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  • Category: Creative Writing

    I ran, ran and ran and finally stopped reaching my mother's bed

    I had received the news in my office. My mother had suffered a heart attack. No one except my very old father was there in our Kolkata flat that afternoon. My father, who was 86 at that time and himself a heart patient, did not lose hope; he telephoned the driver and somehow took my mother to the Port Hospital, where they (my parents) have been treated for heart problems and other age-related ailments.

    I reached Kolkata the next day. The crisis was thankfully over, but I insisted to stay near my mother in the hospital at night. At around 1 a.m., I got up, noted that my mother was sleeping peacefully and out of boredom, started moving in various areas of the hospital.

    Kolkata Port Hospital was built on a very large area, but the number of patients has gradually become very less. On that night, I moved from floor to floor of the almost empty hospital. I reached the basement.

    Suddenly, a gush of cold air made me fully conscious. I heard the hum of the powerful air-conditioner. I moved towards a large room. The door was open. It was uncomfortably cold in the humid summer night. The room had a hypnotizing effect on me.

    White smoke was coming out of the room. There were many large trays. Some of these trays contained dead bodies. I had a feeling that some dead bodies were calling me. I started moving forward. I entered the large room.

    Suddenly a man called me to come out. He had a lock and key in his hand. My trance got broken. I came out of the hospital mortuary, shivering. The man started shouting at me. I didn't hear even a single word what he was saying.

    I started to run. I ran, ran and ran. I reached the cabin of my ailing mother. She was then awake. She saw my ashen face. She did not ask me anything, only kept her reassuring hand on my fading hairs.

    I was no longer shivering. My mother was beside me. She kept a soothing hand on her almost 50-year-old son.
  • #667229
    A realistic description of the mortuary environment by the author. Yes, most of us will get fear out of such situation and running back to the nearer shelter is the natural choice. The end of the story where the author goes back to his mother for that solacing moments is really impressive.
    Thoughts exchanged is knowledge gained.

  • #667234
    As usual, the author made a very good narration of the story. I don't know it is his real experience or his creation. But the important point is the way in he brought the condition of the hospital and especially the mortuary environment in an excellent way. My appreciations to the author.
    When we are in a problem the handholding of our parents will give us a lot of stability and confidence. Whenever I am a little bit upset I will make a phone call to my parents who are staying in our native place and talk to them for five minutes, I will be normal. Whenever I go to my native place I feel I am under their care and I will be very happy without any responsibility.
    The parents are the real well-wishers of their children and whatever may be our age and their age we will be their children only. The blessings of them will save us from all our problems and see that we will be always happy.

    drrao
    always confident

  • #667239
    A nice piece of narration full of creativity, emotions, sentiments and subtle human feelings. The love and affection of the parents is something which can not be compared with any thing in this world. Whenever we are in distress or fearful condition the only place where we can get some solace and peace is the lap of the parents.

    The unintentional entry in the mortuary and its after affects on the person or author himself are presented in a very pictorial manner and impress the reader with its depth and intensity.

    Knowledge is power.

  • #667241
    A good script with a good ending.
    We have heard from our parents that even though we are grown-ups, we are still a chile for our parents & this itself make us childish - consoleable & protective under their arms.
    The Mortuary from name to its smell make one realise that we are in danger, which frightens us. Running for solace is the much need of that time which the writer found in his mother.

    “Each day provides its own gifts.” —Marcus Aurelius

  • #667256

    A captivating narration of events. Glad that the author's mother is well. However old we may be, in the presence of parents and elders we feel better during difficult times.
    At hospital, large hotels, multi-storyed carparks, venturing out at 1 AM is certainly not a good idea in the interest of personal safety. There are certain areas in any large building to be avoided, one of them is the basement. The mortuary is usually well hidden and not easy to enter, maybe the staff had just shifted in or out the remains of a departed soul.


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