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Last Saturday I had a terrible accident. I fell into a drain and badly bruised my arms and I was robbed off a chunk of flesh from my right leg (bloody, it hurts still after having painkiller).

Of course it was not my fault. It was the fault of two bottles of Haywards 10000 that I guzzled minutes before my escapade. And the Karnataka government should also be blamed. In the hullah-bullah of new government forming, they forgot that the roadside drains are deprived of any light. They should have known, people observe Saturday night in Bangalore religiously and drunkards have an emotional relationship with the city’s drainage system. They puke there, they sleep besides a drain and I have seen people crying and talking to the flowing black water (in the absence of any river nearby).

But let me make the case clear at the first go. It was a dry drain. Had it been a flowing one, I would have committed suicide by now, that’s for sure.

Actually I was not alone. I was with Sanjoy, my childhood friend, who had also two bottles of haywards stocked in his stomach.. After drinking satisfactorily, we decided to take a stroll across the outer ring road. Sanjoy took me through shortcuts, through all dark lanes and darker by-lanes.

For hitting main road, we had to cross the salvager of mankind ‘The Drain’. I was literally sticking to sanjoy as I was not sure of the jelabi route and was afraid that I would get lost into this darkness.

Sanjoy brought me near outer ring road; I could see trucks zooming past. Sanjoy said “watch out”. I looked at the oil tanker on the road and disappeared in to the perfect darkness and three-dimensional smell. All kind of odor forming a collage of national integration.

My head was swirling, still I could figure out Sanjoy desperately searching for me, shaking his head violently to shrug off any hangover, if at all. I crept out from my temporary hideout. “where were you?” was his frantic call. I could not reply, it was paining like hell. Also the smell of dirt was terrible. I pointed to the underground. He realized it was serious. “Can you walk?” he asked. “No,” said I. “Please try to…if you can,” he didn't lose the hope.

But I was gasping for air. I realized my heart is not that strong as I fear it to be. I am a soft-hearted person. Forget walking, I was trying to lye down, as I could feel, breathing was getting increasingly difficult. Without much talking I lied down beside the drain. Sanjoy was moving restlessly, he was very tensed. I managed to say, “Sanju, I think I have broken my leg. Stop a car and take me to hospital.”

The cold night air was particularly refreshing, and the sight that somebody in this earth was sweating in this coldness, worried for me…was like a scene from ‘Paradise Regained’. I had already lost hope in this bloody world. I realized my friends are friends indeed. Though I was feeling Ok after lying down, I didn’t disclose it and let him run after vehicles at that wee hour of 1 am. He was trying to stop every vehicle, nobody was responding.

After 10 minutes of trying, he managed to stop a truck, it stopped right beside me. I always whistle, whenever I feel I am happy. As is my habit, as an automatic reaction, I whistled looking at the truck ‘sui sui…”

The driver had just opened the door to enquire, after watching me whistling, he snarled at me “bewra sallah…”
Pull his gear and started off…

I saw sanjoy running after him, “…bewra nahi hey…real case…hey hey…”

By that time I was also on my feet, I was running (or trying to) “hey hey listen…hey..hey…” the truck speeded away “fuck you…” I vent my anger.

After standing up I didn’t find it fit to lye down, so I limped, putting my weight on poor sanjoy. He carried me to his house. Removed my jeans, washed my wounds. I shrieked looking at it. It was a half-inch-long crater of devastating proportion.

I was sure it needed to be stitched. I know the pain! I knew taking sanjoy to the doctor will be even more painful. At some point he will faint looking at the barbarity of the doctor, and the inhumanity by which the wounds are stitched. He is a confirmed chicken-heart.

I called Ankur. A Punjabi in origin; appears to be ruthless, and the cricket captain of our department (though gets out at 3).

I gave an SOS to him, called him to take me to the doctor at morning and if stitches are involved, carry me to my home also.

In fact, apart from the vulnerability, I wanted to go to the doctor in style. He has got a CBZ.

I tried to sleep. And may be because I was particularly tired after all these experience. I slept like a log and woke up at 12 in the noon. I called Ankur to pick me up.

Ankur took me to the doctor, a lady doctor. The doctor told me to remove my temporary bandage. I removed. I was a little shaky. Ankur, along with the doctor looked at the injury with eyes-wide-open. I knew the seriousness of the case. They must be wondering, how this fellow survived without any medicine the whole night and half-of-the day.

“It’s a superficial injury man, why have you come to the doctor?” the doctor was angry. Ankur’s facial expression was like that of a camel. “I cannot smile even properly,” he said. “For this bruise, you gave me so much trouble. I almost could not sleep last night, I was worried.”

The doctor pumped me a tetvac, she dressed my wounds, I came out giving 100 bucks.

With a guilty feeling I looked at our cricket captain, “see, the wound healed overnight, that’s not my fault.”
“you know what,” he said. “…Devidutta, said the right words for you. If you have a headache, you shout of pneumonia. I should not have taken your words seriously. You are a pain in the ass.”

Bloody Devi, now I realize, how you stab me from behind. What was the necessity to tell this. Some issues need not disclosed at all.

Water-loving Ankur dumped me near Ulsur lake, without caring about the severity of the case.

I took an auto, came home, limping extra hard. My cousin and his friends flocked me (by then I had ringed my cousin, that I had an accident). “Six stitches,” I proclaimed with gravely. “Why you came alone then,” cousin enquired.

“My friend dumped me near Ulsur lake,” I was, quite naturally, sad. “Why?” his friend asked. “He is a bastard,” I passed my final judgement. “all of my friends are bastards, specially a guy called Devi, I need rest, fetch me a glass of water,” I sighed.

Since then I am getting VIP treatment. I never dress my wounds in front of them. I come out from my house limping. Alas, I have to come to the office and work with the same a******s who call me friend.


very entertaining. I have just one complain. I really detest the word "lady doctor". I mean a doctor's a doctor and if you must bring up the gender for any reason why not say the doctor who happened to be female? BTW I'm not being feminist or jumping down your throat with this one. Just clarifying. It's just in college we had a heated debate about this whole lady doctor terminology and found it redundant.
Anonymous said…
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Anonymous said…
All i wanna say is tht the wound was not a wound, but a scratch and this bong was going crazy in the middle of the night.

even the 'lady doctor' said there is no need to dress that, it was in fact a "nothing"

and also, i never said i could not sleep, if i did, tht would have been just to make him feel better, but i am sure i never did...for i am not the one to lose sleep over a bugger like him...i have much better things to do....much better people (and i mean some pretty pretty girls) to lose sleep over...

and when he says he wanted to go in style, on CBZ, he actually means sitting on a bike which does not go above 40, for if it does he almost gets his heart choked....and yes i actully could not laugh...coz if i did in front of the doctor, tht wud have been rude and somewht insulting, and later the moment was gone.....

well, i have so much more to say, but i dont feel like writing anymore.....


PS: He has asked me not to comment, but i am doing so, and i have told him, if he deletes the comment he might actually need some stitches...
boat said…
You write some neat stories pal.

It's interesting how you can turn round an everyday event into a humourous post. Not that you fall drunk into a ditch every night and pretend a scratch is a war wound. Or do you? Maybe you do.

Ok, nice post, good read. And looking forward to more everyday tales from you.
Too long a post for a miserable scratch. But, tell me, Relia went all the way to the hosp with you???
Ghetufool said…
thanks m,
and point about lady doctor is a point to be noted. will think about it sometime. but, lady-doctors are fantastic, isn't it?
Ghetufool said…
bahut bol liya. now shut up.
don't spill the bean, or else (ok, u know i fear your stitch threat!)
Ghetufool said…
i have got a sensitive skin, can't resist pain.
and welcome to my blog.
Ghetufool said…
you know i am a poor editor.
and yes, relia actually went all the way to the hospital.
wish, i shouldn't have taken him there.
Chaila Bihari said…
Ghetu, don't even dare to insult Devidutta. Or any IIMC-ians for that matter. Else u'll get blows from all over the country. Stitch korar jonno r kichu thakbe na be!
@ ghetufool they sure are :))
Anonymous said…
u stupid fellow........bhagwan kare u meet with a severe accident
Shuv said…
hahaha..gr8 one! immediately thought of potoldangar pyalaram..
Ghetufool said…
haha potoldangap pyalaram!
life-e tenidar moto ekta manush pelam naa hey, maauz kore ditam duniyatake.

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