My mom and I were the only ones sitting there, holding hands, waiting for the doctor.
It was around 6:30 PM. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. During the exam, I had only drunk some milk. My stomach started growling. My mom heard the sound and looked at me, shocked.
“Did you eat anything?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, but she understood. She quickly took out her purse — she always kept it tucked under her saree blouse — and handed me ₹50.
“Go, eat something… at least have tea and a bun,” she said.
I kept silent.
“It’s our life, we have to face it. Please, dear… eat a little,” she urged.
Claria came out from the operation room. Seeing my mom hand me the money, she asked what was going on. My mom explained I hadn’t eaten anything and that I had just finished my last exam today.
Claria came to me and said,
“Don’t worry, son. Jesus will save you. The operation was a success. You will see your father soon. My daughter also wrote her last exam today. She’s at a friend’s house celebrating. You are such a good boy. Go eat something.”
My mom added,
“God is with us. Go eat something.”
After they insisted, I took the ₹50 and walked out. I just needed a walk. I didn’t want to go straight to any shop.
I kept walking and eventually found a bakery. I ordered one egg puff and sat down. I started thinking about Ramya’s house — she must be happy with her father, maybe even dancing. My friends were probably gathering, celebrating. It was the last day. I’d never get to see them all together again. I wondered if anyone would think of me. Maybe Ramya would.
The egg puff came — it was the best I’ve ever had. I ate slowly. I also ordered a Coke. It took me 24 minutes to finish everything. I paid ₹25. The baker asked if I wanted another egg puff. I simply nodded “no.” I didn’t have the strength.
Back at the hospital, Claria told my mom,
“Your husband is still in critical condition. The operation was successful, but we need to see how his body responds to treatment. The doctors will monitor him overnight and give a statement tomorrow. He’s in the critical ward now, and no one is allowed inside.”
She added,
“My duty is over. I’m going home now. You both should also go home, rest, and come back tomorrow morning. Your son is a good boy.”
Claria went to the nurse’s room, changed, and left.
All the lights in the hospital were switched on. The night nurse took over duty. Mom and I were sitting there. I took a slow walk, deep in thought. When I came back and sat next to her, she said,
“Let’s go home and come back early in the morning. No one is allowed to see your father tonight.”
I didn’t say anything.
We left the hospital, took an auto. On the way, I told the driver not to go via Ramya’s house. He said that road was better. I didn’t argue, just closed my eyes while passing her house.
We reached home around 8:24 PM. I parked my cycle and entered the house. Mom saw the blood stains, liquor bottle, and vomit. I placed my bag near the TV and sat on the floor, crying again.
My mom came near, patting my head. I hugged her tightly and sobbed.
“I’m so scared, Mom. What if something happens to Dad? I don’t know what to do.”
She tried to comfort me, though she cried too.
“Nothing will happen, Vikram. Come, get up,” she said.
She pulled me up and told me to take a shower. I grabbed my towel and went into the bathroom. The running water gave me a strange relief.
When I came out, my mom was busy cleaning the house. She handed me some money and asked me to get dinner from a nearby hotel.
I took my cycle and rode off. At the hotel, a few school juniors saw me and asked,
“Anna, which college are you going to join?”
I had no answer. I wasn’t interested in studying anymore.
One boy said, “We’ll decide after 12th results.”
“Okay, Anna. Bye!” they said and left.
Only one thought stayed in my mind: None of my classmates should not see me like this. I quickly went home.
It took 35 minutes. Mom had cleaned the house and lit a scented incense stick. The fragrance gave me a bit of peace. I gave her the food parcel, and we ate together silently in the hall.
I slept beside her that night. We hadn’t told anyone what happened. Mom said,
“Tomorrow, we’ll inform your father’s office and our relatives. For now, just sleep. We’ll go to the hospital by 7:30.”
I just nodded and said, “Okay, Mom.”
Then I fell asleep.
But she didn’t.
She kept thinking, over and over again,
“Why did I marry this man?”