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frozen teardrops

Frozen Teardrops

When I was sitting outside the emergency ward, sweat pouring down the creased lines of my forehead, a strange feeling of helplessness had slowlybegun to rise in me like a small tidal wave. Half an hour ago I vaguely remembered being shoved outside the ward by the frowning doctors sporting indecipherably stony expressions.

Even though I knew they were just doing their job I couldn’t help feeling angry at them and in the whirling cesspool of emotions which snaked their burning tentacles up myshivering spine anger wasn’t even the most prominent one. Fear andconfusion jack-hammered their way into my mind followed by regret, their distant cousin. I stood, not able to wait anymore. The ward was bustling with activity and the corridoroutside that I was waiting in was unusually a total contrast to what was happening inside. One ofthe nurses gingerly walked towards me with an array of instruments carefully balanced on a tray but turned towards the door and entered the ward. Hope fluttered in me like a butterfly whose wings were justburnt. I looked through the small window of the door trying to discern through the somber expressions of the doctors and the nurses, looking for a clue, something as to the outcome of the surgery. I walked away and never returned.

I stepped out from the city hospital. Trepidation marking every step of my seemingly wooden legs I walked towards the bustling main road. Vehicles were streaming across like hope running away from a dying man. The pavements wet with the rain which had just finished pouring, the air was filled with the smell of human fear and an aching sense of loss. Communal riots. As a journalism studentI had studied about them. They were just two words and yet they symbolized a mosaic painting of senseless destruction in the name of….in the name of what? Religion? What good is religion if it pits one man against another and forces them to commit vile sinful acts?

As I was walking on that pavement from the hospital at night I couldn’t stop myself from taking a mental step back and wondering about the contradictory absurdity between my life in the morning and the night inone same violent day. Ifsomeone had told me a person close to me would be battling for life I would have scoffed at the very notion. But fate and destiny have a way of changing their spider’s web of colors and trapping you in that very web like an innocent insect and that’s when you know you are fate’s dinner.

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