Deadweight
Most of the luggage was borne on shoulders and some of it wheeled out of the elevator. The cab was navigating off the track on the Uber app. The time lost in finding a cab had eaten into our buffer time. The nuisance of luggage was weighing heavily on my mind and shoulders. I was doing a mental check of my vitamin B12 and D3; the levels seemed not enough to care for an ailing wife and control a restive kid. Just three of us and at every point we halted, the bags were counted. While I was doing it a third time at the apartment gates, I heard hurried steps approaching us. They were two of them and they didn’t bother to look at us. Culturally, Indians gaze at strangers with a sense of entitlement. And, we were strangers with luggage.
While crossing us, acknowledging the curious looks I was casting back at them, one of them gestured by a sign of hand under his throat and barely managed these words, “What they doing man?”
The fracas was now audible in the direction they ran. Two seconds later, I was running after them. Crossing the main entrance, I was in front of a room where a woman was lying on the floor. Her limbs had lost that tautness. By the time I could make any more sense of the situation, following someone's lead, I was rubbing her feet. I don’t remember whether they were hot or cold, but they had not definitely seen a spa. On the bed, was a crumbled cotton sheet she had used to hang herself. The room felt stuffy, seemed to be throbbing with the struggle, the flapping of hands and feet on the death strangle.
The lady was hefty. But, the ceiling fan blades were not damaged. It’s baffling how people get it right in the first attempt. I was told that she had locked herself up for just 6 mins—enough time to pull off the feat—before the door was knocked down. I had little time to study the antecedents.
Her father-in-law was standing mouth agape, leaning against the door. Women from the neighbourhood were excusing themselves at the whistles of pressure cookers. The Sunday lunch was still on the stove. The aroma of mutton was wafting into the hall, where the mother-in-law was trying to console her one-and-half year-old grandson. The child was letting out loud wails as if he knew what had struck him. “Give him milk,” I said. It was very foolish of me to assume he must be hungry. It heightened the tragedy in my recollection of it, and may be for everybody in the family, when I got to know that his mother was suckling him a few minutes ago.
One wise fellow finally suggested that we call ambulance. The husband would not respond. He was busy pumping her chest with such intensity that her whole body shuddered at every thrust. His heart was in his mouth; she wasn’t breathing. He indicated to the lady from neighborhood to take charge. This lady, more worried about the woman’s dignity than her life, spent time covering her belly and bosom and legs; that was not helping.
They decided to take her in a car to the nearest hospital. The lady was wrapped in a sheet and put in the car. It took quite some time to put her in the back seat. When they were about to drive out of the apartment, my cab driver halted right at the gate. The driver was intently looking into his mobile device. The husband honked continuously. I knocked loudly on the window and signaled the driver to move ahead. He lowered the glass and said he was there for the pickup. I told him that I’m his rider, but he must first make way for the other car. He was asking whether we would be riding in the direction ahead or should he take a U-turn. The continuous honking was making it difficult for us to understand each other. In the brief interval that the honking stopped, I shouted, there’s a dead body in the car! I said it a little too louder. Still, the driver showed no urgency.
The road by the apartment was not well-paved. The husband speedily negotiated a pot hole. The car halted. There was no movement for two seconds, after which he got out of the car. Maybe she woke up, spoke something, we thought. He looked completely exasperated. The lady had slumped from the seat like a gunny sack, with her head down. One more round of effort went into putting her in place. Her love handles came handy.
After we boarded the cab, I looked around to wave good-bye to my folks, but nobody was around. We started for the station. The cab driver did not have anything to ask. From the train, I spoke to my brother. He told me she was declared dead on arrival—rather had been long dead.
My recollection of that day rankles with the loud cries of the boy.
While crossing us, acknowledging the curious looks I was casting back at them, one of them gestured by a sign of hand under his throat and barely managed these words, “What they doing man?”
The fracas was now audible in the direction they ran. Two seconds later, I was running after them. Crossing the main entrance, I was in front of a room where a woman was lying on the floor. Her limbs had lost that tautness. By the time I could make any more sense of the situation, following someone's lead, I was rubbing her feet. I don’t remember whether they were hot or cold, but they had not definitely seen a spa. On the bed, was a crumbled cotton sheet she had used to hang herself. The room felt stuffy, seemed to be throbbing with the struggle, the flapping of hands and feet on the death strangle.
The lady was hefty. But, the ceiling fan blades were not damaged. It’s baffling how people get it right in the first attempt. I was told that she had locked herself up for just 6 mins—enough time to pull off the feat—before the door was knocked down. I had little time to study the antecedents.
Her father-in-law was standing mouth agape, leaning against the door. Women from the neighbourhood were excusing themselves at the whistles of pressure cookers. The Sunday lunch was still on the stove. The aroma of mutton was wafting into the hall, where the mother-in-law was trying to console her one-and-half year-old grandson. The child was letting out loud wails as if he knew what had struck him. “Give him milk,” I said. It was very foolish of me to assume he must be hungry. It heightened the tragedy in my recollection of it, and may be for everybody in the family, when I got to know that his mother was suckling him a few minutes ago.
One wise fellow finally suggested that we call ambulance. The husband would not respond. He was busy pumping her chest with such intensity that her whole body shuddered at every thrust. His heart was in his mouth; she wasn’t breathing. He indicated to the lady from neighborhood to take charge. This lady, more worried about the woman’s dignity than her life, spent time covering her belly and bosom and legs; that was not helping.
They decided to take her in a car to the nearest hospital. The lady was wrapped in a sheet and put in the car. It took quite some time to put her in the back seat. When they were about to drive out of the apartment, my cab driver halted right at the gate. The driver was intently looking into his mobile device. The husband honked continuously. I knocked loudly on the window and signaled the driver to move ahead. He lowered the glass and said he was there for the pickup. I told him that I’m his rider, but he must first make way for the other car. He was asking whether we would be riding in the direction ahead or should he take a U-turn. The continuous honking was making it difficult for us to understand each other. In the brief interval that the honking stopped, I shouted, there’s a dead body in the car! I said it a little too louder. Still, the driver showed no urgency.
The road by the apartment was not well-paved. The husband speedily negotiated a pot hole. The car halted. There was no movement for two seconds, after which he got out of the car. Maybe she woke up, spoke something, we thought. He looked completely exasperated. The lady had slumped from the seat like a gunny sack, with her head down. One more round of effort went into putting her in place. Her love handles came handy.
After we boarded the cab, I looked around to wave good-bye to my folks, but nobody was around. We started for the station. The cab driver did not have anything to ask. From the train, I spoke to my brother. He told me she was declared dead on arrival—rather had been long dead.
My recollection of that day rankles with the loud cries of the boy.
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