Spinner of Tales

Sama’s countenance brightened the entire corridor. Finally, FINALLY!! She unsuccessfully attempted to quell her grinning (it seemed so inappropriate), but those who saw her didn’t mind at all. She was such a lovely person, so kind and down to earth; she deserved all the joy she was exuding. It had been two months and eight days since the hospital had become her home. It had been that long since her husband had come home with the fever, complained of uneasiness and later that night had had his first heart attack. Sama always wondered where she had got the strength, both physical and mental, to cope with the situation (being a spiritual person, she knew the answer, but wondered nevertheless). She could never believe how she, a blissfully ignorant home maker, had found the presence of mind to call the ambulance, pack up important things, withdraw money and bring along his health insurance card. The support she got was stupendous. Friends, family, her husband’s colleagues would be there da...

People are always nice to me. At work, colleagues make eye contact and give me genuine smiles. In the supermarket, I always get served as soon as possible, so that I dont have to tire myself waiting in long queues. Stories of my special illness reach before I do and I always get the best customer service. My happy go lucky nature; sparkling eyes and contagious laughter make me feel nice, it feels like I make other people’s lives just a little better. Its all sunshine for me. Until I come home in the evenings, that is. The door is the first reminder of who I am. Its wide frame jabbing at my side, sneering and saying, ‘Welcome back to hell, honey’. I am scared to enter my own house. Because, the truth is always there, sometimes lurking behind the shadows of my memories like a thief, but most of the time, like an ugly scar, commanding my attention. Either ways, it always leaves me like a victim of an accident. Beaten, bruised and in agonizing pain. It has been what, close to two y...