For, it has a potential to go viral..
“This happened in 1979. I was attending a college in Delhi, and visiting Dehradun every week end, where I grew up. I would take the Sunday night bus to return to Delhi. In the wee hours of that fateful Monday morning, at 4 am, I rode my motorcycle home from the bus station as usual. However, as fate would have it, I fell asleep on the bike. I was told; I collided with a cyclist at high speed, and hit my face to the ground. My face was crushed. I would forever remain indebted to that unknown Sikh who braved the very unfriendly police laws then, and brought me to the hospital (All India Inst of Medical Sciences, AIMS for short) doors. Understandably, he left the scene to avoid police harassment, depriving me of expressing my gratitude ever.
Fortunately for me, the mortuary was overcrowded due to which the supervisor on duty placed my body outside the room with other cadavers. At around 7.30 in the morning, the sweeper on shift duty saw my leg moving. He got the fright of his life and immediately informed the authorities.
The programs conducted on the campus
of Initiatives of Change, at Panchgani, Maharashtra, India, are often described
as ‘life changing’ ones by the participants. And through these programs,
sometimes, come out stories that could inspire humanity…
Here is one
such story, stranger than the fiction, narrated by Capt. Suri, a senior pilot
and an official of Air India, a participant of the program, ‘Making a Difference, Together’, specially designed for the very senior
officers of Air India.
Captain
Suri, an important member of the rescue team of the Kandahar highjack victims
in the last week of Dec, 2000, narrates his story to Bhisham Mansukhani, a
journalist and member of the IofC (Initiatives of Change) facilitation team.
Bhisham describes it as a fascinating real life account of ‘Paying It Forward’
Capt Suri narrates,
 |
| Capt. S P S Suri |
“This happened in 1979. I was attending a college in Delhi, and visiting Dehradun every week end, where I grew up. I would take the Sunday night bus to return to Delhi. In the wee hours of that fateful Monday morning, at 4 am, I rode my motorcycle home from the bus station as usual. However, as fate would have it, I fell asleep on the bike. I was told; I collided with a cyclist at high speed, and hit my face to the ground. My face was crushed. I would forever remain indebted to that unknown Sikh who braved the very unfriendly police laws then, and brought me to the hospital (All India Inst of Medical Sciences, AIMS for short) doors. Understandably, he left the scene to avoid police harassment, depriving me of expressing my gratitude ever.
The story
took yet another queer turn. The doctor on duty was shocked to see my crushed
bleeding face. He couldn’t detect a pulse on me, and after examining me thoroughly he pronounced me dead! He wrote
on the public discharge slip that I had expired due to brain hemorrhage and
excessive bleeding. He then sent my body for a postmortem to the mortuary.
Fortunately for me, the mortuary was overcrowded due to which the supervisor on duty placed my body outside the room with other cadavers. At around 7.30 in the morning, the sweeper on shift duty saw my leg moving. He got the fright of his life and immediately informed the authorities.
In the
meanwhile, my mother had already been informed of my so called demise. My
sister was grieving, but my mother simply refused to believe I was dead. On
reaching Delhi, instead of going to my grandparent’s house, they reached
straight to the hospital, only to receive a very pleasant shock.
However, my face had to be entirely
restructured. I had to undergo comprehensive plastic surgery and it took me
nearly 18 months to recover.
I reminisce, how strange are the ways of life!
One would expect learning lessons from the episodes such as what I went
through, but, to be honest, I didn't in any way become more cautious than I had
been before the accident. Three years later I became a pilot!”
-----------------------
“I moved to
Mumbai in 1983 when I was posted a probationary pilot for the Indian Airlines
in the city. A few months into my job, and another incident of road accident
would take place involving me that would change my outlook about life forever!
I was traveling by bus to South Mumbai to
visit the doctor to show him x-rays of my facial bones which had, by then,
largely recovered. I had tucked the x-ray into my shirt. As the bus was passing
through Juhu, it slowed down near a truck standing halted by the side if the
road. To my utter shock, I saw a young school boy getting crushed between a
stationary truck and the bus in which I was seated. The bus slowed down and
moved to the left at the bus stop leaving very little gap with the standing
truck. The school children were rushing to get into our bus when this boy came
in between the truck and the bus.
I do not know what got possessed of me. Instantaneously
I got off the bus, lifted the boy in my arms as the blood from his head wound
bled on to my shirt and x-ray. I was surprised as to why no one else would help.
Perhaps the unfriendly police laws about accident which had made my savior to
drop me at the hospital portals and run away! Most shockingly, even the bus,
which was a culprit, sped off on its course as though nothing had happened. However, one decent young motorcyclist came
forward to help. A Sikh taxi driver agreed to take us to the nearby hospital
but advised us to leave the boy at the hospital and immediately rush off.
But I was
undeterred. I wanted the child to get an immediate medical attention. The
doctor on duty refused to attend to the unconscious bleeding child until the
police arrived. I looked him in his eyes, held him by his throat, gave him my
ID and literally ordered him to save the boy. The doctors gave in and did the
decent thing. The boy survived. In some ways I felt extremely good. I felt, the
thought of my own accident, and that unknown Sikh gave me the strength and
courage to act the way I did. My status of being a pilot worked on the doctors,
and perhaps the police later. But, I thought I was paying it forward!
The history
repeated with the parents of the boy too. His school friends reached his home
and told the parents that the boy had died. The young motorcyclist had found
their address from the boy's school bag and had rushed to let them know that the
boy was being treated. He brought back the smile on the grieving Kamat family.
In the mean while, once I knew the boy would
be fine, I left the hospital, pleasantly surprised to find the taxi driver
waiting for me. I offered his money to wash his blood smeared seats. He refused
to take the money. He drove me home and again refused the taxi fare I offered
him. I only met the boy's parents four years later. The meeting was emotional
and I was touched by their gratefulness. I have grown to know the boy and his
parents ever since. Well, each Diwali they send me gifts.
The
boy, Ankit Kamat, around 40 now, went on to study in Baltimore, USA, and is now
settled in the US. It’s been 28 years since the incident. I might never find
out the identity of the Sikh gentleman who saved my life, but I believe he
would have been happy to find out that it was his deed of astonishing kindness
that indirectly saved a young boy's life six years later. The sweeper and the
taxi driver also played their crucial roles. This was a true triumph for
humanity. It will always be the most remarkable story of my life. I will never
wonder about whether Ankit will someday pay it forward. I simply believe he
will.”
Hope this story would have touched a chord in your hearts. If so, please express your feelings in the comments column below here. Please share if and when you have paid anything forward...
And, pass this story on to your circle of influence if you believe the story can induce compassion in others.
And, pass this story on to your circle of influence if you believe the story can induce compassion in others.
D I L I P P A T E L
Team India I Care
PS: If at
all this write up reaches Ankit Kamat, we will be happy to hear a word from him
in the comments section of this post.
