Baroda, 2003
It was a quiet morning – the kind that feels ordinary, almost unremarkable. I was returning home from my night shift at the Amtel office, riding my silver Kinetic Honda. Just past Bhartiya Vidya Bhavan school, a black stray dog darted across the road. I didn’t slow down, assuming it would instinctively get out of the way. I was wrong.
The front wheel just grazed the dog, and in an instant, I lost balance. My knees slammed onto the asphalt. Strangely, I didn’t feel any pain at first. People on the sidewalk rushed to help me up, but suddenly my knees buckled—I couldn’t stand, no matter how hard I tried. It was like some disconnection between my brain and the right leg. A good samaritan offered to take me home on my kinetic honda. As we reached, my mother was preparing breakfast. She saw me from the kitchen window. Without showing any panic, I gently said “I met with an accident”. When I tried to get off the scooter, my knees gave way again. The good samaritan helped me get into the house. And that was the last time, I saw him. May God bless him abundantly.
Déjà Vu: A Previous Close Call
It wasn’t my first brush with disaster. A year or two earlier, my brother and I were returning home after church service at Basil School. While riding from Old Padra Road toward GIDC/Makarpura, I accelerated to escape the stench of burning garbage. Suddenly, I swerved to avoid a pothole—and collided head-on with a speeding bike. I lost consciousness; my brother was thrown several feet but remained alert.
Miraculously, an ambulance happened to pass by. The driver stopped, saw us lying on the road, and decided to help. On the way, he stopped at a clinic. After examining me, the doctor pronounced me dead. The driver called up my home and said, one of your sons is dead. But on the way home, I regained consciousness. I was the first one to get off the ambulance. Thank God for His protection.
The Road to Recovery
History was repeating itself. Back to the more recent accident—my mother called our neighbour, Uthup Uncle, since Dad was away on a project in Calcutta. He drove me to an orthopaedic hospital near Don Bosco school, where Dr. Padam Gupta—my class mate’s brother—was on duty.
Since it was early morning, the doctor had not arrived yet. He was informed about my accident. An X-ray revealed damage to my knee. To prevent infection, pus was drained using a large syringe. I’ve always hated injections, and just the sight of that needle made me cringe.
An MRI later confirmed extensive damage to my ACL ligament. The doctors performed keyhole surgery and inserted three titanium screws to repair it. After two weeks in the hospital, I was discharged and took another month off work to recover.
A New Routine
After nearly two months of rest, I decided to return to the office. I took an auto-rickshaw each day, stopping by a physiotherapist for exercises before work. The same driver would pick me up in the evening and drop me home. This became my new routine.
Gradually, I improved. I moved from crutches to a walker, then a cane, and finally, I was walking on my own—albeit with a slight limp. Over time, even that disappeared.
From that day on, I gave up riding bikes. I had been given a second chance—twice. And I wasn’t going to take it for granted.
Reflections
Looking back, I see more than just accidents—I see God’s grace. I could have lost my life, or my ability to walk. But I didn’t. I was spared, not once, but twice. Thank God!
