Free Till the Last Breath . . . by Durjoy Datta Page A

drinking habit.’
    Her mom gave her an icy stare. ‘Whatever it is. I wonder where his parents are. Since the time we have come, no one has come to meet him.’
    ‘Why are you so worried?’
    ‘I just feel bad for his parents. Such a young boy with such bad habits. Disgraceful!’
    ‘It’s okay, Maa.’
    ‘What okay? My daughter is such a nice girl and she has to … and he will live. It’s so unfair,’ he heard the exasperated mother say. Would his death make it any better for the woman?
    ‘Maa, can you keep your volume down?’ Pihu begged. ‘He can hear us.’
    ‘I don’t care,’ her mother said angrily.
    He tried not to move and concentrate on what they said about him. Getting fucked up has its own advantages. It’s as if people assume you are deaf when you’re not. But they had shut up. Soon, he was in wonderland. Darkness. Clouds. Flying. Kajal.
    The ground beneath him shook, then his bed and then he. He woke up with a start and saw a familiar face staring at him. It was the offensive doctor with a rod jammed up his behind.
    ‘Good morning. Though it’s almost noon,’ the doctor said. ‘I am Arman. I believe we have met before. You’re the one who almost drank himself to death. I’m the unfortunate one who has to save you so that you can do it again.’
    Dushyant felt embarrassed and angry. He could feel the girl’s and her parents’ eyes on him, judging him, cursing him. The cocky attitude of the doctor made it worse, and the dreadfulpain in his stomach made him want to slap the doctor across the face.
    ‘Can we get on with this?’
    ‘Yes, we can. I heard you were whining with pain this morning? Did he cry?’ Arman asked. The nurse nodded in affirmation.
    ‘I wasn’t fucking crying!’ Dushyant protested.
    ‘Shut up and keep your voice down. This is a hospital, not your house. If you’re not crying, the pain is not much. And for future reference, please don’t cry. You’re a grown man, for heaven’s sake. No more sedatives for you. We will start you on a fresh batch of antibiotics. The first ones didn’t work like they should have,’ he said.
    ‘Are you even sure what’s wrong with me?’ he asked, trying to get back at the doctor.
    ‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ he retorted. ‘You are stupid and throwing your life away. Now the fewer questions you have, the better for you.’
    Dushyant felt offended, but before he could say something, another doctor, a girl, entered, dressed in a doctor’s coat that fit her snugly around her tiny waist and well-endowed chest. Her heels looked a little out of place in a room where someone was dying, but they looked good on her well-built yet slender legs. Her naturally tanned skin shone and Dushyant’s pain died out for the few seconds that he spent looking at her, imagining her in various scenarios, with and without the heels and the overcoat.
    ‘This is Dr Zarah. She will take the tests and try to keep you alive if you decide to cooperate with her. Do you understand?’ he asked him condescendingly.
    He was stumped and didn’t know what to say. The girl standing behind Arman looked more amicable, even though her expression remained unchanged. Arman piled the girl withmedical mumbo-jumbo before he moved over to the other side. He saw him pull the curtain and block the disgusted faces of Pihu’s parents out of view. Was he that repulsive?
    ‘Is he always like this?’ Dushyant asked Zarah as she tied a strap around his arm.
    ‘More or less. It’s been just a few weeks for me too. But he is a brilliant doctor and he will end up saving your life,’ she answered. He noticed the sharp nose and the light-brown eyes. The lipstick was immaculately done; the outline matched her bronzed skin perfectly.
    ‘My life? You guys already know what I have, don’t you?’ he asked, a little scared. He wanted a smoke, a beer and maybe a snort of a line of cocaine.
    ‘You had another seizure last night. The problem can be neurological too. We are still