Two Minutes...

Damn these traffic lights! They always turn red when you want them green. And there is always a hell of a lot of traffic here in Chennai. The roads are not so good either and the bribable policemen with bulging bellies do not know the rules themselves. People do not care for yellow lines or “No Parking” signs. This is Indian I-do-what-I-want attitude at its very best (or rather the very worst). I should have got used to it by now. A month earlier, I wouldn’t have minded. But today………it’s different. I do not know what this feeling is. Disillusionment? Disenchantment? I just don’t know.

I drive a Ford with superb air-conditioning. So you can’t blame the searing sweaty Chennai heat for my vexatious mood. Yet you can’t blame me either as you haven’t heard my story yet.
I turned on the radio and tuned it to my usual radio-station. They were broadcasting some song from the latest Tamil movie. I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. 6:58 pm.
Two minutes to seven. My favourite radio programme ‘M-Time’ starts at seven pm. Two minutes………
They can change your life.

You do not know much about me. So maybe I should tell you. I am a Tamil Christian born and brought up in Chennai, the capital and largest city in Tamilnadu, a state in South India. I am 32 years old and I worked as a software engineer in a reputed American company. I was one of those persons who cashed in on the Information Technology Boom, as it is called here.

This “boom” was probably the best thing that happened to the Indian economy. India has always been a source of intellectual wealth, be it doctors, teachers, engineers, architects or whatever. Labour jobs are looked down upon in India, whereas professional & well-paying jobs are considered prestigious. This discordant attitude causes trouble for the Indian economy. Every year thousands of intellectuals are being produced at Indian colleges and universities and therefore not all of them find jobs. The high unemployment rate resulted in cutthroat competition and when American software companies expressed interest, everybody went for it.

As a result, even while the economy prospered with the input of American IT giants, every Indian software professional who found a job understood that he/she may not have it forever. He/she may be replaced for the slightest mistake committed, as the employers have no dearth of human resources. More so, younger employees (i.e. in their twenties) are preferred and being 32 years old, my only claim to hold my job was my three years experience and good record with my company.

Then came the American embargo on Indian professionals entering the US and because of this, the job situation worsened. Indians were now returning from the US and they had to find jobs for themselves. Every month as I collected my large paycheck, my boss grimly reminded me that my contract was terminable under all circumstances and the top brass wouldn’t hesitate to do so if my work was not competent enough.

I got married four years ago. I don’t have any kids. My wife worked as a receptionist at a big five star hotel. She usually worked night shifts, so the job was easy and the pay was good. I should say my wife got along pretty well. So as a family, we were quite comfortable with our income.

I may have passed a comfortable existence, had it not been for the fact that my wife was asthmatic. But at an air-conditioned lobby desk, there shouldn't be any problem with her breathing. Or so I thought.

Then it happened. It was two days ago. It had been uneventful till then. I had reached home after work at around 5 pm. I sat and talked for sometime with my wife and then as usual drove her to work at around 8 pm. I returned home and watched TV, eating the dinner she had prepared for me. At around 10 pm my cellphone rang. The call was from my wife’s cellphone. I answered and said hello.
A frantic voice at the other end replied: “Hello! Is this the lady’s husband?“
I tensed. “Yes, what’s the matter? Who is this speaking?”
“I am sorry but there has been an accident. Your wife has been admitted to the emergency ward………”
“What? What happened? What the heck is going on?”
“Sir, you’d better come to the Pooja Hospitals immediately…………”
“Hello! Hello! What? Hello………”
The line went dead.
I dressed as fast as I could and raced my Ford to the hospital. I rushed up to the Emergency ward and found my wife lying faint on a stretcher dragged by two orderlies. I recognized the red suit she had been wearing when I had dropped her. There was a doctor hovering near her. I was beside myself with fear and apprehension.
“Doctor! Doctor! This is my wife. What happened to her? What’s wrong?”
“She has had an asthma attack……She has inhaled too much smoke……”
I followed him as he rushed behind the stretcher into the ward.
“Oh my God! But……… how? Oh my God! Why is she unconscious?”
“I am sorry but your wife is now unable to breathe. We were………”
I shouted, “What the bloody hell is wrong?”
“Please stay calm, sir. We are trying as far as we can to revive her. In fact we were just about to attach her to the life support systems. Will you please stay outside?”
I was still shouting “But that’s my wife you are having on that stretcher there…………” I started begging “Please sir, allow me to see my darling………”
I was literally shoved outside the ward by two orderlies. One of them said, “Sir, please wait here. We will not let her die………”

Tears were now running from my eyes. My beloved wife, on that stretcher and I don’t even know what had happened.

One of my wife’s colleagues was also present at the hospital. She saw me and recognized me. She came over to me and said, “Mr. Abraham?……… I am Sheila, your wife’s friend……it was an accident……There was a small fire……in the kitchen and……your wife……she was at the water-cooler……cooler was near the kitchen and……everybody ran outside……they put out the fire……and then we found her lying faint……she did not suffer burns……fire was too small and did not spread……but doctor said……she had suffocated……but……I am sorry……still……we tried to bring her here as fast as we could……I am really sorry”. And then she turned away with teary eyes.

I waited. I paced around in the hallway. I did not know what to do. I was totally blank. Perhaps it was the shock. I found myself unable to recognize my feelings and the thoughts running through my head. Anger. Pain. Sorrow. Distress. No words can describe it.

Around midnight, the doctor came out. He looked tired. He said that the airways in her throat and chest had inflamed severely. They had operated on her and still there was no sign of recovery. They had connected her to the life support system. If she had reached the hospital two minutes earlier, there would have been a 90% chance of recovery.

I waited with bated breath for two more hours. The doctor came out again. His face said it all. He said, “I am sorry, Mr. Abraham, but we were unable to save her.”
I replied “What do you mean? She………she………”
“Yes, she is dead”
“What? No! You mean she is………she is actually………”
“I am sorry, but we did all we could to save her. But………”
I must have then gone mad. “NO! You mean you killed her, don’t you?”
I caught his coat’s collar. “You fools, you killed my wife………”
He gently pushed me away “I sympathize with you, Mr. Abraham, but we couldn’t do anything. She was brought in two minutes too late. I am really sorry.”

The doctor made me sit on a chair nearby. He then called out to a nurse to attend to me and left the place. For the next fifteen minutes I sat oblivious to whatever was happening around me. I then got up and went to see her. She looked beautiful even in death. The nurses were removing many straps and tubes from her body. I turned away.

I thought I was supposed to cry. But no, I couldn’t. My mind just refused to be drawn into the pain. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism of some sort. My entire world was turned upside down and I didn’t have the strength to acknowledge it.

My wife was shifted to the morgue and one of the hospital staff approached me with the paperwork. Once that was done, I drove home.
It was 4 am. I sat on the sofa and stared into empty space. Is it possible for the heart to lose all feeling? I remembered a verse from the Bible:
“……bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. She shall be called ‘woman’……”

I think I fell asleep. I suddenly noticed that the time was 7 am. Reporting time at my office was 7:30 am. I decided to apply for three days leave. I bathed, dressed and got into my car and drove to the office.

I thought I reached there just in time. I walked straight in and found my boss standing outside my room. He seemed angry.
He said, “What is the time, Mr. Abraham?”
I replied, “Sir, I’ve got to tell you something………”
“I repeat, what is the time, Mr. Abraham?”
“7:30 am, sir……”
“I don’t think it is 7:30 am, Mr. Abraham, it is 7:32 am. You happen to be two minutes late.”
“Yes, sir. But, I can explain………”
“I didn’t ask for explanations, Mr. Abraham, I just wanted to inform you that this is the third time this week that you’ve been late.”
“I know, sir and I am sorry……but you see I just have this domestic problem and I just wanted to…… apply for…… leave……”
“Leave? Don’t you know that you just exhausted your allowed leave last month? And I don’t give a damn about your domestic problems. “
“Yes, sir, but………”
“No buts, Mr. Abraham. I also came to inform you that one of our clients is suing us because of a glitch in the software we provided them. Because of that glitch, they have lost millions of megabytes of data. And you also happen to remember that you were our specialist in database management. Provided with your record of unpunctuality and frequent leave from work, the Board has decided to terminate your contract.”
“But………”
“I hope I make myself clear, Mr. Abraham. Your paycheck for this month lies on your table. It includes the severance pay as stipulated in your contract. You may clear out your desk in fifteen minutes”
And with that, he walked away.

I hear the exasperated honking of the cars behind me. The autorickshaw driver shouts in Tamil “Move the bloody car”. The lights have turned green. The radio crackles: “Good evening and welcome to your favourite show ‘M-Time’. The time now is seven pm………”

- John Arul Prakash

My first short story... Very very tragic. Do not know why. I'd been brooding over the plot for nearly a week, but then it took me only two nights to write it.