T'was a rainy night, I don't remember the exact date though. Well you can't blame me for that as I was only 7 going 0n 8 or 6 going on 7, and it isn't one of the fondest memories of my parents, so there is little discussed about it anyway.
So it was a night as I remember it, but it couldn't have been more than 7 PM or so, 'coz that was the usual time my dad would come home from work. It was a tradition with me to keep guessing what exactly he would be bringing for me, apart from the usual Cadbury's chocolate bar. I had it all figured out you see. I had my own little algorithm about it too. It went something like..., if there were grapes yesterday and mangoes the day before then it would be watermelon or apples today. :-)
It used to work too.
Well to be honest, I always ended up saying, "Look mom, I told you it was going to be ... tonight!" and both of them would agree that I had guessed it correctly. :-) After all who would deny a sweet little kid like me (pun intended) as small a joy as that, least of all my parents.
It was the late 80's and telephone was a luxury still, so one had to rely on such guesswork. It had its own share of fun too. We used to stay on the first floor of our building and the balcony of our house overlooked the adjoining alley where my dad used to park his scooter. And being the "smart" kid as I was, I had learned to distinguish the sound of my dad's Vespa 150, from the other Chetaks and Lamrettas in our neighbourhood. So every night I used to wait in anticipation, guessing whether it would be apples, or pomegranates or kaju, kishmish etc... and at the same time, listening intently and deciphering the engine sounds from the road leading up to our building, just so that I could then say, "Look Ma.. I told you..."
So back from the tangent...this was also one of those nights, but it was raining (that's the saving grace for me). Mom was in the kitchen and I have this clear image of her sitting beside the gas stove making rotis with if I remember correctly daal (which was the only thing I used to eat then), when I think I heard the sound of my dad's scooter. It was already a bit late from his usual time and I was absolutely certain that it was him, so I ran from the kitchen towards the balcony to confirm and wish him welcome. I ran saying, "Daddy aa gaye.. daddy aa gaye" with all my might and that turned out to be just a bit more than enough... As when I reached the boundary wall of our balcony (which incidentally, was a bit lower in height than normal ;-) ) I couldn't stop and kept on running on the slippery floor of the balcony, suddenly to realise that I have long ago left the safety of the first floor and was heading face first towards the recently cobbled alley down below.
When I write this, I suddenly realise that I still clearly remember my "leap". It couldn't have been more than 6-7 seconds that it took me to complete the journey (thankfully only towards the ground... as you see I am still here today writing about this at 3:33 AM) . But I still remember the window of our next door neighbour which had a grill painted in blue rising above me, and the rain drops falling down below on the stony pathway.
I even remember the dress I was wearing that night. It was a blue and white checked shirt with blue nickers.
So after the 6-7 seconds that could have been my last on the face of this earth, I hit the ground below with my head just above my left eyebrow and felt the gravel and sand and water hit my face... there may have been some blood too. But I didn't loose consciousness immediately and mustered enough strength to get up (yes that's true) and find the door of our building. When I look back, I think I must have cried too... and I must have shouted while taking the "leap", but it was raining pretty heavily and my voice must have been lost. Being in the state that I was in, I still did manage to find the correct door and walked into it and then I fell.
I don't know how long it took my mom to reach downstairs and pick me up and rush me to the Emergency Room, but it wouldn't have been too long. The last thing I remember is the doctor putting the anesthesia mask over my mouth. Mom tells me that I was struggling too much to let him check me up and my head was any way double the normal side already, so he decided to get me ready for an emergency operation. I don't remember the details of how many stitches it took them to sow me up back again, and then how many hours were past after which I opened my other eye, but I did. Mom tells me that on his way to the hospital dad overturned some auto rickshaw which was blocking the way,with his bare hands!! Poor auto wallah... chose the worried father on a bad night to mess up with...
As it was a head injury, the doctor has already said that your son may get up being paralysed or invalid for the rest of his life or being completely insane..., but I did open the other eye and I spoke and I smiled.. and I cried.
While I was nursing my injury in the hospital, my dad brought me a box of crayons and a drawing book to play with. And guess what did I choose to draw first of all...?
It was me, taking the leap from our balcony, wearing my blue and white checks and the criss-crossed cobbled pavement below, with rain falling over. It was kind of a top view self portrait with me heading towards potential oblivion.
So this brings me to the point... it was the potential fatality of the jump which was not to be, and I can look back and see myself to have been blessed. After all I have kissed death already and have come back okay. Well almost... my grandma always mentions to even complete strangers, "He fell on his head when he was young and that too from 15 feet on stony ground". :$
