Rhythm Of My Days

“Can you hear me?”

The voice sounded like an echo from afar.

“Can you hear me?”

The second time it sounded closer but hit my head tersely. I tried opening my eyes slowly, as a vague figure emerged from the white light.

“Are you feeling better?” I heard the voice call out to me again before I passed out.

This was about 5 months back when I came here. I was not the only person dealing with this constant scrutiny at this rehab. As I looked out of my room’s window each morning, I saw various others like me battling each day.

Battling.

How easy it may seem from the sidewalk. You struggle for a few years as much as to choke and then you opt for rehab, only to realize that it is a battle against oneself and you are the only soldier that you have. Contrary to what others may perceive.

“He’ll be alright after a few months of rehab,” they’d say casually undermining the storm one must overcome.

“How are you feeling today?” nurse Pres’ asked in her usual singsong voice interrupting my line of thought. It is only once in a blue moon that someone reaches out as much as to pull one out of the labyrinth of suffering.

I followed her steps as she walked towards me and rested her equipment by my bedside. Just like every day, she came closer. Her hand cupped my face and she examined my eyes. After flashing the warmest smile, she made her observations on the examination sheet. “Looks like someone is cheerful today,” she turned towards me.

I smiled as I curled in, trying to hide my joy. The routine check was over in a few minutes and she left. This was probably the biggest highlight of my mornings. Besides being in the garden with her in the evenings. Under a tree, with the birds chirping overhead. Our conversations were scanty, owing to my loss of words with her, but her presence around me secured my sanity.

Until nurse Pres’ went away for a few weeks, as I was told. The new nurse was as pleasant but she did not have the same touch, same fragrance, and same breath. I was missing the rhythm of my days.

The next day onwards, the medication stopped working- because I stopped working them. I needed nurse Pres’. I was battling, yet again.

A few days hence, I was found piled in a corner of the room, possibly passed out due to lack of adequate medication or food.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice sounded like an echo from afar.

“Can you hear me?”

The second time it sounded closer. I tried opening my eyes slowly, as a vague figure emerged from the white light.

“Are you feeling better?” I heard the voice call out to me, again. A hand cupped my cheek, just then. I inhaled the familiar fragrance that brought me back to life. Yet again.

I smiled.
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Kajal

Kajal is a perpetual dreamer, a mind-vagabond and an eternal optimist. She has been a contributor to many online magazines and portals, successfully making her space in the arena before she settled on initiating a writing community which inspires and motivates aspiring writers to take that leap of faith.
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