One more drive through Bangalore’s emptied roads. One more visit to the hospital. And this time, I hope not to go back again for a long long long time.
The last time I had gone to the hospital, I made friends with this dog there. He hangs around near the X-ray center, and is a darling with all the nurses. There’s something wrong with his foreleg, though. He hops around still, following me around. I take off my gloves to pet him and he relishes it. The people milling outside the hospital, all in varied states of distress, watch us. He prances around, sniffing the wheels of my car. I look around, trying to find a shop where I can buy him a biscuit or two, and then realize the absolute stupidity of me even going up to a shop. I shrug. He looks up, waiting, trusting.
I pat his head one last time. I hope he is taken care of. I want to go back only to see if we can do something about his wounded leg. And then, I see the nurses escort Susheela.
The doctors decided to release Susheela back. They took her out of oxygen support, and as she managed to respond favorably, she is back. It’s back to constantly checking on oxygen levels again.
I pass three ambulances as I drive back. Police patrol the roads. The roads are cordoned off.
I don’t know what to say anymore to the horror that is India. I don’t know what to say to the horror of these last 10 days. I want to hope that we will come through these dark times. And as I said goodbye to the dog, I have a feeling we will. We have the positivity in togetherness – our governments have failed us – but we won’t fail each other.
All my love,