It has been a while since they dragged Sameer in a stretcher and that huge door shut on our face. When asked how long it would take, the doctor had thrown a vague “Anything between an hour and four.”
It looks so surreal now. Three hours back, we were at the Saltlake Stadium watching the local derby. The country’s most famous foreigner was gearing up for a free-kick amidst a pin-drop silence when we heard a scream. We turned to see Sameer rolling down the gallery. We rushed down to him and shouted, “You okay?”
Sitting in an ambulance half an hour later, Rohit said, “I wonder what’s going on in the match.” Sameer hadn’t so much as moved a finger since that fall. We were thankful to a couple of kind policemen who had helped us in extracting him swiftly into the ambulance which was parked right outside the stadium.
It has been almost two hours now since they’d been swallowed by the operation room. There’s no network coverage here. We’ve been unable to check the match result. The only thing the three of us have been doing so far is to wait silently and step outside to smoke every fifteen minutes.
The huge door opens with a jolt and a male nurse steps out in his white uniform. We pounce on him.
”Hey, how’s our patient?”
”He’ll live. He has just come back to. In fact, he was asking the doctor about the match result a while back.” The man started walking away.
”Hang on. What was the doctor’s reply?”