Posts Tagged ‘accident’

accident

It upsets me every time I read a news report of an accident, or hear about someone I know. There is something heart-rending in an untimely death. But when it is an accident caused by drunken-driving, it just gets me infuriated.

A few days back, I got to hear about a colleague of a close friend. This guy gets drunk in an office party. What kind of drunk would you call someone who finishes off a whole bottle of whiskey, I don’t know. Anyhow! He gets super-drunk, and in spite of his seniors telling him not to go back home, persists on going back. He has some 5 people with him along with a driver. Halfway through, he insists on driving – saying he is in total control, and at the speed of 120km/hr rams into a tree. He is dead, the other guy on the front seat – a complete teetotaler is dead, and 3 guys are in coma.

I don’t have any sympathies for him. None at all. Rather, I am enraged at him for spoiling the lives of his family members, spoiling the future of the other dead guy and those in coma. At the risk of sounding insensitive, almost inhuman, I would like to ask him: Ever heard of the phrase ‘you had it coming’?  The other guy had to lose his life just by the virtue of being in the company of a drunkard. I hope the injured guys get completely healed, but there are very slim chances of that. What can you say to console those who unnecessarily lost their lives and limbs to this guy’s machismo?

You drink, you drive, you die. Expected. No surprises there. No sympathies even. But it really burns my heart to see people getting drunk and killing others while on that macho I-can-drink-as-much-as-I-want-and-yet-be-in-control psych. I have some guy friends who pride themselves on being a ‘Tank’. WTF! I really don’t get it. What is it with you guys? If you are drunk, just enjoy the feeling sitting at the back of the car, or do something else. But please, please DO NOT drive.

I just wish someone would explain this to all those ‘Macho’ guys out there. There is NO heroism in the ability of drinking and driving. It’s not an ability worth the pain it causes. It’s plain stupidity. Nothing is to be gained out of it. Rather, you are just an accident waiting to happen. Soon, you will either be a murderer or be dead!

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Big sister little brother

I was heart-broken when my first-born died. She was only 3 years old, and she fell off the first floor balcony. I still miss Katherine; Kate as we used to lovingly call her. My husband took it hardest, his dearest little Angel. He still blames me for letting her go and play in the balcony and the climb up the balustrade. I never thought she could climb it. I was pregnant with Mike then. When Mike was born, he looked so much like our Kate, that my husband believed she had come back to us as Mike. Our pain has subsided with time, but it didn’t go away. It can never go away. As people say, your first-born is the most loved.

Mike is 2 years old now. He can talk basic english, but cannot yet form proper sentences. He plays on his own with his toys. He plays with some imaginary friends like all kids do at his age. We bought new toys for him. We removed Kate’s toys after she died and kept them in the attic. It was too heartbreaking to see them around the house.

A week before, Mike sang a nursery rhyme in his broken, stammering english. I was heartsore and my husband, ecstatic. It was Kate’s favorite rhyme. She used to sing it whole day. We didn’t teach Mike that rhyme. Neither did his grandparents. My husband told me in his most assured, victorious tone that Kate had indeed come back as Mike. He was on cloud nine. He encouraged Mike to sing it and taught him a bit more. I didn’t like it. I just felt immense sadness and a deep, dark void inside me.

Yesterday, Mike came up to me while I was cooking in the afternoon, and asked me to get the other toys. I brought the other carton full of his toys. He said he didn’t want them, but the others. I told him he didn’t have more toys. He frowned and asked me to get the toys in the attic. I didn’t tell my husband about this.

Today, I went to take a peek in his room to see what he was doing. He was sitting there, playing with his toy cars. He was probably playing with one of his imaginary friends as usual. I stood there watching him, feeling the love well up inside me, when he suddenly cried out “Kate, dun play wif my caa”.

Kate? Did he just say ‘Kate’ ? Is it our Kate playing with Mike? Is my child still stuck in here? Wasn’t she freed of this world and taken to heaven? What should I do? I would do anything, God but please free her soul and let her rest. Please!

I can’t talk about this to my husband. He wouldn’t believe it. And if he does, it will break his heart further. It is, after all, my fault. I was not watchful towards her on that fateful day. I am the reason for the tragedy, and I know I will have to carry the burden of this truth to my grave.

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