To the rescue-II

Presenting the conclusion of To the rescue. Though I had presented it as a contest, there were no entries and so my dear readers you will have to bear with my narration only ๐Ÿ˜ฆ SO here goes.

When I couldn’t hear Mrs’ Mishra’s footsteps, I was elated. Happy to have made the escape this time, I continued with my work, but I could still hear the knocking sound. Now you may ask why I was so bothered with a sound. But you see, I grew up reading Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys and ever since anything different from the routine makes me curious.I tried to concentrate on the noises outside.There was Azaan from the nearby mosque and the knocking sound. At this time of the day, there were no vehicles.

The knocking continued, I opened the window and peeped out. You may think that how I could lean out of the window but I can. You see windows in Bahrain are without bars. The sliding double doors of the windows are secured only with a tiny button something like the electrical switches. And so I leaned out and listened. The A/cs were off, November is a cool month and also in the day time very few were at home.

The sound came from Mishrajis flat. AT first I thought there must be some carpentry work going on but then my curiosity took the better of me and I ran.

I rang the bell but no one opened the door. Instead the knocks began frantic. I put my ear to the door and listened…..I could hear the faint sound of a ….HELP ME …… And I ran again. the Mishras flat being on the ground floor, all the windows could be peeped in from the outside. I ran towards the bedroom but the window was screened, then I ran towards the kitchen. And peeped in. Mrs. Mishra was lying on the floor her right leg in a bad angle.. obviously a fracture and with her hand was a spoon with which she was making as much a noise as she could. I banged on the window signalling that I would help her. I tried to open the window but it was closed. I tried to break the window but could not.

All this banging and yelling woke up the Filipina living next door and she leaned out with a ‘WHath Happenned?’ I told her that Mrs. Mishra had had a fall. Meanwhile her African boyfriend too came near the window, he signaled me to wait, came out and with expertise (or was it practice… don’t ask me, I don’t know) lifted out the window and we climbed in. Mrs. Mishra on seeing me burst into tears and held me tight and both of us sobbed together. Angelina (the Filipina) gave us water and made her comfortable. We didn’t move her.I had already called for the ambulance and the team arrived and lifted her. I locked both the houses, took my mobile and purse and ran along with her.

Some oil it seems had spilled on the kitchen tiles. Mrs.Mishra had not seen the spill and had stepped on it and had fallen down. She had tried yelling for help but because of the closed windows no one had heard her and when she had heard the sound of the ladle falling in my kitchen had started knocking with the spoon in her hand on the floor, hoping that I would listen.

I became the heroine that day and for once my husband was proud of my butter fingers.

To the rescue

“Crash” the plate went on the floor and broke into pieces. I looked at the floral design all in a disarray. I sat down on the floor and thought of interesting ways to use the broken pieces.You may think that something is wrong in my head to play with broken pieces of a plate that belonged to an expensive dinner set. But that’s the way I am. Nothing escapes my hands, I can drop anything and everything. When my son was a baby, MY mother in law never allowed me to hold him, lest I dropped him too. SO now you know how am I .

‘Sneha, open the door’, there was loud banging on the door. And then, ‘I know you are inside’.

It was Mrs. Mishra, the lady who lived downstairs. I knew why she had come and wanted to hide in a hole. They had shifted to our building, just 3 months back and since then, I always got complaints from her, ‘about sounds from our flat’.

‘Sneha, open up,’ she screamed and I leaped to the door.

‘Why do you always drop things, I am fed up of noises from your flat…..’, she went on, ‘I mumbled a sorry, made her sit, made some Iced tea (to cool her down) and then waved a goodbye.

I did not want to narrate this incident to the hubby but did so in the end. It was better if I told him, rather than he being told by Mr. Mishra. The poor hubby has stopped chastising me, he just keeps on calculating how much it will cost to replace the broken items.

For some days I was extra careful and then the routine began.

It was a Sunday, when the ladle fell with a such a sound that I was sure< I was in deep trouble. I Sat down waiting for Mrs. Mishra's arrival. But she didn't.

Instead there was a knocking sound from the flat below…..


Alright people, if you like challenges and love to write fiction, go ahead and complete this story. The rules are simple:

1) DO not make it too long, remember this is a short story.
2) Link back to this story
3) You can participate till the 15th of October
4) When you continue, just see that there is a link between the title and the beginning made.
5) I will publish the links to all the entries on the 16th of October.

Have a nice time.

Roller Coaster

Way back in 2002, I was getting bored sitting at home, not getting any jobs which I liked. There were many who suggested that I take up a teacher’s job but I was a bit apprehensive. Patience is a virtue that I do not possess.

But then there was an opening for a Commerce ( Business Studies) lecturer and I thought why not. I could make the subject interesting and how difficult would it be to control 15 year olds.

And so I walked in. I had come to know of the opening at a short notice and so had not got much time to prepare, also I was wearing a trouser suit after a long time and was a bit uncomfortable.

The Principal of the British Curriculum met me, we had a pleasant chat and then he asked me for a demonstration, I explained that it was a long time since I was out of a classroom, my subject knowledge was a bit rusted. He said it did not matter, they just wanted to see my style of teaching. Now we turned out to be a panel of 10 academicians including the Principal.

I gave my demo using lot of current business topics, giving lot of examples imagining the audience to be 15 year olds rather than the experienced academicians that they were. I was stopped midway; the Principal shook hands and said that they loved my deliverance especially the common examples which I had taken to make the ‘students’ understand. And that i would be hearing from them soon.

I was ecstatic. I had never believed that I could teach and then to be appreciated thus by a British was really ‘something’. And I floated out.

I was just going out when a messenger came running stating that the Chairman wanted to meet me and then slowly added that it meant that I was selected and so I flitted to the Chairman’s chamber.

The Chairman gazed me from top to bottom and my discomfort on the suit returned. AFter the introductions were over he said that the panel had appreciated me but did I have experience, I replied in the negative. Any experience, he asked, I just replied that I used to assist my sister when she used to give tuitions, but that is not experience he said.

The next question that he asked stumped me. Do you have kids he asked, when I said no he said that how could I understand the psyche of kids when I was not a mother. I argued that its my knowledge and my way of teaching which should be the criterion for my selection. I did not have experience but as an MBA I was trained to give presentations, group discussions etc and that should help me in teaching but he didn’t buy that logic.

I could have argued more but that he was a septuagenarian and somewhere the values being instilled in childhood to give respect to age came in between.

And so I came out with mixed emotions. On one hand I was happy that a panel of academicians had appreciated my skills, on the other hand I was dejected that I had been rejected just because I was not a mother yet.

The Principal did call me a couple of times later saying that I just had to be in his team. I refused. The spirit to be a teacher had died in me.

Ultimately the students were at a loss, they missed being taught by a dynamic ME. ๐Ÿ˜›

Did you ever have such a fire freeze experience? If so, share your story and link into Close Up’s Facebook page. You can even share your story as a comment and that too could make you a winner

48 hours

It was 5 am, I lay on the hospital bed, the past events flashing through my eyes in slow motion; I was to be operated in 3 hours for pituitary adenoma. The whole night nurses had been in and out, to check on me, to put nasal drops, as the operation was an endo nasal one.

I had been quite courageous till last evening, wanting the end of all my problems until the curiosity got better of me and I had asked the assistant neurosurgeon where the tumor was and he in his enthusiasm had pointed it out and then I had known that it lay just below the brain, just in between the eye nerves and then…. I was shaken up. The phone rang just then, it was my husband, work commitments had seen that he could not join me in this crucial moments and so he stayed back in Bahrain while I came down to Vizag for check ups. 8 days back I had been diagnosed with the tumor and then My brother had rushed me to Krishna Institute in Hyderabad for the surgery. I apologised to my husband for any wrongdoings I might have done in the past 2 and a half years. Yes it has just been that much since we had got married.

It must have been some 12 hrs later that I came out of the anaesthesia to a darkened room, a nurse came and asked, Hello how are you’, but apart from her figure i couldn’t see anything. It was then that I started screaming, ‘I can’t see’.

My brother was rushed into the ICU, he asked me ‘ Do you see me?’
I said ‘Yes’
‘What colour shirt am I wearing?’

I opened my eyes wide, concentrated and then said,’Red’.

‘See, you can see’, he said. but I knew something was wrong.
My neurosurgeon came and said ‘Why are you worried, we are there with you, whatever it is, we will solve it.’

And so they stayed with me one after the other throughout the night, holding my hand, murmuring encouragements.

I thought hard, a couple of months back I had a blind spot in my right eye and later when my MRI was taken,, they said I had haemorrhage, maybe I had haemorrhaged again, maybe like the Doc said I would be fine, maybe………

Next day they took me to take a CT scan on the pretext that they had to check whether my surgery was done well and then a nurse came near and said, ‘Madam please sign this consent form’
I screamed,’ How can I, when I can’t see’ The surgeon literally carried her and threw her outside the scan room.

In the afternoon they said that they had to change my nose pack and so were taking me to the Operation theatre, I nodded but knew that I was to be operated again.

Some hours later I woke up to again a darkened room and got scared. My father some time earlier had given me a mantra to recite and had said,’ WHenever you feel afraid recite this, 5 times at least.’

And so I would recite this 5 times and then fall back asleep, then again 5 times and so the cycle continued.

Sometimes in the night I got a shock, something like a shock when my whole body was thrown from the bed and all the equipment attached to my body started jangling, the ICU staff came running, made me sleep again and left. But I noticed that I could see a little.

I got such ‘shocks’ 5 times that night and each time my sight improved. In the morning when the nurse came to clean up the ICU residents, she saw me smiling at her,’ CCCan you see me?’, she asked.
‘Yes I said’, she threw her tray somewhere and ran. Within moments my team was with me hugging me. My neuro surgeon came with a glass of water and said, ‘Now you can drink as much water as you want.’ (the previous two days I was not allowed to drink as my stomach had to be free of fluids for surgery)

I was discharged two days later, my vision was not 100% but I could manage and there was hope that it would improve.

So was it a miracle or was it a medical miracle, I do not know; but I just know that on that fateful night in 2004 I cried out for courage and got much much more.

Submitting this story for ‘Get your story published in the Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul-A book of miracles at the BlogAdda

A good news

No, I am not pregnant again ( that is not going to happen agian in this janm at least).

I had written a post Terminal for blog adda and Indusladies -Lets combat cancer, my entry has been selected as one of the winners. ๐Ÿ˜€ ๐Ÿ™‚

Thanks blogadda and Indus ladies


This is a post in response to blogaddas contest and yes I do not normally take part in contests but this contest is more about creating awareness and that’s what is my intention; in case you are wondering what the contest is; its Lets Combat cancer

This story is about a family friend, a very dear aunty of mine who will always be my source of inspiration. I cannot tell you her name, because for that I will have to take her kith and kin’s approval and that will take time.
At an age when you are worried about career politics or why your kids are not eating well or studying well, she was diagnosed with tumor in the uterus.
After which she took care to get herself annually checked up. And so in her early 40s a routine mammogram showed up what she feared, she had breast cancer. And so followed a routine of examinations, chemotherapy and what not. Finally it came to a point where one of her breasts was removed.
For a third-party when such news is conveyed, he/ she will respond with statements like good that it was diagnosed at an warly stage or that what happens if a breast is removed, at least the disease got arrested etc. But is it so easy? A normal person can never imagine living with one eye or one foot or one hand is or in this case a single breast is. Can you imagine how traumatic it is, to wear a dress, a blouse and feel the emptiness. Yes you can wear padding, but is it the same? And the pain she felt when she tried to raise her hands.
And then the cancer was arrested. For 5 years she went for regular check ups, took medicines and was finally told that there was no cause for worry any more. Oh what joy, what happiness and what celebrations. And she did everything she wanted to do the last 5 years , she played badminton, she travelled, she partied, but it left a pain in her back.
Yes, she again went for check ups and was diagnosed with cancer of the backbone and it spread, spread like fire.
Again the check ups, again the chemotherapy.
I myself was going through a low phase then. I knew that something was wrong but did not know what.
And I meet this lady, bald but serene and she tells me; ‘I am going to dress in a trouser suit, wear a hat and then I will be ‘bald and beautiful’.
I looked at her and felt myself flooded with love and respect for her and resollved that whatever be wrong with me, I am going to fight it out.
Two years later she died. Yes she missed out on a lot of things, like seeing her grandchild, to be with her husband in his twilight. We all still mourn her loss but she taught us so many lessons, to live life by moments, to do what you dream of, to be smiling always.

There are a couple of things which we all should take care of;
First to get ourselves medically examined annually.
Not to neglect any recurring pains etc
Lastly to get ourselves medically insured. Cancer is such a disease that it leaves a big hole in our pockets. In my case I was young and naive when I was diagnosed with adenoma and didn’t have medical insurance. (And now no company is ready to cover me, that’s another story)
When anyone is diagnosed with cancer, the first question asked is whether its terminal, but ultimately it depends on us whether we want to terminate the disease or our life.