Till the Last Breath . . . , livre ebook

Penguin Books Ltd - Durjoy Datta

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137 pages

English

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When death is that close, will your heart skip a beat? Two patients are admitted to room no. 509. One is a brilliant nineteen-year-old medical student, suffering from an incurable, fatal disease. She counts every extra breath as a blessing. The other is a twenty-five-year-old drug addict whose organs are slowly giving up. He can t wait to get rid of his body. To him, the sooner the better. Two reputed doctors, fighting their own demons from the past, are trying everything to keep these two patients alive, even putting their medical licences at risk. These last days in the hospital change the two patients, their doctors and all the other people around them in ways they had never imagined. Till the Last Breath is a deeply sensitive story that reminds us what it means to be alive.

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Romance

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Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	15 septembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9789351182955
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Durjoy Datta

TILL THE LAST BREATH
Contents
About the Author
Also by Durjoy Datta
Dedication
1. Dushyant Roy
2. Arman Kashyap
3. Pihu Malhotra
4. Kajal Khurana
5. Zarah Mirza
6. Pihu Malhotra
7. GKL Hospital
8. Dushyant Roy
9. Arman Kashyap
10. Zarah Mirza
11. Pihu Malhotra
12. Dushyant Roy
13. Kajal Khurana
14. Arman Kashyap
15. Zarah Mirza
16. Pihu Malhotra
17. Dushyant Roy
18. Arman Kashyap
19. Pihu Malhotra
20. Kajal Khurana
21. Dushyant Roy
22. Zarah Mirza
23. Pihu Malhotra
24. Dushyant Roy
25. Zarah Mirza
26. Arman Kashyap
27. Kajal Khurana
28. Pihu Malhotra
29. Dushyant Roy
30. Fifteen Days Later
Read More
Follow Penguin
Copyright Page
PENGUIN METRO READS
TILL THE LAST BREATH
Durjoy Datta was born in New Delhi. He completed a degree in engineering and business management before embarking on a writing career. His first book, Of Course I Love You , was published when he was twenty-one years old and was an instant bestseller. His successive novels- Now That You re Rich , She Broke Up, I Didn t! , Oh Yes, I m Single! , If It s Not Forever , Someone Like You -have also found prominence on various bestseller lists, making him one of the highest-selling authors in India. Durjoy lives in New Delhi, loves dogs and is an active CrossFitter.
For more updates, you can follow him on Facebook ( www.facebook.com/durjoydatta1 ) or Twitter (@durjoydatta).
Also by Durjoy Datta
Hold My Hand
She Broke Up, I Didn t!
I Just Kissed Someone Else!
Of Course I Love You
Till I Find Someone Better
(With Maanvi Ahuja)
Oh Yes, I m Single!
And So Is My Girlfriend!
(With Neeti Rustagi)
Now That You re Rich
Let s Fall in Love!
(With Maanvi Ahuja)
Someone Like You
(With Nikita Singh)
You Were My Crush
Till You Said You Love Me!
(With Orvana Ghai)
If It s Not Forever
It s Not Love
(With Nikita Singh)
To everyone who reads
1
Dushyant Roy
The curtains had been wide open for quite some time now, letting the sharp rays of the sun stream in through the open window, on to the face of a prostrate Dushyant, who lay in bed, covered in a worn-out hospital bedsheet, very uncomfortable in his sleep but still unmoving. His eyes flickered through the night and his fingers trembled. He was asleep and didn t wake up. It wasn t a good night s sleep.
Finally, after tossing restlessly from side to side, he woke up and tried opening his eyes. One of them refused to open, swollen from the huge gash just above his left eyebrow, which had been heavily taped and bandaged. He touched the bandage with his hands and checked for blood with his other half-open, groggy eye. He sighed as he found none Only then did he venture to look around the hospital room. He was surrounded with medical equipment, a lot of it connected to him, a small television in one corner of the room and an empty bed on his left side. His thoughts wandered to what had brought him there. It wasn t the first time he was in one of these beds, but this time it seemed a little more serious than the other times. Landing up unconscious after a series of uncontrollable vomits and brain tremors was a way of life for him. It was his escape, his refuge. Being sober hadn t got him anywhere, and being drunk obliterated the possibility.
He had tubes attached to needles, which dipped into his veins and arteries, and pumped liquids from transparent pouches hanging from the stand on his right side. He was sure his parents had no idea of his whereabouts. He knew none of his friends would have given the hospital authorities his parents numbers or address. He was in no mood to see or talk to them. Not now, not ever.
The hands of the watch on his cell phone touched. It was twelve-fourteen hours since he had been admitted. Last night, like many before, had been a night of debauchery, porn, poker, alcohol and smoke. Six of his friends in his cramped one-room apartment-a five-minute walk from college-and a few bottles of alcohol, some weed, nail-polish remover and just about everything which could get them fucked up.
The evening had started with casual banter about college professors, the new kids who had joined the college, girls and pornography. A few cell phone videos of girls bathing naked were transferred over Bluetooth amongst them. A little later the bottles had been popped open. Dushyant-who had graduated just a few months back-was mentor to these kids. He knew the exact proportions for deathly cocktails and the people who would have a steady supply of highly potent weed even during a nuclear holocaust. He knew how to get out of trouble. But more than that, he knew how to get into trouble. Like he had the night before, when he passed out only to wake up in a hospital bed. He remembered a seizure; he remembered feeling as if he was dying, but nothing more than that. He waited restlessly for the nurse to come in and tell him what the hell was going on. I need to get the fuck out of here , he thought.
On other occasions, he would just jerk off the needles that punctured his hand and walk right out of the ward, but there were too many of them this time and he wanted to know what was wrong, if anything. He was not scared, just concerned if it was serious enough for his mother to start crying and his father to start shouting at him for being irresponsible, disgraceful and a blot on the family name. What family name? He is a bloody head-clerk at the MCD , he said to himself. He never got the flawed definitions of honour and family name . He didn t give a fuck, and frankly, he knew they wouldn t come this time. His head hurt and he thought he could do without the nonsense his parents always put him through.
While he wallowed in self-pity and cursed the hospital, the door opened and a girl-short and fair-entered the room. She had big eyes-like the schoolgirls in Japanese cartoons-and looked like a confused kid in a candy shop with gold coins in both her palms, not knowing what to buy. But instead, her palms were clasped around the handlebars of her crutches. Her legs buckled at the knees and seemed to have no strength at all to bear the weight of her tiny five-foot-two frame.
Excuse me? he said and waved at the girl, who was in a robe slightly better than his. Can you call the fuc ummm nurse?
I think I can. But you know, I could have been a doctor. I am still studying, she said, and looked at Dushyant and smiled. Dushyant didn t know how to react to that. He didn t remember the last time a girl had smiled at him.
But since you re not, can you call her? Argh.
Being angry won t help your case, she said, but if you pull off that needle with the blue cap out of your right hand, a little slowly, it might help. She walked over gingerly to the bed next to him and drew the curtain between them. And then pulled it away.
Excuse me?
Do it. There ll be no pulse. They will think you re dying and I hope, at least then, that someone will come running to check on you, she explained and chuckled. And well, if no one does, you re in a really bad hospital. You should get a second opinion.
I am not going to do that, he retorted.
Then she said and slowly limped over to his bed. She picked up his medical chart which hung from the other end of his bed, her eyebrows knitted, and continued, You have to wait till three when a nurse comes in and draws some blood for some tests. Not a long wait, just two and half hours!
Whatever, he said, closed his eyes and put his head back on the pillow.
Fine, bye. Hope to see you again. I might pick this room. I am here for some tests, but they need to admit me for a little bit.
Yeah, right. You won t see me today. I will be out by evening, he said rudely.
Pihu just smiled and walked slowly towards the exit. At the gate, she looked at the number and whispered to herself, Room 509. Dushyant saw her nodding, and she disappeared into the corridor amongst other sick people. I need to get the fuck out of here , he said to himself.
I don t know what the fuck they are up to! Dushyant shouted on the phone.
It was four. The nurse had come and drawn some blood and given him zero answers. Why am I here? When can I go? Did you tell my parents? Did you? What the fuck is going on? She nodded to his questions unthinkingly, and told him the doctor would see him in a little while. He swore at her. In Hindi. He didn t think the Keralite nurse understood him. Cursing came as second nature to him His sentences often started and ended with abuses, most of which had been improvised and perfected over the course of years that had passed by.
The first time he had hurled abuse was when he was in the eighth standard. Someone had addressed him as bhenchod and his comeback was that he didn t have a sister. Not too clever, but ever since that day, bhenchod became a way of life. It replaced emotions, feelings and entire situations, depending on how it was being said by him.
Just be back soon, man, said the voice from the other side of the phone and he disconnected the call. Bhenchod!
He had no visitors. He had no friends really. In the four years and the few extra months he had spent in the college, he had made drinking buddies, smoking buddies, getting-fucked-up-with buddies, but none who would come to see him in the hospital. Had it been six months before, some of them might have come. But now everyone who had graduated with him was either working or waiting for their offer letters. He had been placed, too, but the large IT-sweatshop company hadn t sent him a joining date yet. Stuck in a time warp, he didn t want to go anywhere. So days before college ended, he rented a flat just outside college and started to live like he was still studying-in his fifth year of engineering.
Dushyant was about to doze off when a doctor-presumably in his mid-thirties-entered the room.
Hey, he said. Are you fine?
Why wouldn t I be? I am just okay. When can I fucking go now? he asked angrily.
I am afraid you