Will Power
He was not someone who made millions after being down and out. He was not
someone who had a glamorous story to tell about overcoming the struggles of his life to
achieve great success. No tragedies to wallow in. No sweeping victories to celebrate.
He had led a simple middle class life and was content with it. After his only child flew the
nest to build her own life, he continued with his life in a small apartment along with his
wife. After retirement, he found himself at a loss. To keep himself busy, he joined a
charitable organization, specializing in distributing medicines to those who couldn't
afford it, as an honorary accountant.
"Honorary? You mean you won’t get paid for it? Why don't you work somewhere where
you will get paid? You aren't a rich man….extra cash is always welcome," his neighbor
advised him.
"I've worked for thirty eight years and got paid for it. I have enough..," he replied softly.
His days started with a morning walk in the nearby park. He followed this with a visit to
the office of the organization. It took him fifteen minutes to walk it down. It was a
makeshift office inside a pharmaceutical shop in one of the busiest parts of the city. He
loved the crowds and chatter of the place and busied himself with keeping the accounts
of the organization. After the completion of his duties which took him a few hours, he
enjoyed the rest of the day reading books and watching television at home. If he was
bored in the evenings, he would stroll along the local streets. It wasn't a life that one
would make a movie about but he always said that he had been blessed with the
pleasure of peace by God.
It was the 28th of August, 2005. He was 75 years old. Diabetic with high blood pressure.
It was a Sunday. He was visiting a friend. As he stepped out of his friend's house
waving goodbye, he failed to notice that the stairs leading to the street were being
washed. His foot fell into a puddle and he slipped. He stumbled and tried to grab the
iron railings of the stairs but failed. His body crashed down the flight of stairs and fell
into a heap at the bottom.
He was rushed to the hospital. In the middle of the chaos, he remained stoic. "It's the
right femur…shattered," the doctor said. "Needs surgery immediately."
As he was being rolled into the operation theater, he glanced at his wife, standing
devastated by the turn of events and said dryly, "Don’t think you are going to lose me
this soon…I'll be back."
Later on, he confessed. "I never thought I would survive this." Even the doctors and
nurses didn't think he would survive this. A broken femur at the age of 75 with the
complication of diabetes and high blood pressure meant a surgery. Metal plates to fix it.
It meant a struggle for survival. Even for those who survived it, it meant being bedridden
or walking with a limp.
"Will I be able to walk?" he would ask the doctor everyday after the surgery. Then he
would crinkle his eyes and laugh. "I've lived a good 75 years….don't want to spend the
rest on a bed…I'll beat this too."
"Of course," the doctor would reassure him. The doctor would then go outside to his
wife waiting anxiously and tell her gently, "It'll take time…we'll see how it goes."
To everyone’s surprise, he showed good signs of recovery and was shifted from the
Intensive Care Unit to the General Ward. After a few days, he was discharged with a
cast and a recommendation of a physiotherapist after the cast came off.
"Will power I suppose is the greatest medicine of all times," commented an old nurse as
the ambulance came to take him home.
"Good to be home," he said and smiled as he saw his daughter waiting for him.
"You carry on with your life," he said. "I'm going to recover real soon."
He didn’t grumble, whine or complain about the pain. Not even once. The cast came off
and with time and a physiotherapist, he started walking albeit with a limp.
"Better than not walking at all," he said wryly.
He bought a cane and got the soles of his right shoe leveled to match the left.
The first day when he went out to take a stroll with the help of his physiotherapist, wife,
cane and shoes, he chuckled.
"The fresh air feels good. I'm going to be fine."
The physiotherapist stopped visiting after a while. His wife didn't accompany him
anymore. Along with his cane and shoes, he took a short walk on the road in front of his
house everyday.
One day, he trudged slowly to the office of the charitable organization which had
occupied much of his time for more than a decade. It took him forty-five minutes. He
was exhausted but he succeeded in reaching it. He heaved himself into a chair and
greeted everyone with a smile.
"Good god…how did you manage?" they asked him anxiously. "You should've taken a
cab."
He nodded and sighed. I'll take a cab back."
He regretfully surveyed the little office. He had loved helping out the organization and
realized it wouldn't be possible for him to do so anymore. It would be too much of a
strain for him to walk it down everyday.
He shrugged. "That's life," he said.
He filled the vacuum in his day by solving the crossword in the newspaper. "It'll help me
to remain mentally active," he laughed. He spent the rest of his days like he always had.
In tranquility and serenity. He beat the odds and lived for thirteen years after the fall. He
passed away peacefully in his home on the 15th of May, 2018 at the age of 88. How do
I know ? Of course I would. He was my father.
someone who had a glamorous story to tell about overcoming the struggles of his life to
achieve great success. No tragedies to wallow in. No sweeping victories to celebrate.
He had led a simple middle class life and was content with it. After his only child flew the
nest to build her own life, he continued with his life in a small apartment along with his
wife. After retirement, he found himself at a loss. To keep himself busy, he joined a
charitable organization, specializing in distributing medicines to those who couldn't
afford it, as an honorary accountant.
"Honorary? You mean you won’t get paid for it? Why don't you work somewhere where
you will get paid? You aren't a rich man….extra cash is always welcome," his neighbor
advised him.
"I've worked for thirty eight years and got paid for it. I have enough..," he replied softly.
His days started with a morning walk in the nearby park. He followed this with a visit to
the office of the organization. It took him fifteen minutes to walk it down. It was a
makeshift office inside a pharmaceutical shop in one of the busiest parts of the city. He
loved the crowds and chatter of the place and busied himself with keeping the accounts
of the organization. After the completion of his duties which took him a few hours, he
enjoyed the rest of the day reading books and watching television at home. If he was
bored in the evenings, he would stroll along the local streets. It wasn't a life that one
would make a movie about but he always said that he had been blessed with the
pleasure of peace by God.
It was the 28th of August, 2005. He was 75 years old. Diabetic with high blood pressure.
It was a Sunday. He was visiting a friend. As he stepped out of his friend's house
waving goodbye, he failed to notice that the stairs leading to the street were being
washed. His foot fell into a puddle and he slipped. He stumbled and tried to grab the
iron railings of the stairs but failed. His body crashed down the flight of stairs and fell
into a heap at the bottom.
He was rushed to the hospital. In the middle of the chaos, he remained stoic. "It's the
right femur…shattered," the doctor said. "Needs surgery immediately."
As he was being rolled into the operation theater, he glanced at his wife, standing
devastated by the turn of events and said dryly, "Don’t think you are going to lose me
this soon…I'll be back."
Later on, he confessed. "I never thought I would survive this." Even the doctors and
nurses didn't think he would survive this. A broken femur at the age of 75 with the
complication of diabetes and high blood pressure meant a surgery. Metal plates to fix it.
It meant a struggle for survival. Even for those who survived it, it meant being bedridden
or walking with a limp.
"Will I be able to walk?" he would ask the doctor everyday after the surgery. Then he
would crinkle his eyes and laugh. "I've lived a good 75 years….don't want to spend the
rest on a bed…I'll beat this too."
"Of course," the doctor would reassure him. The doctor would then go outside to his
wife waiting anxiously and tell her gently, "It'll take time…we'll see how it goes."
To everyone’s surprise, he showed good signs of recovery and was shifted from the
Intensive Care Unit to the General Ward. After a few days, he was discharged with a
cast and a recommendation of a physiotherapist after the cast came off.
"Will power I suppose is the greatest medicine of all times," commented an old nurse as
the ambulance came to take him home.
"Good to be home," he said and smiled as he saw his daughter waiting for him.
"You carry on with your life," he said. "I'm going to recover real soon."
He didn’t grumble, whine or complain about the pain. Not even once. The cast came off
and with time and a physiotherapist, he started walking albeit with a limp.
"Better than not walking at all," he said wryly.
He bought a cane and got the soles of his right shoe leveled to match the left.
The first day when he went out to take a stroll with the help of his physiotherapist, wife,
cane and shoes, he chuckled.
"The fresh air feels good. I'm going to be fine."
The physiotherapist stopped visiting after a while. His wife didn't accompany him
anymore. Along with his cane and shoes, he took a short walk on the road in front of his
house everyday.
One day, he trudged slowly to the office of the charitable organization which had
occupied much of his time for more than a decade. It took him forty-five minutes. He
was exhausted but he succeeded in reaching it. He heaved himself into a chair and
greeted everyone with a smile.
"Good god…how did you manage?" they asked him anxiously. "You should've taken a
cab."
He nodded and sighed. I'll take a cab back."
He regretfully surveyed the little office. He had loved helping out the organization and
realized it wouldn't be possible for him to do so anymore. It would be too much of a
strain for him to walk it down everyday.
He shrugged. "That's life," he said.
He filled the vacuum in his day by solving the crossword in the newspaper. "It'll help me
to remain mentally active," he laughed. He spent the rest of his days like he always had.
In tranquility and serenity. He beat the odds and lived for thirteen years after the fall. He
passed away peacefully in his home on the 15th of May, 2018 at the age of 88. How do
I know ? Of course I would. He was my father.
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Sushma Doshi
Sushma R Doshi completed her graduation in History from Loreto College, Kolkata. She went on to acquire a Master's degree, MPhil and PhD in International Studies from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. She is a homemaker and currently lives in Patna, India. She dabbles in writing fiction and poetry. Apart from academic publications, her short stories have been published by Contemporary Literary Review India, Writefluence, Culture Cult Magazine and Press amongst others.
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