Playing With Destiny

Content warning: Injury, trauma, mental health struggles

Staring at my freshly bandaged fingers, I wished for only one thing. To go back in time and prevent the accident. Okay, maybe I wished for more too. To not sacrifice a bit of my flesh to a crazy metal as if it had a prophecy to fulfil. To not witness blood gushing like it had a mind of its own. To not holler, scream, and wail as if a whole finger had been amputated. To not think about everything I couldn’t do on my own, starting the next day. To not hear the echoes of my screams ricocheting off the walls of my ribcage. In short, I wanted just to close my eyes and imagine travelling back to the minute before it all happened.

It was just a second, a millionth fraction of a second when it occurred. Half an hour before the incident, I watched my daughter paint her Easter eggshells and go on a treasure hunt along with the other kids in my apartment complex. We then danced to popular Tamil dance songs. If at all I had known what was about to happen to me, I would have taken a long, good look at the precious middle finger on my left hand.

After the dance, I went up to my mother’s flat to check if she needed any help with the Sunday lunch. There I noticed the blending jar containing the tomatoes and the other spices to be blended to make rasam. I asked my mother if I could blend it, to which she nodded her approval. Then I fixed the jar on the mixer and turned the knob, but it did not blend. Realizing that the mixer hadn’t been plugged into the socket, I let go of the jar, plugged the socket, and switched it on. Yes, I should have brought the knob back to zero, but I hadn’t. Maybe the mixer hated the number zero. And so, it began its work. The lid of the jar flew past my face and the tomatoes began thrashing around.

My mother’s yells of ‘switch it off, switch it off’ never went into my ears. In that one second, I caught hold of the still-spinning jar with the index, middle, and ring fingers of my left hand. Only after my mother switched it off, I deduced that something terrible had happened. I pulled my fingers out of the jar. And then I screamed.

Gut-wrenching screams, as I noticed my massacred middle finger, the blood cascading like a waterfall. My mother prodded me to wash the wound, my husband caught my shoulders as I shook with pain and more screams, and my daughter started crying looking at the hullabaloo. Throughout the saga, I had only one thing running in my mind. I will not be able to do household chores or work in my office.

Every little chore required proper fingers and three of mine turned unusable the moment they caught the spinning jar.

Whatever happened later in the hospital and during the subsequent dressing visits was nothing short of a catastrophe. One week later, they removed a part of the nail on the damaged middle finger. Without anaesthesia. Yes, you read it right. Without putting me in limbo. Without gifting me numbness.

That was the last straw.

I snapped back to the present moment, still staring at the fresh dressing on my middle finger. The index and ring finger were fine, only with minor lacerations. Yet, a fresh wave of ache uncoiled from the bottom of my heart and strangled my lungs. I couldn’t stop wishing to go back to that one moment before the accident. I persuaded myself that it was foolish to think about the what-ifs. But I was a human being and humans were supposed to dissect everything and investigate the core of their troubles.

I closed my eyes for a moment, still deeply wishing I should have prevented it.

*

My whole body jerked and I lurched forward. My breaths came out in huge gasps as I caught hold of the edge of the kitchen island with my left hand to steady myself. I couldn’t discern anything for a moment. My vision was blurry, and my mind was muddled with images of myself letting my fingers get injured. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. It did not occur to me that I should keep my hand propped up, as the doctor had instructed. But I did not realize that I still could use my hand to hold on to something. Nothing unusual clicked in my brain. I did not even look at my supposedly injured hand. And I was wearing the yellow-and-black pyjamas I had worn on the day of the accident. Apparently, my mother had discarded it, as it was a bad omen to retain the clothes we wore during an accident.

‘What’s happening?’ I yelled, still not looking at my hand.

My mother turned around and looked at me as if I was an alien accidentally dropped to the ground.

‘Smrithi! What happened?’ She walked towards me and smacked my shoulder. That’s when it occurred to me that I should keep my hand propped up. Gasping visibly, I let go of my hold and brought my hand in front of my eyes.

There they were. Uninjured fingers. Slick, clean, and sassy as always.

‘Wh…at?’ I croaked.

Was the past week a nightmare? Didn’t the accident happen? Didn’t I lose a bit of my flesh and a huge amount of my sanity?

I looked down at myself—the pyjamas. I pinched myself so that I could wake up from the dream. Nothing happened. My surroundings did not stir. It was me who was on unsteady feet, and my mother was still staring at me.

‘Mch! If you are just going to stand here as if you had seen a ghost, you might help me out. Or just go to your daughter and play with her.’

That’s when I noticed the blending jar with the tomatoes and the spices. Everything was the same as it was on that fateful day. I looked at my hands once again. Clutched the right with my left and vice-versa. Everything was perfect, except my mind. Something was wrong with it.

‘Ma, what’s happening?’ I tried to make sense of the bizarreness.

‘I’m gonna smack you again if you ask me that.’ My mother’s voice was stern.

Still ashen, I asked her slowly, ‘Ma, what’s today’s date?’

‘March 31^st, silly. Are you going to let me work or what?’

A joy hitherto unknown fountained from the pit of my stomach. I was, miraculously, back in the moment before the accident. Just as I had wished. The joy sent me reeling to the hall, where I jumped and danced, amidst my mother’s admonishes.

Where was Albert Einstein? Stephen Hawking? Could I somehow contact them?

I had travelled back in time and how could I not let the world know? But no one would believe me. Maybe, it was divine intervention. Somebody up there had taken pity on me and thought that I shouldn’t go through that pain. Something magical was happening to me. I should make use of it. I could now go to the team lunch that was planned for the next day. I could finish typing up my thesis. Hell, I could even do finger yoga. I let out another yelp of joy.

Bundling up my secret and the overflowing relief that came along with it, I decided I would take a walk in the parking lot.

Wearing my slippers hastily, I trotted to the staircase. And then I began alighting two steps at a time. I fervently wished I could just dance on the steps.

Turns out, my wishes for the day were being granted.

I missed my footing, slipped on a wet step, and went crashing down, reaching the floor as a messy heap and probably with a couple of broken bones.

*

This was worse. I had multiple fractures on my right leg and minor cracks on my hipbone. As I lay in the hospital bed whimpering in excruciating pain, I slowly opened my eyes and looked at my mother. Her eyes looked puffed as it was obvious she had been crying.

‘What made you so happy that you had to go jumping down the steps?’ she threw the question at me, her voice stained with a threat.

There it was. From the moment I had tumbled down and realized I had gotten myself into a soup, I had been dreading answering this question. How would I be able to answer it? Could I tell her that my unbridled joy was because I had prevented an accident that involved blood but ended up in another accident that involved bones? I chose not to answer her.

A fresh moan emanated from my lips as I tried to turn to my left. Tears formed in my eyes. Then I asked my mom, ‘Ma, will I be okay?’

‘Of course, you will be. But it will take another three months for you to move around. You will be needing physiotherapy.’

‘Oh, good Lord!’ I cried. Pain sprouted from parts of my body I knew hadn’t existed. As tears streamed from my eyes, my mother spoke again, ‘It’s okay, Smrithi. We are here to take care of you. I think it was already written that something should happen to you today. Thank God, you escaped with recoverable injuries.’

‘But I will miss Lekshana’s daily routine as she goes to school. I can’t forgive myself for that,’ my voice cracked.

‘Don’t speak nonsense, silly. You will be on bed rest. You can bond with her while she’s doing her homework or when she’s playing with her toys.’

The tears did not stop. I couldn’t even nod at my mother’s feeble consolation. I felt more and more miserable as time passed by. Why did I even wish to go back to the moment before the mixer accident? Even if I had prevented it, why did I jump around in joy? Who was puppeteering me from above?

As usual, I ended up with no answers to my throbbing questions.

‘Ma, I just wish this hadn’t happened.’

This time, though, my mother did not reply. She just stroked my hair and asked me to go to sleep.

*

I couldn’t stand steadily. Couldn’t walk from one room to another. Couldn’t wear my underwear or my pants on my own. Couldn’t use the restroom frequently. Couldn’t even enjoy one peaceful day as pain shot through every inch of my body when it discerned that I was trying to bring some movement to it.

For a month or so, I consumed antibiotics. My mom fed me meals rich in protein and calcium. Yet, I couldn’t feel even a wee bit enthusiastic. I got to read many books and watch many movies, but none of them could cheer me up. Only one thought whirled around in my mind – I shouldn’t have taken the fall. Though I wished and prayed that I would be able to go back in time once again and prevent my fall, I was still apprehensive about wishing for anything. Deep down, I also knew that the Universe granted you only one chance to rectify your mistake. You shouldn’t be screwing that up with a bigger accident.

But I was wrong.

One afternoon, after a physiotherapy session, I began having thoughts of unliving myself. As my physical health began improving, my mental health started deteriorating. I missed going to work, doing the household chores by myself, doing crazy things with my daughter, pursuing my hobbies, and everything else. I wanted to become the old Smrithi. I wanted to be the version of me that existed on the morning of March 31^st.

Battling with those dark thoughts, I closed my eyes gently.

*

‘Ah! Am I back?’ I thought, as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. The yellow-and-black pyjamas seemed to be mocking me, like, ‘Oh! Is that you? Why can’t you just stop wishing to prevent the accidents that happen to you? They happen to teach you resilience and give you the much-needed strength to wade through your troubles. But why do you keep wishing that you want to go back to your old self? See? Now you are back here again. Don’t start jumping around in joy.’

Since I already had experience in travelling back in time, I sneaked out of the kitchen in which I was standing and entered my bedroom. Lekshana was role-playing with her doctor set. My mother did not even notice that I had left the kitchen. Before sneaking out, I confirmed that the blending jar with the tomatoes and the spices was still on the kitchen island. That’s how I knew that I had travelled back to the same date.

Lekshana paddled her way to me and held the toy stethoscope to my heart.

‘It must be beating wildly now,’ I teased her. She burst out laughing, blabbered something in English, and went back to her other toys.

Just then, my mobile phone rang. It was from my office.

‘Hello,’ I greeted, rather blandly.

‘Hello, Smrithi. The calculations are not tallying. Can you come to the office for a bit?’ It was my manager. There was no way I was going to turn down his request. It was the Annual Closure day and I had to help him.

I sighed audibly and replied, ‘Okay, I’ll be there, Sir.’

Half an hour later, I walked on the main road, watching the vehicles zoom by. Though it was a Sunday, there were still many vehicles plying around. I stopped for a moment and turned around so that I could cross the road.

That’s when I saw her on the other side of the road. Nayani, my long-lost childhood best friend. I shocked myself by recognizing her. A lump formed in my throat as a montage of memories began playing in my mind – how we met, how we bonded over our common interests, how we turned close, how we had each others’ backs at all the times, how we argued, how we went two months without talking to each other, how we patched things up, how we fell for the same guy, how she sacrificed him for me, how I too sacrificed him for her, how neither of us got the guy, how life pulled us apart as we began following our dreams, how she slowly drifted away from me, how she changed her mobile number without informing me, how she shifted her home to another city, and how she vanished off the face of Earth without being in touch with anybody.

My whole body trembled with the ache of missing her for all those years. I couldn’t let her slip away this time. I should get to her somehow, even if it meant not paying any attention to the tanker lorry that was speeding towards me. My feet moved on their own, enchanted by the memories of Nayani’s friendship.

It took only a fraction of a second for me to zone out. The lorry’s screeching honk brought me back to reality immediately. I only had time to turn my head to the right and gasp.

It was too late.

When I opened my eyes once again, I couldn’t feel my flesh. The flesh I had abused twice by wanting to prevent the accidents that happened to me. My flesh had to undergo that mixer accident so that it could have escaped from something big. It was me who abused it. It was me who lost it forever.

I was now a translucent being, wallowing in regrets and shame.

Nobody told me that something big was destined for me on March 31^st and that the minor accident was a talisman in disguise.