The Last Day

Discover a tale of unexpected twists and newfound independence as Medha navigates through life's challenges in 'Last Day in the Office: A Journey of Liberation'. Follow her journey as she confronts family emergencies and societal expectations, forging her own path with resilience and determination. Join us as we unravel the gripping narrative of self-discovery and empowerment.

It was her last day in the office. Between the documents handover and packing her things, Medha had 2 missed calls. One from Ma and the other from her cousin...more like a sibling. Finally sitting down, probably for the last time, in her cabin with her favourite reportee, Moumita, Medha decided to call her cousin first cause she generally didn't call during office hours.

Apparently, Rajiv had met with an accident. He has suffered multiple, severe injuries and was hospitalised. Sanchita was unharmed, though. 

I disconnected and started packing my books. In the close confines of the glass cabin, Moumita had heard every word, knew what was happening, and simply volunteered to get a cab for me.

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Hospital Lifts are pretty swift, but even then, it was taking endless time. Finally, the lift stopped, and I saw the number in the upper panel. Gingerly stepping out, I spied a stern-looking matron (stern and matronly are corresponding adjectives anyway; that's what I have always felt) sitting and browsing a magazine. I walked up to her and asked if I could be allowed inside.

She looked up disapprovingly. The sterile atmosphere and the smell of disinfectant were making me nauseated. I swallowed once again and rephrased my query. In a monotone, she replied that nobody other than the immediate family was allowed inside. It was past the visiting hour. She looked at the watch to drive her point home.

 How does one explain that I wanted to avoid the rush of the visiting hours? I didn't honestly want to see the known faces with the knowing looks and the sly smiles? One can't. How does one explain that I happen to be the very immediate family of number 405? In a fraction of a second, I put together answers in my mind… what will I say if I am asked why I wasn't there during admission or why I hadn't signed the required bonds…. Well, I will say I was away. Away in an office tour. Or should I say that my daughter was unwell? Will they ask me to prove my identity? I didn't have the required papers on me. Well… nobody carries them in their bags, do they? I mean, nobody takes their marriage registration papers in their bags, do they? Not at least to the office.

I cleared my throat and, mustering what I thought was a cheerful voice, said, I am the wife of 405.

 The matron looked up suddenly, the look of surprise changing to sympathy and comprehension. In a hushed tone, she said, 'Take the left door. Second from the right". 

I walked inside. Almost traipsing along. I saw 405. 

After coming here, I was strangely reluctant to open the door and walk in, afraid of what I might encounter. Putting my hand on the doorknob and taking a steadying breath, I turned it in.

Rajiv was lying on the bed, with the Doctor checking him and making copious notes on a pad. And, in one corner of the room stood Meghna, with bandages on her forehead- the telltale signs of the accident. My opening of the door made both of them look up. The Doctor turned to me disapprovingly and said, 'Who has let you in? It's past the visiting hours". I mumbled that I got stuck in traffic and would just leave. 

The Doctor turned to Sanchita and said,' Mrs Choudhury, please ensure that you come by 9 tomorrow and …..". He went on rattling out a set of instructions. I had a strange sensation of standing aside and watching what was happening with a unique, dispassionate attitude. Rajiv looked past me at the sterile white walls of the hospital for inspiration. The Doctor, probably attuned to the electrifying tension in the room, turned and asked… are you related to the patient?" I smiled and said, "I look after his children. Governess, actually".

I walked out. Out of the room, the corridor, the hospital and my past life. Renouncing my status, leaving the years gone by. The air outside felt cool, and I slapped some water on my face to wash away the beads of perspiration and the tell-tale signs of marriage.