The Loop

“7 missed calls,” beamed the display on Anand’s Blackberry. His fingers scrolled effortlessly through them. They were all from his brother’s mobile. He walked up to coffee machine, filled up a large cup to the brim, and walked back to his cabin. He readjusted his Bluetooth earpiece, and dialed the number on the phone, and slid it into his pocket.

His tone remained casual as he took a sip - “You called?” During the grave minutes that passed, the composed figure that walked away from the coffee machine turned into a crumpled heap of nerves. He was sitting on the floor by now, leaning against a bay partition, breathing heavily. Streams of sweat trickled down his neatly done sideburns. A colleague, passing by stopped, clearly spotting his blood-drained face. As she leant beside him, concerned, he looked up. With a gasp he got up, brushed her aside and ran towards the exit.

The burnt rubber on the floor of the parking lot was still smoking when his car skid onto the main road.His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he brought the spinning car under control. The car ripped away, leaving the screeching tyres and the frantic honking behind.

The words of his brother were still echoing in the back of his head as he fought to negotiate a tight curve. “Dad collapsed. It was a stroke. We are taking him to the hospital.” He moved uncomfortably in his seat, honking incessantly at the truck that was slowing him down. Losing patience, he swerved the car to the right and hit the accelerator pedal with a vengeance.

It was too late by the time he saw the scooter. He threw his head back screaming, thumping the steering wheel vigourously. He was furious. At the truck driver. At the scooterist. At himself at everyone. By this time, a crowd had gathered around his car. Some of them were banging on his window in anger, urging him to step out. He just sat there motionless, staring coldly at the commotion in front of him.

In an ambulance a few rows of vehicles behind, unbeknownst to him, an old man had lost his battle with the inevitable. The Blackberry in his pocket began to ring again.