It felt like someone was trying to wake me up, but I couldn’t come out of my sleep. It was as though I was stuck in a dream world. Again and again, I felt someone calling me, and finally, I snapped out of it and opened my eyes. Amma was sitting beside me.
Amma: “I’ve been trying to wake you for so long. Get up, it’s getting late.”
I looked around. The house was clean. Amma must’ve cleaned it the previous night, but I hadn’t even noticed whether she slept. I peeked through the window — night and day were still fighting each other. Dawn was about to break. Amma walked into the kitchen and started preparing breakfast. After a few minutes, she came out to check on me — I was still just sitting there, half-lost.
Amma: “Vinoth, it’s getting late, pa.”
Amma never scolded me, and we hardly spoke much. Silence was more common in our home. I still don’t have answers for many things.
I got up, quickly bathed, and got ready. Amma had kept breakfast just for me — four idlis neatly placed on a plate. When I came near, she handed it over. I ate quickly.
Amma: “Eat slowly,” she said and handed me water.
I drank it. She had packed everything in a bag — my lunch, essentials. I took my plate to the kitchen sink and washed it. Amma washed it again afterward. I had never really thought about her doing that before.
We stepped out. Amma locked the door and gave me the key.
Amma: “Keep the key in your old school shoe. If you come back home in the afternoon, you’ll know where it is.”
I nodded. The sun was just peeking over the sky. That morning sunlight — it etched itself in my memory. I went to get my bicycle, but Amma called me.
Amma: “Vinoth, take the bike.”
I didn’t expect her to say that. I loved the bike, but I was nervous about riding it. I hesitated.
Amma: “It’s okay, take it.”
I took the keys from her, wheeled out Appa’s Passion Pro and waited. Amma came out with a bag, locked the gate, and got on behind me. The sunlight painted the sky in five different shades. I couldn’t stop looking behind at Amma.
Amma: “Why are you staring at me, Vinoth?”
I smiled. “I’m not looking at you, I’m looking at the sunrise.”
Amma: “Alright, let’s go. We’re getting late.”
I started the bike. Amma held onto my shoulder. It felt like we were alone in the world. Just the two of us.
We reached the hospital around 6 a.m. We were both scared — about what happened to Appa. Was he alive? Was he okay? The nurse who was on duty yesterday wasn’t there. Amma found another nurse.
Amma: “Vikram Raja?”
The nurse checked some files. “Doctor will be here soon. He’ll let you know.”
We waited. I asked Amma, “Should we inform Grandfather and Grandmother?”
Amma said, “Let’s wait for the doctor first.”
While we were talking, a man walked past us — maybe around 65, about 5’4″, fair, wearing glasses, hands behind his back. He glanced at us and walked inside. A nurse followed behind him.
After 30 minutes, the nurse came back.
Nurse: “Doctor is calling you both. Please come.”
Amma placed the bag near a man standing beside a ward. He nodded and watched over it. We went inside. The doctor’s name was written there — Dr. Abdul Rahman.
Doctor: “You are?”
Amma: “I’m his wife. This is our son.”
Doctor: “What are you studying?”
Me: “I just finished 12th exam.”
Doctor: “Good.” Then he looked at Amma. “Your husband had a heart attack. We did everything we could. He’s stable now, not in danger. The worst is over. We were worried how his body would respond to the medicines. But Allah saved him.”
“Still, he has to stay here for 10 to 15 days. One important thing — he shouldn’t drink anymore. Be careful.”
Amma: “Can we see him now?”
Doctor: “He’s in the ICU. I’ll ask the nurse to take you.”
We went with the nurse. Through a glass door, I saw Appa. His face looked swollen. He had an oxygen mask. Amma began crying quietly. I too broke down. I never imagined seeing Appa like this.
We came out. The same man from before — the ward boy — looked at us silently. Amma didn’t say anything either. I didn’t know what to talk about. Everything in life suddenly felt scary. I thought maybe I should take up a hotel job… but I didn’t know how to tell Amma.
Unlike yesterday, the hospital was alive — nurses, ward boys, billing staff, all moving around. It was a Christian mission hospital — not government, but also not fully private.
A call came from reception. They called us by Appa’s name. Amma started to go, but I told her to sit and went myself. They handed me a bill. I looked — ₹1,79,000.
I was shocked.
I walked back and sat near Amma. She took the bill and kept it in her handbag. Then she called Grandfather.
Amma: “It’s me. your son in law had a heart attack and we admitted him.”
my mother voice didn’t carry any emotion. After that, she called Appa’s elder brother, — my elder uncle — even though they weren’t in talking terms.
Amma: “Your brother had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital now, but he’s fine.”
Grandmother: “Really? That man won’t change. I’m out now. I’ll come later.”
Then she called Appa’s office and informed them.
After two hours, Grandfather and Grandmother came. They had raised their only daughter with dreams, and to see her like this now — it was too much. Grandmother couldn’t bear it. She started yelling — at the hospital, at Amma. Amma couldn’t stand it.
Amma: “Why are you creating a scene now?” she snapped.
Then Amma turned to me.
Amma: “Vinoth, let’s go home for a while.”
Grandfather and Grandmother stayed back. I rode the bike again. Amma sat behind me, quietly. We went home. She opened the cupboard and took out a 5-gram gold chain. Handed it to me.
Amma: “Take the bike. Let’s go to my office.”
She worked in a chit fund office. We went there. She mortgaged the chain and got some money. Took two days leave. The people there were kind, but Amma didn’t care. We came out.
Me: “Where to now, Amma?”
She thought for a moment.
Amma: “Let’s go down this main road.”
We rode for about 15 km. Neither of us knew where we were going. Then we stopped at a roadside coconut stand.
Amma: “Let’s have tender coconut.”
We drank. It felt like the sweetest water in the world — like it quenched all the thirst we’d ever had.
After that, for the next one month, it was just home to hospital and hospital to home.