Cycle of Cliches
She looked thinner and paler than she actually was when I saw her last a year ago.
“Come,” she pushed the cabin door open. The cabin, with one glass window covered with blinders, is lit up by only one tube-light. It seemed to offer no additional facilities other than privacy to the patient, a small divan for their attendant to sleep, a wall-mounted TV and a dedicated washroom. Except for the portable multi-para monitor beeping at regular intervals, the oxygen cylinder placed under the bed, the saline bag hanging from the T-shaped hanger, and a transparent pipe connecting it to the veins of the right arm of Ma through the channel, there wasn’t any apparatus that can signify that her condition