Last night the phone rang again,

Same time,

12 AM,

I woke up and realised, I had been expecting it

But It wasn’t the phone that rang.

I was dreaming

Or not even dreaming

Just looking at the phone…

But the first time, when it happened

I had returned from one of my usual trips,

satisfied and exahausted,

and gone to bed late, as usual.

And then the phone rang,

My sister telling me, father was incomprehensible,

In my tired half sleep, it took me some time to comprehend.

I wore my clothes and hurried out.

The cold January night...

Stopping at the hospital to request for an ambulance,

before reaching home to find everyone awake

Including my very angry father, who was sitting and trying to say things,

And utterly incomprehensible....

It took sometime and effort to make him agree to come with us inside the ambulance, and then to hospital.

He slept for 60 hours after that!

Leaving us forever without any sleep…

Every night since then

While going to bed,

I look at the phone,

Dreading, when will it ring again,

and on a number of occasions it hasn’t belied our fears

even though the names have changed, over years.

Years have gone by,

Mother is gone,

Father gone too…

eventually,

And a few more…

And yet,

late in the nights,

After a long day at the hustings,

Or a heartwarming tale,

I still look at the phone,

out of sheer habit

wishing it to ring.

To give me some news

About my dead father,

That he is unwell!!!