Tuesday, 12 November 2013


6th April 1994. The sky was overcast. It was 3.00 in the afternoon.  We had just returned from a cousin’s wedding when my husband announced that it was time we left for Kannur.  Summer vacation having started we decided to leave  Ammu our daughter, with my mother. Vacations for my daughter was ‘masti’ time with grandma.

Reaching the gate we looked back and waved to her. But, the usual smile was missing. Instead tears welled up in her eyes. She suddenly ran up to me and hugged me tight.

“Don’t go amma. Stay here with me for another two days.” She pleaded. But duty did not permit me to overstay my leave.  I somehow managed to release her and moved leaving her wailing. This was the first time Ammu had ever cried on seeing us leave.

The journey from our small town to Calicut was uneventful. On reaching Calicut we took another bus to Kannur. I moved towards the ladies seat in the front, when my husband suddenly called out to me. He wanted me to occupy the seat in the middle, with him. I said I would be fine. Yet he insisted. I joined him. The bus slowly gathered speed.

We spoke about our daughter. We wondered why she had wanted me to stay back. I had an uneasy feeling. But my husband assured me that everything was fine. The heavy wedding feast and the cool breeze caressing my cheeks led me to deep slumber.

Suddenly I felt a jerk followed by a deafening sound. It took me some time to realize that our bus had collided with and incoming truck. Women and children were wailing. People were shouting at the top of their voices. The seats along with the passengers were thrown haywire. Only mangled metal could be seen.

Vehicle after vehicle sped with lights on and horns honking, carrying the injured. Suddenly I heard my husband calling out to me, asking me if I was fine.  I tried to move only to realize that my legs were caught under the mangled seat in front.  My husband started trying to move the mangled metal to release my legs

“Fast, Fast. The diesel tank is leaking.”   Several voices were shouting.

The smell of diesel and the voices below acted as a catalyst. The thought of my little one and my mother jolted me to action. Even before my husband could say another word I pulled my legs. The instinct to survive is great. My legs were leaden. Someone below asked me if I could climb out of the window. I decided to take the chance. Better a fracture than being charred to death. Blood was oozing from my legs. But I felt nothing. A vehicle sped carrying us to the nearest hospital. By now both my legs were aching. They were badly injured. My husband had received just a few bruises.

Suddenly I felt my stomach aching, I let out a cry of pain. My ever cool husband’s forehead creased a bit wondering whether I suffered an internal injury. He tried to draw attention to my plight. But then help was not easily available. All the doctors and nurses had been called in but the number of injured were several times more than their clan. So we had to wait for our turn. All the time my husband held my hands.  His very touch was relieving. He asked me to close my eyes and lean on his shoulders, try and shut out the pain. I followed his instructions as a child would do a parent’s.

I don’t know how long I leaned on his shoulders but I am sure it was a couple of hours. But all the while he sat still lest I be disturbed. Finally, our turn came. The wounds were cleaned and stitched. Bandages were wrapped. All the while that hand was there in mine giving me the courage to bear the pain. 

Later I came to know that the women and children in the front seats were the worst hit. Few of them succumbed to their injuries . Some others had their limbs amputated. I was lucky. My husband’s insistence had saved me from both. Later, while remembering the day’s incident I have often wondered whether it was the hand of providence to make us realize how closely we are bound to each other.

That day I realized that love is all about caring. A touch, a look, a pressure in the palm is enough to communicate your feeling for the other. Words are meaningless in front of them. I realized that my husband was as noble, as strong and as rare as platinum. I can always depend on him for support. The tie between the two of us is everlasting.

Image courtesy of Victor Habbick at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Platinum is the least reactive metal and so is my husband. He keeps his cool even in the tensest situation . My husband is my Platinum, someone I cherish and will always continue to do so. Of course I have never thought of buying or gifting platinum till I decided to write this post but then, thinking about it I feel it’s not a bad idea. Platinum for the Platinum Man, A Toast to Everlasting Love. Sounds great doesn't it?

This post is written as part of a contest on Platinum Day of Love at indiblogger

Inviting you to visit my blog at wordpress too to read the latest - http://geetaavij.wordpress.com

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