The Sage

1
Spotlight
Mumbai
18th August 2017

Who would have thought it would rain today? There is something strange about unannounced afternoon rain. The mind that is comfortably engrossed in the daily circus of life is abruptly restrained. This sudden pause forces us to ponder upon the more primitive emotions.

Darkness descends suddenly, obscuring the daylight, and tricks you to lose the sense of time. The present comes to a standstill, the future becomes inconsequential, and the beautiful, as well as the painful memories from the past, come back to drench your soul.

The splashing sounds of soaked leather shoes of children, kicking the water playfully on their way back from school, competes with the sound of the thunder and pouring rain. The pensive heart looking out of the window misses a few faces, a few touches. Nikhil was annoyed.

It was just three hours before his flight back to New York was to take off from Mumbai and he was getting desperate. The rain in Mumbai can be so unpredictable. Nikhil regrett ed his decision of agreeing for an early morning class at the reputed medical school of Mumbai, King Edward Memorial Hospital (KEM); the place from where his medical career started many years ago. Mumbai, however, was much more than just KEM to him. He had grown up in the lap of this city. “I should have known the temperamental weather better,” he thought to himself.

Presently, a young and famous interventional cardiologist at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York, Nikhil had been invited to his alma mater to conduct a cardiology workshop. All his scheduled commitments were fulfilled the previous evening. However, he couldn’t refuse the sitting Dean, Dr Sen, who had requested him to conduct an early morning session for the students and inspire them by the story of his phenomenal success. His fl ight was scheduled for the late afternoon thus, the idea seemed workable.

The untimely afternoon rain had suddenly created a chaos. Under these conditions, traffic would be crawling at a snail’s pace all the way to the airport. So, greetings, goodbyes, and business cards were exchanged in a haste. Nikhil soon was at the backseat of the sedan that was supposed to take him to the airport. Long drives to the airport are usually very introspective. Nikhil realized that he was not only irritated by the possibility of missing his flight, but also at the belligerence in the question of a young medical student that had ratt led him last evening. A question that was stuck in his mind like a thorn.

The previous evening had been almost perfect. A formal dinner was organized by his proud medical school to honour him. Praises were showered upon him by one speaker after another and he could not help but be blinded by that spotlight on him. By the time it was his turn to address the crowd, he could feel the delusional halo of grandeur all around him. He walked
to the podium slowly, as if carrying a fragile grace of some erstwhile emperor. He then started to speak with a perfect blend of words, tones, and gestures. Soon, the entire hall was soused in the charisma that Dr Nikhil Kumar was well known for. He captivated the audience as he spoke about how he had seen almost every shade in the medical profession. He refreshed his vivid memories about being trained in a chaotic and frugal environment; an Indian medical school, where resources were limited but diseases came in all stages and complexities. He compared it to his journey across various hospitals in the world. By the time he wrapped up his story, the audience was so mesmerized, that it almost believed him. Nobody seemed to mind that extra bit of self-praise and pride that was bordering arrogance in Nikhil’s tone.

As the magical spell of applause was fading away, a young man raised his hand from a corner of the hall. His lean frame and simple attire looked as inappropriate in the sea of tuxedos as his audacity to raise a hand after the king himself had spoken. As all heads turned towards that young man, he became terribly frightened and conscious of his mistake. Nikhil, in his overflowing, yet cosmetic generosity, tried to ease his stress by saying, “Speak up, my friend. What do you want to ask?” With stammering voice and confused yet firm eyes, looking at Nikhil he said, “Well. . .when you say. . . that. . .you have seen everything. . .I mean, don’t you get scared. . .well. . .I mean. . .where do you go from here?”

Nikhil, with his tall and confident frame dripping gratification that seemed to abut pride, looked straight at him from the podium. With a smile broader than usual, trying to hide his irritation and anger he blurted, “You will see. . .”

Dean Sen came to his rescue and took control of the situation. He thanked everyone and politely announced the evening closed.

The rain was lashing against the windscreen in all its fury. The driver decided to take a less traversed route to the airport. “This way is a little longer, sir, but I checked on the GPS, there is less traffic and no waterlogging on the way,” he said. “It is our best bet to get to the airport on time.”

The situation prevented Nikhil from resisting, but deep down, it was this particular route he had wanted to avoid ever since he had set foot in Mumbai. a few miles down this road would come the apartment complex where he grew up. The memories of his childhood and his parents would still be wandering out there somewhere.

Moreover, he would also have to cross that enchanted garden where he used to meet Krishna.

As the car gradually approached that road, his irritation started to melt away, allowing more complex emotions to set in. he was crossing the road next to that garden now. Nikhil had a surreal feeling that Krishna was still there. he tried to shut out those feelings and focus on his present problem of reaching the airport on time. However, the more he tried to run away from his past, the more entangled he felt in the web of memories.

There was no way to escape from the deep soothing voice of Krishna that was coming back to him after almost twenty years.