Old Monk

0300 hours
15th January, 2006:

“I’ll write a blog on this one if China makes it.”

0300 hours
16th January, 2006:

I am not Chetan Bhagat, but the point is that these words were stated by me jokingly and I am in the process of implementing this stupid promise as I sit next to Pankaj in room 313, Joshi Hospital.

The party was on 14th night. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits—literally and figuratively. I don’t remember more about the party. More than anything else I care not to do so at this point of time.

I do remember getting a call at 0211 hours. My phone showed the number as that belonging to China. He had gone to drop Uppu home a little while earlier. He had called me up thrice in the night before asking for directions to my place and I wondered if he was lost again. The guy on the other line said hello and told me that he was Nikhil. He said that my friend had an accident and his nose was bleeding. I couldn’t believe my ears and seriously thought it was some king of a prank. A really sad prank. I asked him twice again and understood from his tone that he wasn’t lying. I prayed for Uppu as I asked if a girl was with him. He said no and I became as happy as any man could be under such circumstances.

An army of able bodied men (some sane and other’s half drunk) was quickly assembled and crammed into two cars as we drove to the accident spot. An ambulance was waiting when we arrived and Saket accompanied Baruah to the hospital as the cars followed. Fafu stayed back to take care of the bike. Baruah’s consciousness was a huge relief and the injuries seemed to be of external nature.

Meanwhile there was trouble brewing at the motorcycle front. The cops had figured out that it was a case of drunken driving and had confiscated the bike at the station. Son of the soil – Sam was pressed into action and he came through in flying colours as he got the bike back having paid a paltry sum of 400 bucks. Jai Maharashtra.

The CT scan verified that the extent of injuries was minimal. It surprisingly also showed that Baruah had a brain even though its visible in them that his brain houses things that remind you of a pig, fish and a butterfly. Think that explains all his jumanji brainwaves.

There seemed to be greater trouble at the party than at the station or hospital. Alex wanted to break rum bottles. Anna continued her tradition of puking at parties thrown at my house. Vishay and Jatin wouldn’t stop playing carrom. Mrs.Karve had started shouting and practically held court through her monologue. Priya wanted to play with my toy train. Hearing about Baruah’s state most people decided not to venture out of the place and they slept over until they were transported back in the safety of four wheeled transportation.

At the hospital we hung around the car park and discussed varied topics ranging from our admission process, other institute’s, symbi girls, etc. Nikhil kept us going by getting free milk and coffee which he somehow removed from the vending machine.

It was decided that a minor surgery would need to be done to stitch his facial cuts. It must have lasted for 20 odd minutes and by the time it was over his fan following had arrived as word spread like a wildfire. Those brilliant set of dentures that were so very well maintained by a strict diet of ITC cigarettes had lost two of its members in the surgery as they had been shattered in the accident.

Everyone kept asking me as to how Baruah was. I kept saying that he was fine and there was no problem whatsoever. A slight hesitance still remained as I had not met Baruah after the surgery. This query was answered once and for all when I saw him in flesh, blood and spirit.

The doctor…ahem…Ms. Joshi had come to meet Baruah. Having done her bit she left. Baruah’s sly wink as he saw her exiting indicated well enough that he fancied her and that this party was not over yet. It stated implicitly that he was doing well and the rascal we had grown to love was going to do well enough. “Kyun Baruah…Theek hain naa?”