Missed Turns

Missed Turns

 

Nineteen days ago, I was greeted here, in the same airport, with the concerned and impatient voice of Jahnobi over the phone, “Have you reached?” Junali’s full and wide smile and the whiskey-dipped lines written for her transformed into a maze of eerily quiet corridors in in the main building of Gauhati Medical College Hospital. Every minute counted during my hunt for the single occupancy cabin where my mother was admitted. Even after a running-around for about ten minutes, following the directions of the old man sitting at the May I Help You counter, I was, kind of, lost in the maze of alleys, corridors, staircases and closed rooms in that mammoth building.

“Yeah, reached, but kind of lost. Where’s the cabin?” I asked her. I wasn’t sure whether Jahnobi expected an assurance of my presence, or if she was just reminding me of the urgency – every moment can be the last moment

“Just ask someone which is Ruplekha Baideu’s room. People know that she’s here.” I could