Page 4

"Why can’t I remember?" I shoot back. "What if I can’t ever remember anything?"

"Well, part of it is because of the surgery – you can’t just do this kind of thing without side effects, can you? And also there are medicines we gave you."

"Medicines?"

"To remove some memories – the ones of the accident and when you were brought in. We couldn’t anaesthetise you at first, and, well, you were awake and in some agony, I’m told. But the drugs had a greater effect than we thought, removing some long term memories as well." She grins. "Never mind, the old memories will come back in time. I can assure you of that."

"What was her name?" I ask.

For some reason this seems to disturb Prachi. "Whose name?" she asks back.

"You know who I’m talking about. The woman who had this body. What was her name?"

"Why do you want to know her name? It doesn’t matter. This is you, now."

"Of course it matters. It matters to me. What was her name?"

She pauses a while. "Pooja," she says at last. "Pooja Mehrotra."

"Pooja." I mouth the name to myself. Long ago, in primary school, I had a friend named Pooja. And I’ve met several more Poojas over the years. It’s a common name. Like Monica. "Could I have a mirror?"

"I wouldn’t advise it. Not yet, anyway. You haven’t recovered from the surgery, you know."

"It would make me feel a lot better," I say. Actually, I have no idea if it would, but I need to see what new face my new eyes are peering out of. "Could I have a mirror,please?"

Eventually she gets one. It’s a small mirror, and since I can’t yet grasp anything with my new hand she holds it for me. I look, wish I hadn’t, begin to close my eyes, and then force myself to look again, without flinching.

There’s a double line of heavy black stitches that goes around my shaven head, up over my brows, as though the top of my (new) skull was taken off and put back again. Well, I think, of course it was. I keep my gaze away from it and force my eyes down to my new face.

From the depths of the mirror a dark, pretty girl with an oval face looks out at me.

In the look in her eyes, I see the fear in my own.

"You’ll be getting famous, you know." The physiotherapist, whose name is I think Vrushali, moves my legs up and down, up and down, while Radhika watches. "The rumours have already started on TV."

I glance at Radhika. "Is that true?"

She nods. "Unfortunately, the news leaked out. It would’ve got out sooner or later anyway, but we were hoping to keep it quiet until we were ready to make an official statement. At least they don’t have any hard facts, or your name – and we aren’t giving that out until we’re ready."

"Or my face," I say.

"Or, as you said, your face. We aren’t eager for a media circus. Or at least most of us aren’t." I can hear the inflection in her voice. I already know that she doesn’t see eye to eye with Hari, the male doctor who’d ordered me to try moving my arms. I know she won’t talk freely in front of the physiotherapist, though. "Prachi tells me you’re beginning to remember things."

"A little," I say. "Patchily." Actually, I’m not sure if what I remember are actual memories or constructs of my imagination. I’m pumped so full of medicines that half the time I don’t know what’s going on anyway. "Doctor?"

"What?"

"When can I stand up again?" What I really want to ask is "Will I ever be able to stand up again?"

Vrushali and Radhika exchange a look. "In a while," the former says. "You’re coming along fine."

"Sensation’s coming back, isn’t it?" Radhika asks. "You can feel when I do this, can’t you?"

"Yes." Her touch on my arm is faint, but I can feel it. "It’s clearer than before."

[ Continue to page 5 ]