short-cropped hair made him look like a badass and he stuck out like a sore thumb in the group photograph of all the doctors at GKL Hospital.
There was no formal introduction, no asking how she was or even who she was, instead there were a set of questions he wanted her to answer. She had answered them to the best of her ability, like she would do as a student. Along with her answers, she attached a report on what she thought about the various researches that had been done on ALS. She wondered if she was being a smart-ass, but then thought she had too little time to care.
To her surprise, Arman had replied almost immediately. The language of the mail suggested he was impressed, but it was cleverly concealed. It was late in the night and Pihu typed out a long mail. It took her four hours to type it, one slow clumsy letter at a time. She had to take breaks because it was hard for her to sit up straight for that long. She didn’t forget to mentionthat in the mail. Minutes after she had hit the send button, exhausted, she crawled to her bed and drifted off.
The next morning, the first thing she did was to log into Gmail and refresh it till her fingers hurt.
Inbox (1).
The mail contained just one line. It was a link to a website and beneath it was a combination of letters, numbers and special characters. She clicked on the link, which took her to a zealously protected website, and punched in the combination in the field that asked for a password. The website opened up like a whore’s legs on a payday and lay open a world of information on her disease. In the next few hours, she had devoured whatever she could find on the website. What really grabbed her attention were the clinical trials GKL Hospital was carrying out on ALS patients. They were only moderately successful. Just as she was reading through it, she received another mail that explained how she was ineligible for it.
Dr Arman Kashyap
To Pihu Malhotra
I am sure you have gone through the clinical-trial reports. Unfortunately, you’re not eligible for it. Section 5. Para 6. I apologize.
Regards
Dr Arman Kashyap
Pihu looked for Section 5. Her face drooped. Since it was a disease which only inflicted older people, clinical-trial permissions had not been granted for anyone below the age of thirty. She had slumped in her chair and switched off the computer. She was tired.
For the next two months, she hadn’t sent a single mail to the doctor in GKL Hospital and she didn’t receive any. Her condition had been worsening steadily, her spirit and body slowly dying. She and her parents had braced themselves for the inevitable. She was going to die. Her parents were going to cry and lament for the rest of their lives. There was nothing that could have changed that. She was in a wheelchair. Only liquids were allowed, chewing food was out of the question. There were times she had tried to eat solid food and had choked on it as the muscles in her food pipe gave way. One day when her suffering had reached a peak, she sent a mail to Arman, updating him about her pitiable condition. She wanted it to be a long mail, but her body gave up within half an hour.
Pihu Malhotra
To Dr Arman Kashyap
Hi Dr Arman,
This could be my last mail. To you or to anyone. The disease has progressed to its last stage. It took me twenty minutes to type this. I am constantly exhausted. It’s like a big boulder is crushing my lungs, snuffing the life out of me. I need assistance for everything now. I can’t even clean myself after going to the washroom. I am sure you know what happens. My parents are being brave. They don’t cry in front of me. I spend my hours sleeping or smiling at my relatives. They know I am dying too. It’s a strange feeling. I am scared at times. Sometimes I think about how I am going to die. Will my lungs collapse? Or my heart? And then I am relieved at times.
There was no formal introduction, no asking how she was or even who she was, instead there were a set of questions he wanted her to answer. She had answered them to the best of her ability, like she would do as a student. Along with her answers, she attached a report on what she thought about the various researches that had been done on ALS. She wondered if she was being a smart-ass, but then thought she had too little time to care.
To her surprise, Arman had replied almost immediately. The language of the mail suggested he was impressed, but it was cleverly concealed. It was late in the night and Pihu typed out a long mail. It took her four hours to type it, one slow clumsy letter at a time. She had to take breaks because it was hard for her to sit up straight for that long. She didn’t forget to mentionthat in the mail. Minutes after she had hit the send button, exhausted, she crawled to her bed and drifted off.
The next morning, the first thing she did was to log into Gmail and refresh it till her fingers hurt.
Inbox (1).
The mail contained just one line. It was a link to a website and beneath it was a combination of letters, numbers and special characters. She clicked on the link, which took her to a zealously protected website, and punched in the combination in the field that asked for a password. The website opened up like a whore’s legs on a payday and lay open a world of information on her disease. In the next few hours, she had devoured whatever she could find on the website. What really grabbed her attention were the clinical trials GKL Hospital was carrying out on ALS patients. They were only moderately successful. Just as she was reading through it, she received another mail that explained how she was ineligible for it.
Dr Arman Kashyap
To Pihu Malhotra
I am sure you have gone through the clinical-trial reports. Unfortunately, you’re not eligible for it. Section 5. Para 6. I apologize.
Regards
Dr Arman Kashyap
Pihu looked for Section 5. Her face drooped. Since it was a disease which only inflicted older people, clinical-trial permissions had not been granted for anyone below the age of thirty. She had slumped in her chair and switched off the computer. She was tired.
For the next two months, she hadn’t sent a single mail to the doctor in GKL Hospital and she didn’t receive any. Her condition had been worsening steadily, her spirit and body slowly dying. She and her parents had braced themselves for the inevitable. She was going to die. Her parents were going to cry and lament for the rest of their lives. There was nothing that could have changed that. She was in a wheelchair. Only liquids were allowed, chewing food was out of the question. There were times she had tried to eat solid food and had choked on it as the muscles in her food pipe gave way. One day when her suffering had reached a peak, she sent a mail to Arman, updating him about her pitiable condition. She wanted it to be a long mail, but her body gave up within half an hour.
Pihu Malhotra
To Dr Arman Kashyap
Hi Dr Arman,
This could be my last mail. To you or to anyone. The disease has progressed to its last stage. It took me twenty minutes to type this. I am constantly exhausted. It’s like a big boulder is crushing my lungs, snuffing the life out of me. I need assistance for everything now. I can’t even clean myself after going to the washroom. I am sure you know what happens. My parents are being brave. They don’t cry in front of me. I spend my hours sleeping or smiling at my relatives. They know I am dying too. It’s a strange feeling. I am scared at times. Sometimes I think about how I am going to die. Will my lungs collapse? Or my heart? And then I am relieved at times.
Similar Books
