This is my first attempt at a short story. Everything is fictitious.
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Shishir Mehra lay limp, motionless. He had been so for a long time now. 8 months back, his 43 year old body had collapsed as he protested alongside others to save a park in the middle of Mumbai.He was in a coma for a week. Then, his mind woke up from it's slumber, but not fully. He had been paralyzed. He could only sense his body neck above, and with difficulty could move his left hand. His meager insurance ensured him a bed in a self help hospital wing. He had a bed by the side of a window. Sun shone on him every morning and presented him another day's time to kill. Nurse came and fed him, washed him, changed the clothes and bed sheets and went away. He tried talking to them, but soon realized that paralysis patients are treated as a nuisance. They don't get better, and they don't die soon. He had a family, but only for the sake of it. His parents had passed away few years back, both in their 80s. He was the youngest sibling among five. They had all been distanced from him, by circumstances, by time, by luck; in retrospect, by him. His wife divorced him pretty early, ostensibly because he was a bad parent, actually because he wasn't normal, had weird ideals, and had no ambitions... His son barely knew him. That kid never had a chance, as the “new dad” had lots and lots of money to buy good lawyers and buy new toys. Getting paralyzed is weird. You don't have a disease that damages your body, so you aren't actually dying. There's a fool's hope of getting better. You become completely dependent on others for everything. You can't move, and so, you want to talk. He had nobody to talk to.He tried reading, but it made his head hurt like hell. Noise made his head hurt. So no TV; No Songs. Consequently, he often got lost deep into his thoughts. Eventually, he began pondering over the questions he had been asked all his life... by well wishers, by not-so-well wishers, by family, by friends, by pseudo-friends.... why was he like this ? He was always so full of energy, so purposeful that he never had time to think over such things. It's bizarre thinking about your past life. One thought leads to another, which leads to many others, and each of them to many more. Within minutes the mind is a swamp, where images and thoughts criss-cross with lightening speed, until you get sick of it and let it go. But with only your head lolling around all day, you hardly have other options. He had always been a nice guy. A guy everyone liked. He was the apple of everyone's eyes. The most obedient and friendly boy in the neighborhood. He shared his Tiffin and toys with others. He gave his seat to others in the bus. He did small chores if any neighbor asked for. And he grew up exactly like that. He listened to everybody. He compromised with everyone. He always adjusted first, and the most. He never had a quarrel or a fight, because he let go and surrendered in hope of everlasting peace and harmony. He wanted peace of mind, and that is what eluded him most, as long as he lived. He never left anyone behind. He believed in consensus. He was gentle, caring, thoughtful and persuasive. His generosity was taken by all as his stupidity. His lack of will to stand and fight for his cause as his vulnerability. He wasn't dumb. He knew and understood everything. He knew what others were like. He knew what motivated them. He knew most around him better than they knew themselves. Yet he never took advantage of them. Never did he undermine them, or insult them, or stab them in the back. He always accommodated them. He persevered to make them all nice and happy. He sacrificed his own interests. Worst, he sacrificed his dignity. At some point, every nice guy realizes it... Nice guys finish last. Nobody gives a shit if you are nice. You are out of the frame as soon as you are out of sight. Period. He realized it as the enormity of his paralysis stroke began to dawn on him. He had never wronged anyone in his life. He had lived a pure life. He had actively worked for public causes. He never wronged anyone for his own beterment. He always let others have everything if it made them happy. What was his fault, that he had been reduced to this, and that people didn't care now that he lay there? Is it wrong to have ambitions that don't concern yourself? He always believed that he had been brought in this world for a greater cause, that he needed to think above personal interest and work for the society. God damn it! He was brilliant, wise and could have become the king of the world had he fought for himself and played by societies rules. What’s the point ??? Huh, what is the bloody point of all this? What did his life count for? All he needed now was some respect, some appreciation, some grateful acknowledgement... where were all of them, those nameless faces... for whom he had fought. Why didn't he feel good within, now as he was about to pass... why...Everything you do; everything you hear, every desire, every fear...Disgusting. Useless. Numb. He'd had enough. And so he was doing this. This was easy. He felt no pain. The paralyzed right hand wrist meant blood oozed out freely and he didn't feel a thing. Darkness took him slowly. And it was all over...
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Vivek Roy lay limp, motionless. He had been so for a long time now. 8 months back, his 43 year old body had collapsed as argued his division's case in front of the board of directors. He was in a coma for a week. Then, his mind woke up from its slumber, but not fully. He had been paralyzed. He could only sense his body neck above, and with difficulty could move his left hand. Being CFO of large Investment Bank's Indian operation meant he had no dearth of money. He had this private room here, with a lounge and a garden view from the porch. He had a complete support staff, and a team of high profile doctors. Sun shone on him every morning and presented him another day's time to kill. Nurse came and fed him, washed him, changed the clothes and bed sheets and went away. Even the bed sheets were louis vuitton. He tried talking to them, but soon realized it didn't matter. They talked only because he paid them well. He understood that paralysis patients are treated as a nuisance. They don't get better, and they don't die soon. But this thing worked out fine for these doctors and nurses. He had a family, but only for the sake of it. His parents had passed away when he was very young. He was the eldest sibling among five. He was brought up by his uncle, who made sure to taunt him at every juncture how he and his siblings were a huge huge burden. He did the chores during the day, and studied hard at night. He even mad each of his siblings study hard. He taught them the importance of having control, of slicing the largest portion of the pie, of not having to depend on anyone; by hook or by crook. They learned fast. Now they had all been distanced from him, by circumstances, by time, by luck; in retrospect, by him. His wife divorced him pretty early, ostensibly because he had an affair (which was true), actually because she was interested in his money, not him... His son barely knew him. That kid never had a chance, as the Court ruled that he was a bad influence as a parent, and even he didn't have time for the kid. Getting paralyzed is weird. You don't have a disease that damages your body, so you aren't actually dying. There's a fool's hope of getting better. You become completely dependent on others for everything. That is exactly he had been working all his life to prevent. Talking to nurses and doctors was irritating. He was tired of their fake smiles and plastic expressions. He tried reading, but it made his head hurt like hell. No Financial Times. No Wall Street journal. Even noise made his head hurt. So no TV; No News. Consequently, he often got lost deep into his thoughts. Eventually, he began pondering over the questions he had been asked all his life... by well wishers, by not-so-well wishers, by family, by friends, by pseudo-friends.... why was he like this ? He was always so full of energy, so purposeful that he never had time to think over such things. It's bizarre thinking about your past life. One thought leads to another, which leads to many others, and each of them to many more. Within minutes the mind is a swamp, where images and thoughts criss-cross with lightening speed, until you get sick of it and let it go. But with only your head lolling around all day, you hardly have other options. He had always been a wise guy. A guy everyone disliked, but couldn't do without. He was the stone in everyone's shoes, but nobody could afford to remove him. He had been viciously ambitious since always. He never shared; he always traded. Make an investment here, get barter there. That was his way of dealing with life. He wanted to provide himself with everything he hoped for. And he grew up exactly like that.He listened to everybody. He calculated all his moves. He compromised with nobody. He never adjusted. He never had a quarrel or a fight, as he never let things come to that. Pieces just fell in place for him as he planned, because he knew how to get under the skin of the people. He never wanted peace of mind, and it never eluded him. All he needed was a purpose to reach where he wanted to. He never carried dead weight. He thrashed all that stood in way. He made no bones about his ambition. He stepped over others. He lied, he cheated, he gained trust, and then backstabbed; and he rose. He converted his will into consensus. He was vicious, cruel, and fast.He fought like an animal. People said he would have been a great lawyer. But he knew that the true victories won by verbal battles belong to the corporate boardrooms, not in courts. He knew and understood everything. He knew what others were like. He knew what motivated them. He knew what they feared. He knew most around him better than they knew themselves. He always took advantage of them; undermined them, or insulted them; stab them in the back. He sacrificed his dignity. He sacrificed his ideals. But he gained more power.At some point, every wise guy realizes it... Nice guys finish last. Nobody gives a shit if you are nice. You are out of the frame as soon as you are out of sight. Period. He was born with that knowledge.But he also realized something as the enormity of his paralysis stroke began to dawn on him. Control through power lasts as long as you have the power. You are nothing, your standing is everything. You don't control the reigns, your position controls it. You don't matter, your money mattered/k. He wronged everyone in his life he had to. He had lived an impure life. He made other's lives a living hell to improve his marginally. What was his fault, that he had been reduced to this, and that people didn't care now that he lay there? Is it wrong to have ambitions that concern yourself? He always believed that he had been brought in this world for winning; that he needed to think only about personal interest above all. God damn it! He was brilliant, wise and could had become the king of his world... Then why was he seeing life as hapless as he was now? What’s the point??? Huh, what is the bloody point of all this? What did his life count for? That cash in his account, his portfolio, his empty penthouse in New York, London, Hong Kong and Singapore... All he needed now was some respect, some appreciation, some grateful acknowledgement, some moral support... Why didn't he feel good within, now as he was about to pass... why... Everything you do, everything you hear, every desire, every fear... After winning all way long, why do you end up loosing...Frustrating. Useless. Numb. He'd had enough. He had been so focused and sure all his life. He had to end it on his own terms. He was filled with hatred. He had made arrangements to destroy his wealth completely without benefiting anyone else. And so he was doing this. This was easy. He felt no pain. The right hand wrist meant blood oozed out freely and he didn't feel a thing. Darkness took him slowly. And it was all over...
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