Page 247 - Till the Last Breath . . .

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Fifteen Days Later

We all have our places in this world. I do, too. I, Dushyant, am the rotten

apple of the basket. I stay in the basket too long, I tend to ruin everything.
That’s my place in the world. That was supposed to be my identity till my

last breath. Like the identity of Zarah is to unscrew herself, for Arman it is
to do what no one else would, for Kajal it is to try to find what her heart

really wants, for Pihu it was to smile and make the world a better place. It’s
what defines us.
But that day when I had decided to do three extra shots of vodka and five

extra drags and three extra snorts of cocaine and then passed out after a
seizure, I didn’t know I would wake up to a new morning and to a new

identity. I was in pain, in considerable pain, and there was just one person
who still smiled at the rotten assemblage of human tissues that I had
become. That person was Pihu. A little girl with the brightest of smiles and

the biggest of hearts who didn’t think anyone was bad inside. And for
someone like me, who has ten thousand layers of bad before the slightest of

good, it meant a lot. What would have happened had I decided to do that
one month later? Who knows? I would have died, that’s for sure. But I

would have died a bitter, angry guy. Am I happy now? Will I be happy five
years from now? I don’t know. Do I thank her for saving me? Yes. Do I feel

good about being saved? Again, I am not sure. Why should I be happy just
because I have a few years more to live, why should I be happy just because
I have more time with my parents? Why should I be happy because my folks

won’t grieve? For Pihu, these questions were the answers. Then why didn’t
she get those last few breaths? The extra few years?