Pritam's Blog
Metro
One of the guys from the next door died a few weeks back. It was an accident.
I didn’t know about it until two days later. The caretaker of the apartment told me. And for the next two days, I tried to figure out, not actively though, which of the three guys who lived there had died.
The other two guys, I didn’t know which two, I didn’t see them even once after the incident.
I wondered if it was the short, dark guy, or the bearded one, or the one I would curse every evening when he came out, sat on the stairs, and talked over phone, loudly, as if he owned the place. The talks and laughs, most of the times, would continue till late at night.
I wished him dead many a night.
And it turned out, when I asked the caretaker the next time I saw him, it was him, the one who talked over phone and laughed aloud all through the evening till late night, who was dead.
“There wasn’t a spot on his body,” the caretaker said, “Except for the deep cut in his thigh. And there was blood everywhere.”
“Femoral artery,” I said. The caretaker was probably expecting more than that.
I closed the door.
I didn’t feel bad about him, the loud guy who died in the accident, nor did I feel good.
I just thought about all those people he used to talk to every evening, especially, the one who made him laugh like that…
But I slept well that night, After a long time.