Her eyes are closed mostly. She’s here. And not here. Speech is difficult. And also forbidden for most of the day. They’ve said she mustn’t speak during the eight nebulizers in the day. Certainly not while eating. And of course not while on life support through the afternoon and night. Twenty minutes per nebulizer and half an hour per meal…how much is gone..? Two hours through the afternoon and four at night…how much is left..? These are occasions when I feel thankful for my ill-developed arithmetic skills. She’s on the bed completely through the last one year. The little that she could move and save her dignity with – walking down to the bathroom with the help of her orthopedic walker, was taken away last year. Not by an accident, but through meticulous medical treatment. White robed demigods. They compromised on that last bit of her movement by keeping her in the ICU to restore her depleting breath. When she asked for help to relieve herself, they gave her a catheter. When we said she’s disoriented, they yelled back at our ignorance. And the next day called up to inform us that she had had two consecutive rounds of intense brain seizures. She has been confined to the bed since they handed over her discharge certificate. Sometimes, in the hours that are still left for her to speak, she murmurs names. Names of places. Names of things. Names which have nothing to do with each other. Disconnected names. Margaret Noble. Seema. Michael Madhusudan Dutta. Yudhishthira. Brajanath Dutta Lane. Parthasarathi. Broken chants. A blend of histories, personal impersonal. Boundaries of space dissolve. Silently. There’s nothing called time anymore. Memories fade. The light is white. Eternity, is it...? Dazzling. Relentless. But her eyes are closed mostly. As she’s still here. And not here.