How Do I Grieve? by Indrajit Sinha, Guwahati

Born and raised in Silchar and currently residing in Guwahati, Assam, Indrajit is a storyteller weaving and building stories of grassroots, youth-led social change, one youth at time.

It is 2:00 a.m. now, and I am sitting on a cold, metal bench next to the ICU. I see a blinking light at the end of the corridor, I hear the beep-beep sound of the heart rate monitor.

In this ICU, my father is counting his last few days, slowly losing blood, drop by drop, from his body, through the tube that runs from his nose to a bag hanging under his bed.

I stand up, walk to the end of the corridor. Looking through the glass, I see the empty roads and the orange street lights and the never-ending ambulances carrying COVID-19 patients, some alive, some dead.

I hear footsteps behind me. A man is sweeping the hallway. My bag is lying on the floor, next to the bench.

Oh, my bag might prevent him from cleaning that area, I say to myself.

I pick it up and put it on the bench, as a smile passes between us.

He asks, “Who is here?”

I say, “My dad is in the ICU.”

He replies, “My son is in the ICU in another government hospital’s COVID-19 ward. He used to live with his wife.”

“How is he now?” I ask.

“Well, I hear he is in critical condition. I’m not allowed to see him.”

Suddenly, the manager enters the plot. The janitor continues sweeping. I sit on the bench and again stare at the blinking lights.

Right now, the whole world is weeping. How can I weep for my loss alone? I will see my father tomorrow morning, dead or alive. But this man? He will never see his son again, if he doesn’t make it through the night.

Oh man! How do I grieve? How do I grieve?

I am sitting on a cold, metal bench next to the ICU.

_________________________

(This story was prepared for an “Imagine Another World” online storytelling workshop held December 19, 2020.)

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Six Thousand Minutes, by Aarefa Johari, Mumbai

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Cry of Compassion, by Sanjeev Kumar, Kolkata