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Monday, December 12, 2011

I let you in only to convey a message: They should not be allowed to open a hospital in any other place

http://www.telegraphindia.com/1111212/jsp/frontpage/story_14870330.jsp

I let you in only to convey a message: They should not be allowed to open a hospital in any other place

Sudip Chakraborty, whose wife Parama ( below) died in the AMRI fire, breaks down. Picture by Sanjoy Chattopadhyaya
Parama Chakraborty, the schoolteacher who died

Sudip Chakraborty keeps telling himself he must not cry, not in front of his son. 'Take him to the other room, please," he requests a relative, who escorts seven-year-old Swarnavo away. Then the tears — and the anger — flow.

Sudip's schoolteacher wife Parama, 33, had been admitted to AMRI Hospitals, Dhakuria, on Thursday morning with unexplained fever and nausea while the pharmaceutical company executive was in Malda on an official visit. He reached Calcutta around 8pm, but couldn't meet his wife in hospital that night. A call from a doctor friend at AMRI around 5 in the morning turned his world topsy-turvy.

Sudip tells The Telegraph that his wife and little Swarnavo's mother didn't die in a fire tragedy, she was the victim of a crime of callousness.

This isn't the time to speak to a stranger. I allowed you in only because I want to convey a message. Through you I want to tell the government that the people behind AMRI should not be allowed to open a hospital in any other place. They can't play with people's lives, not again. Why wouldn't such a big hospital have an evacuation system in place for an emergency? They should have had staff trained to handle a fire. But there was none, and look who has paid the price.

My wife was the backbone of our family. I was so dependent on her. What will I do with my son now? I can't face him….

When Parama was admitted to hospital on Thursday morning, I was on a bus from Malda to Raiganj (in North Dinajpur). It was around 8am when a family member called to inform me that she was running a fever and was feeling nauseous.

I immediately headed back to Malda railway station to catch the next train to Calcutta. I wanted to be by her side as quickly as possible. I boarded the Garib Rath and reached the city late in the evening. By the time I stepped into AMRI Hospitals at 8pm, Parama had been moved to the neuro unit on the second floor of annexe I. The doctor in charge of that unit is a friend of mine. He had got Parama shifted there so that he would be able to monitor her condition. I could have requested him to allow me to meet her, but I didn't. I went home safe in the knowledge that she was being looked after.

My friend called me around 5am on Friday to say that a big fire had broken out. When we reached the hospital, the fire brigade was there but the rescuers did not have masks to go inside. There were two ladders but one wasn't functioning. There was none from the hospital to tell us which floor had how many patients.

My brother-in-law went inside and asked for a mask, but the firemen stopped him. They kept telling us that there was nobody on the second and third floors. The rescue operation was based on hands waving at them through broken windows. Shifting the ladders took up a lot of time. Why don't we still have a team and the equipment to mount a better rescue operation?

My life will never be normal again. What will I tell my son? I don't know. I pray nobody goes through what I am facing right now.

 

4, Jatin Das Road, fourth-floor apartment

Ishani Dutta, who died, Shrishti and Sumit

This is the home 39-year-old Ishani Dutta was supposed to come back to after a gallstone removal surgery on Friday. She never will. Husband Sumit, an employee of PricewaterhouseCoopers, hasn't either. The couple's four-year-old daughter Shrishti has been staying with family friends, unable to comprehend the tragedy that has befallen her family. Ishani was a BEd teacher at St. Xavier's College, her parents' only child. Sumit is there with her parents. Ishani's parents-in-law Sukumar and Sharmistha Dutta speak:

Sukumar, 72

Ishani had stomach pain and was diagnosed with gallstones last Wednesday. She was advised immediate surgery and referred to a doctor, whom she met on Thursday.

The doctor wanted to do the surgery the next day and there were three hospital options — Belle Vue, Woodlands and AMRI Dhakuria.

Belle Vue and Woodlands were unable to accommodate her, so she went to AMRI.
My son and Ishani went to AMRI on Thursday for admission, but they did not like the room and were thinking about postponing the surgery when the hospital authorities informed them that there was a vacant super deluxe room where she could stay for the price of a deluxe room.

Now I can't stop thinking: if only they had not taken that room, Ishani would have been alive today.

Sumit returned home around 11pm and all of us retired for the night.

We woke up to a call from Ishani's father at 6.30am, saying there was a fire at AMRI. Ishani had called on Sumit's cellphone around 4am, but he was apparently in deep sleep and did not hear it ring.

My son left in a hurry and I followed him a little later. I reached AMRI around 7.30am, praying for some good news. But nobody knew till then whether Ishani was alive or where she was. A friend of ours who knew some people there tried to find out about her. Around 8am, he came back and said Ishani was no more. My son couldn't believe what he had just heard. I had a difficult time consoling him. He kept saying that he should have been there with her, then he, too, would have gone with her.

I wanted to see Ishani's body, just to be sure. I was taken to the second floor of the old AMRI building, to the dialysis unit. I could not recognise her because her face had turned black. She was such a lovely woman. She and my son loved each other so much. One night, and our lives have been devastated. Nothing will be the same ever again.

Sharmistha, 65

The worst part of this ordeal is seeing our granddaughter suffer. She kept asking why her father was crying and whether something had happened to her mother. I overheard her saying to someone that her mother had become a star in the sky and that she would be watching over her.

She woke up crying on Saturday. She said she was crying for her mother. Ishani had applied at Loreto House for her daughter's admission; all she wanted in life was to give her daughter a good education.

My son is at Ishani's parents' place; he can't bring himself to enter their room in our house. Ishani was always worried who would take care of her parents if she wasn't around. Did any of us deserve this?

 

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