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Do we, holding that the gods exist, deceive ourselves with insubstantial dreams and lies, while random careless chance and change alone control the world?
Euripedes, Hecuba

September 30, 2002

Monday was one of the hottest days after a fitful monsoon that was finally, officially, over. Although the train was almost empty at 4 in the afternoon, I stood in the doorway to get as much breeze as possible, heading back home.

Barely seconds out of Churchgate, just opposite Wankhede Stadium, I felt a dull, crushing pain behind my ear. I had seen nothing, and for a moment thought I'd lurched forward into the steel pole in the middle of the doorway. Somebody said something, the person in front turned to me, and I put my hand to the pain and drew it back and it glistened with blood that seemed very thin. There was so much of it dripping into my palms I was sure some part of me was missing, blown off, and I was emptying. People jumped up, I was offered two hankies, a commuter said he'd come with me. I was trying desperately to think of the nearest hospital, but couldn't remember which station we were pulling into.

I got off at Marine Lines Station with Vikram Chaturvedi, who offered to help. I was dripping blood all over, and some of it was on my face, spread by my hands. We went to the station superintendent's office, and I heard "stone... throw... first aid". An electronic buzzer was rung. They put gauze behind my ear. The room was dark and it was crowded and things were getting hazy. I broke out into a cold sweat. I think someone asked me my name, age and some other things. I asked for water and tried to gulp it down but for some reason was stopped and I didn't argue.

Then came a police inspector out of nowhere, with a cell phone, asking me if he should call my parents. It seemed voluntary and very kind. His constable took me by taxi, which he paid for, to GT Hospital, between Crawford Market and my old college, St. Xavier's. Over the next three hours I was X-rayed, sutured and questioned. I didn't want to be stitched up, of course. I had this terrible vision of needles and thread and me screaming my guts out. I tried putting it tactfully and said, "I'm not a fan of stitches" but the head nurse just said, "no one is" and that shut me up.

There was no fracture, my inner ear seemed intact, and I was discharged. The police asked whether I wanted to file a case but I didn't know who to file one against.

Now, hours later, with a dull pain behind my ear and stitches and dressing over it, I feel a little distant from the people raging on about the outrageousness of the situation, that a crime with no motive can be committed by a human being.

In the end, there is no anger... only sadness, an ache, and a little more value for life.

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