To Aarna patel, he was the kind of man she wanted to stay away yet she desired him - dark, tough, extreme, controlling, commanding, and a billionaire.
To jayraj Singh Rathod, she is the kindest and yet most feisty woman he ever met, a ball of spitf...
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He asked about someone's health reports to a nurse who stood up abruptly at our presence.
I looked at my surrounding, the floor was private because there was no one other than a security guard and nurses... It looked like some four-star hotel, with expensive paintings, high-tech lights, and leather chairs for visitors to sit on. However, the weird smell of the hospital gave that away, the smell of disinfectants which almost everyone dislikes.
When I was a child, hospitals used to freak me out. I could not stand seeing massive blood loss or hearing cries of pain or tears of patients' loved ones.
Used to?
Okay, It still freaks me out.
"Come." Jayraj dragged me inside the room. The inside of the room was as good as the outside.
White and light green color furniture was enough to give some comfort to the patient.
There was a man, an old man who may be in his late 60s, resting on the hospital bed, the tubes were connected to his body, and wires were attached to his chest.
"He is a heart patient. Two attacks this month and three arteries were blocked but thankfully bypass surgery went succesful. His blood pressure again increased last night but not severe enough for heart attack." Jayraj looked at the sleeping man with love in his eyes.
"S*it, I am sorry, you were going through--" I whispered.
"Don't, I didn't take you here to make you feel guily."
"How is he now?"
"Recovering but better now." I gripped his left hand to give him solace.
"I call him Dada with affection." He set on a stool beside the old man's bed.
"Is he your grandfather?" I put one hand on his shoulder.
"No, but he is more than that, he gave me a life, a good life." He touched his forehead with affection.
"Dada picked me up from a railway station and gave me this life, education, and love, I used to work there as a coolie."
"How old were you?"
"13"
What?
When I used to take part in a fancy dance competition, he was working. When my problems were Chintu grabbing my chotties or somebody taking my seat, he was carrying passengers' bags.
It's just -- I don't have enough words to describe how sad I felt hearing that.
" I saw a boy writing on a book, sitting on a side bench when I was waiting for my train. When I asked him what is he doing, He so rudely replied that it's none of my business." The man, Jayraj's dada spoke. I guess he woke up when we were talking in a hushed voice.
