Echoes in the Hallway

Jatin's vacation shatters when his parents are critically injured in an accident. In a hospital's cold corridors, he and his brother Jay confront their grief.

Chapter 1: The Escape

For some reason, I kept imagining his face�"or more specifically, his reaction. He had been in Jaipur for only two days and already felt at home in the city. The hot afternoons made him second-guess, but the cold, windy nights and the starry sky made him stay. This was the vacation he had longed for months. His boss had finally approved his leave, and he had ventured far from the bustling, never-sleeping city he called home�"Gurugram, known as "The Smart City of India." After four years there, he now scoffed at the title. He had originally planned a trip to Ladakh, but heavy landslides had led to tourism restrictions. Even if it were safe now, his mother would have worried herself sick and likely resorted to emotional blackmail. So, he decided to visit Neemrana, where his parents lived, before seeking solitude in the palaces of Jaipur and Udaipur. He had invited Jay, his elder brother working in Bombay with an MNC, but Jay was busy with a crucial project that promised a promotion. The little time he had on weekends was spent with his fiancée, Anshika. They had both promised to visit soon, so he set off on a solo trip.

He arrived in Neemrana on Friday and was greeted warmly by his parents. They were in good health, and their usual lively banter during dinner made the 80 km journey from Gurugram worthwhile. He inquired about his father’s job in Bhiwadi, noting that since buying the new house, his father had been commuting daily. Despite their suggestions for his parents to move in with them and enjoy a more relaxed life now that both sons were earning well, his mother had a deep attachment to the city, its streets, markets, and its people. She had been the head of their society colony. His father, on the other hand, felt bored at home without work.

"Jatin beta," his mother called out. His cab was at the door, and it was time to leave for his exciting trip to Jaipur. Even though both his parents tried to convince him to stay, he won at last. Bidding their farewells, he looked forward to the trip and promised his parents he would visit them again on his return trip.

Now, sitting in the restaurant near the Hawa Mahal, he observed all the sights before him, took dozens of photos to send in the family WhatsApp group: "The Bansals." Then he decided to shift his focus to the food�"the special Pyaaz Kachori of Jaipur.

It was past 7 pm when he picked up his bags and made his way to his hotel room, passing colorful street shops selling various items. As he was calling for a taxi, his phone started buzzing. The caller ID displayed "Chachu." He hadn't talked to his uncle in a long time, a fact he now felt guilty about. He picked up the call, and as soon as the words left his uncle's mouth, he felt the world stop around him.

Chapter 2: The Call

He couldn't feel the ground beneath him or register the impatient cab driver nudging him, asking where he wanted to be dropped off. His eyes were wide open, but he couldn't see. His mind had simply stopped receiving any other signals, but he forced himself to listen. His uncle's voice, filled with urgency and worry, repeated the words that shattered his heart: his mother and father had been in a near-fatal accident and were in the hospital. Suddenly, reality crashed back in. He hurriedly instructed the cab driver to take him to the nearest hospital, praying silently for his parents' safety.

Mr. Bansal had finally agreed to go to the mandi after his wife insisted that all the vegetable vendors coming to the society either sold stale vegetables or priced them so high, as if they had been plucked from the gardens of heaven itself.

"Your brother and his family would be coming over tomorrow. What shall I serve them?" she said, along with a bunch of other reasons she had literally been waiting to air when her husband grunted and agreed to go with her to the nearby mandi. He never liked going there; it was always so jam-packed that one could hardly breathe. Also, it was a Saturday, and he wanted to relax and watch the cricket match going on, but as always, his wife won.

"The blue Activa had flown over the divider due to the collision impact from the fast-paced i-10 car. The Activa later came under a large truck that had been on its way and crushed it as if it had been a mere insect. Mr. Jay Bansal and his wife Mrs. Nita Bansal, as we had concluded earlier, weren't wearing helmets, hence the severe damage. The CCTVs still haven't been able to track down the i-10 car number or its owner," said Rajasthan's Superintendent of Police, Vivek Thakur, to the local press gathered at the scene.

Mr. Thakur further added, "We urge any witnesses to come forward with any information that might help us track down the vehicle involved. Our thoughts are with the Bansal family during this difficult time, and we are doing everything in our power to bring the responsible party to justice." And that was it�""justice" they called it, but in truth, there was no justice for what had happened. No justice would be enough for that "accident" or tragedy. Who could have known, even the Bansals, when they had just been casually arguing like they had a thousand times, and then riding off casually on their Activa like they had a thousand times, and then driving to that petty mandi like they had... But on that specific day, at that particular Saturday evening, at that terrible moment, everything fell apart. Even though only two bodies lay in the hospital beds unconscious, many more lives had been wrecked, and nothing would ever be the same again. How could something that appeared so strong, so bold, built upon years and years, be crushed just like that, as if it had been made out of glass, its foundations of sand, ever so fragile it breaks in a snap? And then nothing remains, just the broken parts to gather...

He looked at his mother. Her body was covered in bandages; her right leg was broken, as were her ribs and collarbone. But worse was her face. Nothing remained of it. She still lay unconscious. He went and sat by her bed and looked at her, her eyes... he couldn't look at her. His mother, how could she just lie like this? No, this wasn't his mother, he thought. No, no, no... "Ma...a," the words were strangled in his throat. His eyes were blurry with steaming tears. None of this would have happened if I hadn't left...

He forced himself to move, to see his father. The doctor stopped him before he could enter the room. "Your father is in the trauma ward," the doctor said. "He regained consciousness briefly and attacked a staff member. It's the shock of the events; we need to keep him under observation."

Jatin was allowed to see his father through a glass door. The sight was almost unbearable. His father, usually so strong and composed, looked lost and broken, restrained to prevent further harm to himself or others. The man who had always been his rock now lay shattered.

Chapter 3: Echoes in the Hallway

Suddenly, the doors to the hallway swung open, and Jatin saw his older brother, Jay, walking towards him with Anshika. The sight of his brother, with the same worried and anxious look mirrored on his face, stopped him in his tracks. In that moment, everything seemed to come rushing back�"the laughter, the arguments, the memories of their parents, all crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Jay's eyes locked with his, and it was as if time itself stopped. Jatin's facade of strength, the brave front he had maintained, began to crumble. The tension and pain he had been holding in for so long finally broke free. Unable to hold back any longer, he rushed forward and enveloped his older brother in a tight embrace. His breath hitched, his shoulders trembled, and the tears he had been fighting so hard to suppress flowed freely. In the security of his brother's arms, the weight of his grief became too much to bear.

The hallway, with its cold, clinical lights, bore silent witness to the heartbreaking moment. The echoes of their sobs seemed to fill the empty spaces between them. Jay held Jatin tightly, his own eyes filled with unshed tears, offering what comfort he could. The two brothers clung to each other, their shared loss creating a bond that no words could fully express. The world outside, with its noise and chaos, felt distant and irrelevant. In that embrace, amidst the sobs and the unspoken understanding, they found a fleeting sense of solace, even in the midst of overwhelming sadness.

And so, with their hearts heavy and their spirits broken, they stood together, the echoes of their grief resonating through the cold, silent corridors of the hospital.

Reviews

[JayG]

You’re trying to tell the reader a story, as if in person. Unfortunately, that can’t work.

One problem is that because you already know the story, and have backstory and more, you begin reading with full context. So it all makes sense...to you. And because of that, you leave out detail that a reader needs. Look at the opening, as a reader must:

• For some reason, I kept imagining his face�"or more specifically, his reaction

First, an em-dash doesn’t work on this site. Replace it with two dashes.

But of more importance, from a reader’s viewpoint, someone unknown is imagining the face of someone not introduced, in response to an undefined event. How can this generate more than “Huh?” in a reader? And you can’t say to read on and it will become clear, because they won’t. Unless a reader has context as-they-read, they stop with nothing more read.

• He had been in Jaipur for only two days and already felt at home in the city.

So this unknown person, who could be ten or ninety, rich or poor, came to the city from somewhere unknown, for unknown reasons? This is at such a narrative distance that it provides nothing useful. And, if that speaker knows that this unknown person feels at home, why don’t they know their reaction to the unspecified event?

• He had been in Jaipur for only two days and already felt at home in the city.

I’m lost. Who’s the “I” of the first line? And why are they talking about this unknown and nameless person as if I care? We need to give the reader reason to WANT to read on. Facts are for history books.

Aside from the lack of context, In this, start to finish, you’re talking TO the reader, as if storytelling. But...can anyone but you know the emotion to place into the narrator’s voice? No. Can the reader know the gestures you’d visually punctuate the telling with? Again no. Nor can they know the facial expressions and body language you’d use.

In other words, what the reader gets is a storyteller’s script with no clue of how to perform it — which is why, on the page, we cannot simply tell a story. Universities offer degree programs in Commercial Fiction Writing, remember. And while you can acquire those skills via self-study, they are necessary, even for hobby writing, because, for the reader, nothing else works.

But that’s okay, because every successful writer faced and overcame the same problem. And learning what you want to know is never a chore. In the case of fiction, it’s filled with, “So THAT’S how they do it. How did I not see that myself?”

And when using those skills the act of writing becomes a LOT more fun.

To get started, try a few chapters of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict for fit.

https://archive.org/details/goal.motivation.conflictdebradixon/page/n5/mode/2up

You can read or download it from that site. I think you’ll be amazed at the change in your writing as a result of it.

So, after all the work of writing this I know this wasn’t good news. But as I mentioned above, the problems are invisible to you, who have that missing context. And since they are, till they’re pointed out, you’ll never address them. So, since it's not a matter of talent of how well you write, I thought you might want to know.

Dig into the skills of the profession. You’ll be glad you did.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain

“In sum, if you want to improve your chances of publication, keep your story visible on stage and yourself mum.”
~ Sol Stein