The other end of the line
"Gaurav, you put down that bottle right this instant" I shouted, clutching the phone, its speaker digging into the shell of my ear. "I am not joking. If you don't put that bottle of sleeping pills down, I'm going to personally ensure that-"
My tirade ended abruptly, the irony of my words hitting so suddenly that all the air leaked out in a whoosh. My hands were shaking, the adrenaline too much for my tired body.
What would I do to an already dead 15 year old? My post disaster shouting could do nothing to him. Not after the sleeping pills finished their bit. I closed my eyes, counting to ten.
My job was draining on a good day, apocalyptic on a bad one.
Today was a bad day.
"Gaurav we've been talking for a while now. Ten months right?" I pressed a small button on the intercom, alerting my supervisor Prashant. "We've already been over this,"my voice soft, modulated to not startle the already confused boy at the other end of the line. "You will not fail. You've studied hard, written those papers well. I have complete faith in you," I murmured, raising my eyes to my supervisor who signaled with his hands.
A police call was instantly placed.
Rashi, our in house social worker grabbed her bag, tossing her half eaten sandwich in the bin. Our eyes met over the head of our supervisor. She stopped for a moment her hand on the door handle. Nothing needed to be said. She nodded.
Speaking to these kids, helping them was more than our job. Emotions were so entangled with the need to save their lives that Rashi and I often cried over those we couldn't save. And sobbed over those we could.
Cause relief is so much more potent an emotion than fear.
Or regret.
I wished her well, mentally calculating how long it would take her to reach Gaurav's house. "You don't understand," Gaurav wailed, and my eyes smarted in sympathy.
I did. Nobody ever thought that the social worker on the other end of the line, hearing distressed calls day in and day out; understood.
But we did.
"Gaurav this is no time to be thinking about things like that." Not for another ten minutes at least. Rashi would reach his residence in ten minutes and then someone higher up in the hierarchy would take over.
I had to keep him on the line for ten minutes.
Gaurav wouldn't die today.
By god Gaurav wouldn't die today.
We're coming for you baby, hang on. But I didn't say that.
"Gaurav I want you to calmly think about this. You don't even know what your scores are. You could have done really well," I continued, grasping at straws, too revved up to think clearly. I'm sure I said things that weren't in the manual, and some that were forbidden. But nothing mattered, besides keeping the boy on the phone.
"You think you're smarter than me? You think I haven’t thought all of this through? You judgmental bitch," I winced, as the distressed teenager shouted out the last bit.
People in the cubicles around me didn't turn around. Nobody batted an eyelid, each one dealing with their own helpline, too busy trying to save someone to bother looking up. "Gaurav, think about this for a second. Please."
My reassurances halted, as the sound of shouting interrupted our conversation. "Gaurav? Gaurav? Hello?"
Pacing within the confines of my 4X4 cubicle, I listened to the voices in the background. Nothing made any sense. "Gaurav?"
"Hello?"
"Rashi?" I asked, relieved to hear her voice.
"I've got him. His parents were asleep, but we got a neighbor to open the door with a spare key."
I didn't hear the rest of the sentence, the ringing in my ear too loud.
I sank into my chair, its distinctive squeak proving to be an anchor to my chaotic mind. "Thank you," I breathed.
"I'll keep you informed," Rashi reassured, cutting the call with a click.
Things would be all right.
I took a deep breath. Yes, everything would be all right. Rashi got there in time, the police got there in time. A counselor would speak to Gaurav. The kid would be as good as new soon.
I logged off my computer, too shaken up to ensure if it switched off properly. My bag was on my shoulder a minute later, numb legs taking me to a destination my brain had not fully comprehended.
The lonely streets of Mumbai greeted me like an old friend, the dogs barking in welcome. Smog curled in lazy tendrils against the street lights.
My legs continued to move.
The first stirring of a popular Rhianna song was my only warning.
The next second my body was flying through the air.
A glorious instant of weightlessness made me smile.
A second later instant, blinding pain enveloped my body.
"Shit," someone cursed.
"Dude, WTF"
I touched the gravel beneath my hand, its texture coarse, and wet. I raised my hand to my face, the crimson confusing my befuddled brain.
"Who are you? Can you hear me? Who are you?"
Gaurav.
Rashi.
Prashant.
All the names ran through my head.
All of them, but my own.
In the larger scheme of things, who would remember mine?
I bet Gaurav wouldn't either.
And my tired eyes closed, as hysterical laughter bubbled out.
My tirade ended abruptly, the irony of my words hitting so suddenly that all the air leaked out in a whoosh. My hands were shaking, the adrenaline too much for my tired body.
What would I do to an already dead 15 year old? My post disaster shouting could do nothing to him. Not after the sleeping pills finished their bit. I closed my eyes, counting to ten.
My job was draining on a good day, apocalyptic on a bad one.
Today was a bad day.
"Gaurav we've been talking for a while now. Ten months right?" I pressed a small button on the intercom, alerting my supervisor Prashant. "We've already been over this,"my voice soft, modulated to not startle the already confused boy at the other end of the line. "You will not fail. You've studied hard, written those papers well. I have complete faith in you," I murmured, raising my eyes to my supervisor who signaled with his hands.
A police call was instantly placed.
Rashi, our in house social worker grabbed her bag, tossing her half eaten sandwich in the bin. Our eyes met over the head of our supervisor. She stopped for a moment her hand on the door handle. Nothing needed to be said. She nodded.
Speaking to these kids, helping them was more than our job. Emotions were so entangled with the need to save their lives that Rashi and I often cried over those we couldn't save. And sobbed over those we could.
Cause relief is so much more potent an emotion than fear.
Or regret.
I wished her well, mentally calculating how long it would take her to reach Gaurav's house. "You don't understand," Gaurav wailed, and my eyes smarted in sympathy.
I did. Nobody ever thought that the social worker on the other end of the line, hearing distressed calls day in and day out; understood.
But we did.
"Gaurav this is no time to be thinking about things like that." Not for another ten minutes at least. Rashi would reach his residence in ten minutes and then someone higher up in the hierarchy would take over.
I had to keep him on the line for ten minutes.
Gaurav wouldn't die today.
By god Gaurav wouldn't die today.
We're coming for you baby, hang on. But I didn't say that.
"Gaurav I want you to calmly think about this. You don't even know what your scores are. You could have done really well," I continued, grasping at straws, too revved up to think clearly. I'm sure I said things that weren't in the manual, and some that were forbidden. But nothing mattered, besides keeping the boy on the phone.
"You think you're smarter than me? You think I haven’t thought all of this through? You judgmental bitch," I winced, as the distressed teenager shouted out the last bit.
People in the cubicles around me didn't turn around. Nobody batted an eyelid, each one dealing with their own helpline, too busy trying to save someone to bother looking up. "Gaurav, think about this for a second. Please."
My reassurances halted, as the sound of shouting interrupted our conversation. "Gaurav? Gaurav? Hello?"
Pacing within the confines of my 4X4 cubicle, I listened to the voices in the background. Nothing made any sense. "Gaurav?"
"Hello?"
"Rashi?" I asked, relieved to hear her voice.
"I've got him. His parents were asleep, but we got a neighbor to open the door with a spare key."
I didn't hear the rest of the sentence, the ringing in my ear too loud.
I sank into my chair, its distinctive squeak proving to be an anchor to my chaotic mind. "Thank you," I breathed.
"I'll keep you informed," Rashi reassured, cutting the call with a click.
Things would be all right.
I took a deep breath. Yes, everything would be all right. Rashi got there in time, the police got there in time. A counselor would speak to Gaurav. The kid would be as good as new soon.
I logged off my computer, too shaken up to ensure if it switched off properly. My bag was on my shoulder a minute later, numb legs taking me to a destination my brain had not fully comprehended.
The lonely streets of Mumbai greeted me like an old friend, the dogs barking in welcome. Smog curled in lazy tendrils against the street lights.
My legs continued to move.
The first stirring of a popular Rhianna song was my only warning.
The next second my body was flying through the air.
A glorious instant of weightlessness made me smile.
A second later instant, blinding pain enveloped my body.
"Shit," someone cursed.
"Dude, WTF"
I touched the gravel beneath my hand, its texture coarse, and wet. I raised my hand to my face, the crimson confusing my befuddled brain.
"Who are you? Can you hear me? Who are you?"
Gaurav.
Rashi.
Prashant.
All the names ran through my head.
All of them, but my own.
In the larger scheme of things, who would remember mine?
I bet Gaurav wouldn't either.
And my tired eyes closed, as hysterical laughter bubbled out.
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