“We need a ride to Naraina,” I told the person sitting in the back, who appeared to be the owner of the car. He nodded and gestured for us to get in. Naraina was where Satish and his family lived. It was about sixty-five miles on the way to New Delhi. We arrived at around 8:30 a.m., and with my hand still covering my chin, I told the servant, “Go tell Saheb I’m here and I’m hurt.”
The servant returned several moments later. “They are sleeping,” he informed me.
“Wake them up,” I said, feeling exasperated.
A moment later, Satish came out. “Bedi Saheb, what happened?” he exclaimed, a worried expression on his face. He frowned at the sight of my bloody chin.
After I explained, Satish called Raj right away to tell her what happened and to let her know I was okay. Raj was concerned, and so Satish’s driver drove Keshyp and me home. As soon as we arrived, Raj ran downstairs to see how I was. “Kris, your chin!” she exclaimed, worry in her eyes. Hearing the commotion, the boys ran into the room, and their mouths dropped open when they saw my blood-stained shirt and the deep gash on my chin. Raj hurried to the phone and called Usha, telling her to come immediately.
“This may require stitches,” Usha remarked when she examined my chin. “Let’s find a small private nursing home to admit you. They are usually like mini hospitals with only fifteen to twenty beds. You will receive good care compared to a public hospital.”
After checking into a private nursing home, we were told I could have either a general surgeon do the stitching or, if I preferred, I could get a plastic surgeon who would do a neater job. Since it was my face we were talking about, I decided to go with the plastic surgeon. I waited several hours for him to arrive, and after he performed the surgery, he came out to talk to Raj, Usha, and Satish.
“Krishan will have a small lump right under his lip,” he told them. “This is because I had to stretch his skin in that area.”
“It doesn’t matter what he looks like now,” Raj remarked. “I am already married to him.”
I stayed at the nursing home for three days, and during that time, I would joke with the manager, asking if I could have a beer. He told me he would check with my doctor, but of course the doctor always said no. The manager promised he would present me with a six pack when it was time for me to go, and he did. My family looked amazed when I came out of the nursing home carrying a six pack of beer. It became a joke that when that facility discharged you, they threw in a little something extra. They also joked about my chin roll, saying, “Don’t worry, you’re looking okay, so Raj isn’t going to leave you.”
One early Sunday morning in May 1985, I heard popping noises in the living room. Subhash and Christopher also heard them, and we all ran into the living room to see what was going on. The television was clicking on and off and so was the VCR. At the same time, Raj noticed the A/C had stopped running. Perplexed at what was going on, I scratched my head and tried inspecting the plug-ins. Just then, we heard popping noises coming from outside. Looking out the window, I saw people running toward our house, shouting “Fire! Fire!”
We all hurried outside and saw the electric meter inside the garage had caught on fire and was making popping sounds. Raj, the kids, and I rushed to the street as people gathered around us, wanting to be helpful but unsure of what to do. Several people brought buckets of water, but I said, “No, do not use water on an electrical fire!” Others began picking up dirt and throwing it on the meter board, but the fire kept burning. Having just moved to India, we were not aware of any fire department and never thought we would need to know. Even if there was a fire department, it might have taken half an hour for them to get to our house. Either way, no one on our street was calling the fire department, which indicated to me that perhaps there wasn’t one in that area.
Shouts filled the air as the crowd continued throwing dirt at the fire. Finally, after a few minutes, the fire went out. The meter board was burnt badly, but since there was no other combustible material around the meter board, the fire did not spread. Luckily, the fire did not spread inside the house through the wires either. After the chaos died down, we called the electrician and he came to check the burned meter and to repair it. After the repair, we entered the house cautiously and found that the TV, computer, several A/Cs, the microwave, and VCR all were electrically burned beyond repair. It was heartbreaking to see such loss, but nothing could have been done.
In all honesty, I wanted to cry. The troubles with the hospital filled my head, and now this. I didn’t know how much more I could take, but I knew one thing for sure—I must keep a cheerful attitude for the sake of Raj and the children. If I broke down in front of them, what was there to keep us all together? Instead, I took a deep breath and smiled down at my three sons. Rajan was nearly in tears, and Subhash and
