INDIA
“And Deepika and Sanjay lived happily ever after” Indira read out the last line of the novel to her enthralled audience. “The end” she announced.
And the sound of claps and whistles filled the room.
“Thank you” Indira said, smiling. “And goodnight, everybody”.
The response of “goodnight” came from different directions as the men and women on crutches and wheelchairs began to depart as they either assisted themselves or were led out by a family member.
Two minutes later, Riya entered the room, clapping “I’m proud of you” Riya said, walking up to Indira. “They love you” Riya said “you make them happy”.
“No. We make them happy” Indira corrected, beaming.
She and Riya headed a non-profit organization that catered to the needs of the disabled. One of the extra things their organization did, was to bring many handicapped together so that they could watch a movie, chat or read together. ‘Cause sometimes being with people who shared the same problem with you, helped you not to feel alone in a world of many able-bodied men and women. More so, their weekly gathering greatly assisted handicaps that had no family or friends, as the meeting was where they get to interact with others, giving them that taste of companionship they may not be getting so often anymore.
In addition, apart from the weekly gatherings, using the donations they received, they supported the poor ones among the disabled with either food, shelter or even finance to pay their kids’ school fees.
“Thanks also to our financial supporters” Indira said, thinking of the check of over a million dollars they’ve been receiving annually from an anonymous person in Australia for the last six years.
“Do you think we’ll ever know who our big helper is?” Indira asked.
Riya shook her head. Closing the book and device that held the hardback novel Indira had been reading aloud. “We don’t need to know. The main thing is that we keep doing good with the money” Riya said and put the book and device into her handbag. “Are you ready to leave?” Riya asked.
And Indira thought for a moment. Doing good with the money. After she lost her legs, though it was a painful and sad period, she began thinking of what purpose or impact her life could still make. And so, she came to this conclusion. Her fame could help others. Others like her. Others the society won’t mind forgetting. Hence, she started this organisation, using herself as its face. Tirelessly, she convinced the public on the need to care for the disabled. Being disabled in the body didn’t mean one was ‘disabled’ in the brain. In India, there were disabled teens whose parents didn’t bother sending to school anymore, forgetting that even disabled people had dreams, after all, on this planet earth, there were disabled lawyers, teachers and government workers. No one should be given up on. And that was how the money started coming in.
And now, seven years later, she and Riya have been a blessing to many homes and adolescents. However, when the check of that regular donor in Australia started coming, the money was personally addressed to her, written for her own personal use. If she had wanted, she would have used the money to undergo plastic surgery but by the time, the money began coming, the hunger she once had to undergo surgery had gone by then. Instead, the urge she had was to fulfil her purpose. Assist others. The scars on her body could not kill her but there were handicapped people whose current agony was combined with severe issues such as pulmonary and heart diseases and even brain tumours. And to her, these lives mattered more. Besides, if she fixed her looks, did she have legs to walk about and showcase it? It wasn’t worth it. Transforming and saving lives with that Australian’s money was more important than the need to decorate one’s flesh. And that decision was one she has never regretted.
“Yes” Indira said. Looking at the name of their non-profit organisation. GIVING AID, WHERE YOU NEVER THOUGHT TO FIND ONE. She was proud of this accomplishment more than anything she ever achieved in her past.
“Dinner is waiting” Riya said and put her hands behind her sister’s wheelchair as they headed for their home.
*****
AUSTRALIA
A phone rang.
“Indiras Software Company, who’s speaking, please?” The female secretary asked. She listened for a few seconds and responded, “Our C.E.O, Mr Tristan White has been expecting your call. Please hold on, while I transfer your call”.
Ten seconds later, Tristan finished the call and hung up. He faced his employee who sat in his large ritzy office, “how’s the programme coming along?”
“Smoothly, sir” the short forty years old employee replied.
“I want it ready by next week” Tristan said.
“It’ll” the short man replied, stood up and walked out.
Tristan leaned back on his seat and exhaled. For more than nine years now, he has not tried hard drugs, alcohol or womanised. And so now, he owned a software company that was worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
He stood up and sauntered to his office window. Gazed outside as he watched the busy city of Sydney. Even after all these years, time has not enabled him to forget the worst night of his life. He drove fast cars, owned multiple houses, wore expensive shoes and clothes and met important people every day yet he knew this, if he had not ruined Indira’s body, by this time too, she would also have everything he owned, and her acting career would have been the talk of the world. Hence, now, he used the best means for him to be there for her. Money.
Annually, he donated to the foundation that Indira and her sister started for the disabled, and on purpose, he addressed every donation to her so that she could be free to use the money for whatever purpose she wanted, personal or non-personal, and for the last six years, he has been consistent with his donations. And all these, was to do all he could possibly do for her.
But the ugly truth was, no matter how much he spent on her, the guilt he felt was still as fresh as it was ten years ago.
*****
MND
Motor Neurone Disease.
“It’s degenerative and it’s worse than paralysis” Doctor Aariv, Indira’s doctor said.
She was seated in his office for her trimonthly medical check-up.
“When will my treatment commence?” She asked. “Do I have to stay for another hour or..?”
“It doesn’t work that way” Dr Aariv said. The wrinkles in his face, deep enough for gulls to nest in. He dropped his pen, sadness creeping into his voice as he spoke, “You’ve lived for years with triplegia. But you can’t survive this long anymore with your MND” He said “eventually, you’ll…” he stammered.
“die” Indira completed.
Aariv nodded “I’m sorry”.
She closed her eyes and a drop of tear rolled down her cheeks. Death. I’m going to die. “Don’t tell Riya, I’ll inform her myself” Indira said.
And an extra tear fell from her other eye.
Even after all these years, fate has still not chosen to spare her from bad news.
MND.
It’s a degenerative neurological disease. Dr Aariv’s voice played again in her head.
And eventually, Indira, you’ll die from it.
YOU ARE READING
The Last Time We Say Goodbye✅
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