The Bombay Blood

jordan-mcqueen-140302

Today is the day when I was supposed to open that one envelope; that I have been long since waiting to tear apart.

Till a good two month ago, I was as reckless that I could have been. Life for me was embedded in impulses. I had little to no consideration for what other thought of my action or me. But, then my life changed.

As they always say, there are always three versions of a story; yours, theirs and the Truth. I was living my version of the story. But by the time I was done reading this letter; it was for sure, that mine was not the truth.

I for some abominable reason ended up in a hospital ward exactly two months ago. I was in pain, extreme and unbearable pain. That pain is now long gone, but the sores it created in my soul are now filled with guilt.

It all started with a blood transfusion. And, no I didn’t contract any disease due to it. It revived me and brought me back to my life.

It was New Year’s Eve and we a group of dozen boys were hanging just outside our college campus. It was an engineering college and that was our final year. One peculiar thing about our college was that the boy’s hostel was a mile or so away from the college and the girl’s hostel was on-campus.

So we thought of hanging around just outside the portion of the campus, where the girl’s hostel was situated. We were drunk and were still to run out of supplies. After a good fifteen-minute or so of us shouting and howling, the (intended) crowd started to gather on the hostel’s balcony. Our decibels got raised.

I suggested a street racing and everybody else complied. They had to; I was the alpha of the group.

The asphalt was burning and the engines were roaring. I plain and square won and crossed the finish mark way ahead of everyone else. Then, whether it was the booze talking or the high from the win, I tried a wheelie.

I crashed.

I was lying in that ward of mine, succumbing to my injuries. I had a very rare blood group and the local blood bank never stocked it. My condition and blood requirement were on the college notice board and text messages were being circulated from one cellphone to another.

Now I always wanted to be super famous, but not this way. But, nonetheless I was now famous and everybody was praying for me.

Only after a wait of twenty-four hours that an anonymous girl came forward and donated ample blood. The girl remained anonymous and didn’t leave any trail behind. Only an envelope in a metal box and the box was locked. My friends were told that the key would be delivered (after two months) to one of their hostel address.

I recovered and the key arrived yesterday. I could have smashed the box but out of respect for the wish of that anonymous donor, I didn’t.

Here is that letter –

“You were one of the most charismatic guy, I had ever seen in my life. You were my heartthrob. It was an unwritten surety; that every visual of yours would always make my heart skip a beat. Though we never talked but within the first semester of our college, I started adoring you like mad. You probably noticed me toward the end of the second semester. I would often wonder why you were not there in the class, just to find you chit-chatting with your group outside the class in the alley. Then I noticed something. You and your group broke into some conversations and muffled laughter whenever I passed. That was flattering. I mean I had average looks and was a bit stout and plump. But love often runs deeper than that, doesn’t it? Then, after a few weeks or so it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, it was not light-hearted bantering, that I was witnessing. You and your friends were probably mocking me. I kept my silence and still believed that goodness in your heart will someday prevail over the recklessness. My silence emboldened you and your friends. The muffled remarks and the muffled laughter were now no longer muffled. They grew boisterous by the day. It was toward the end of the third year that I decided to join spin classes nearby our campus. You would linger around the fitness center and the bantering and mocking would continue there too. Then I realized that you guys were waiting outside the center for other prettier girls in my spin class. I was just a little ugly bird, just to be mocked and then to be forgotten. It was for them that you guys used to hang around for.

Those vibrant sounds and colors of love that used to fill my heart were now completely replaced by an acrimonious bitterness.

You were a bully, and I was being bullied for being a shade or two above lean.

It could have been us. I could have cared for you the whole life. We could have been the best of companions for a whole good life. But you chose recklessness and abrasive drinking over love and care. That New Years night when you were showcasing your bike stunts to a cheering crowd (both on the street below and the balconies above). I was the only one not cheering. I was the only one praying for your safety.

But it seems my prayer were not honest enough. They had those bitter seeds of hate that you sowed in my heart over the course of three years.

When you crashed, everyone was gasping in awe. I too was, but along my heart was crying too. That day I realized that I still cared for you. But I also understood that we were not made for each other.

It is when the heart stops hoping, the universe starts teasing you.

I read that blood requirement notice in the central hall. You had the Bombay Blood, the rare hh blood group. And you required a donor who had exactly the same blood group. I was the only one around carrying that same Bombay Blood in my veins.

It was like even nature made us for each other. But, it was as if we mortal humans never understood.

You were the world to me and I was just another fat and plump chick for you.

But still, I couldn’t see you wither.

This was one last offering that I could have made for you.

Now a part of me would always be a part of you.

Get Well Soon.’

She didn’t leave almost anything behind. I missed the entire campus placement and would be bed-bound for many months to come.

But it is because of her I am breathing.

We were a boisterous lot and I cannot even guess who that (among many other) plump girl was, whom we used to bully.

It is not like we didn’t try finding her identity. The College records had medical details of all the students. They could have easily told who that girl with special blood group was. But they didn’t. For one, the college policy didn’t allow divulging personal details and second, she requested complete anonymity.

It was actually like we were meant to be together. I could feel her and her love running through my veins but still didn’t know her name or face.

For all the brazen behavior of my mine, she left me indebted for life.

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