The Petrol Boy

I drank petrol when I was 11 or 12 years old. Not out of pressure or fun, as my relatives claim, but it just happened.

We used to live in government-allotted housing called Ash Colony. It got its name because ash from power plant chimneys directly falls on the colony. Obviously, you make friends. But I used to hang out with people who were much older than me. I would experience life differently compared to people of my age.

I was a naughty kid. Everyone knew that. I used to have constant bursts of energy and desire to try something. I used to build tree houses, catch fish in local ponds, and steal mangoes from my neighbors. Of course, I would get caught. That’s a different story altogether.

Since I was the youngest among the group, I used to take my friends words too seriously. That was what led to this incident.

My two cousins were married that month. We, my family, invited newlywed couples for dinner. My grandmother was present. She helped my mom cook delicious food. I was playing around outside with friends. One of my friends went out to the city center and returned with a pop soda bottle that was filled with petrol for emergency purposes.

I asked him, What is it? It was dark; I couldn’t see the bottle clearly. He said, Fanta, with a laugh. He continued talking with other friends. Meanwhile, stupid ass me took the bottle from his hand. Before he could stop me, I sipped a mouthful of petrol. He screamed, It’s petrol, not a Fanta. It was too late now.

I didn’t know what to do in that moment. I immediately ran home and washed my mouth with soap and detergent. I thought that was effective to get rid of the petrol I consumed. I gulped pints of soapy water. Though it was a dumb idea, in that moment, it sounded like a genius one.

I thought I put an end to the whole situation. No, it was just beginning. It wasn’t the drama that ensued. It was the uncertainty and unpredictable nature of how things would unfold later. It was a ticking bomb, which I was completely oblivious to. If I had known the consequences of my actions, I wouldn’t have stepped out of the house that evening.

For an hour or two, everything was normal. I was having fun with my cousins, joking around, and eating delicious food my mother made. My cousins decided to stay at my place, and their husbands left home. They all were occupied with running errands before they called it a day. I started feeling something weird.

I was feeling dizzy, combined with a headache. I couldn’t sleep, nor could I sit. My stomach was making strange sounds. It felt like someone was churning something inside. My body wanted to get rid of whatever I consumed. I was trying so hard not to puke and reveal what happened. But I had to give up.

My grandmother was cleaning the bathroom. I rushed inside and started vomiting. My grandmother thought it was merely a digestion issue. But she smelled something. She asked, Where is that petrol smell coming from? I confessed.

She sprinted out and told the news to my mom and my family. Panic set in. There was no time to yell and bellow swear words at me. I was collapsing. Luckily, we had a scooty. With my cousin, my mom and I immediately left for the hospital. It felt like, for the first time, my scooter could travel at jet speed.

It was 10:00 PM. The hospital was empty except for two nurses. When I was taken inside and informed about my situation, an emergency doctor was called in. I was vomiting fiercely and pooping as if stool had been in storage for 30 days. My body was seriously trying to reject everything that was in my stomach.

The situation seemed out of control. The doctor said he (I) needs emergency care and better he be transferred to a better hospital. An ambulance was called in almost immediately. By that time, my grandmother had arrived at the scene. Together, all of us left for Singareni Hospital, which was better equipped and known for emergency cases.

The journey was a nightmare. I was vomiting and pooping. We made multiple breaks along the way. I could barely stand. I remember crying at the predicament I was in and regretting what I had done. By this time, most of my relatives knew about it. Some of them were on the way. But the pressing moment still lingered. How am I going to overcome this?

I was taken to ICU care quickly. I could see lights, whispers, and my family’s concerns. Saline bottles were injected. I was being closely monitored. But still, vomiting hadn’t stopped a bit. The smell of petrol was in the air. That night no one slept. The entire family was outside, waiting for an update. My mom was with me, helping me to use the restroom. Normalcy was returned by the early morning.

My body ejected every drop of petrol inside. But now doctors had to assess if there was any damage to organs. If there was any chemical contamination, effects would be too severe. In these cases, kidneys can be injured and can lead to organ failure. Before proceeding with advanced treatment, they needed to know my condition.

I was met by my relatives. The tension was present, but it wasn’t that intense. They were happy to see me normal. One of my relatives gave an ATM card to my mother and said, Use it for medical expenses. Don’t think about paying back. Just do what is necessary. Words still weigh to this day.

Luckily, I was discharged from the ICU. Tests were normal. No sign of tissue damage or contamination. I was safe. I was changed to the general ward. Medicines were given. The doctor advised me not to eat spicy foods for a while; otherwise, I would experience burning sensations. I didn’t for a week.

Two days later I was fully discharged and sent home. Drama ensued. We fought with our neighbors. My mom and grandmother accused them of coercing me to drink petrol. Tension rose, abuses were given and taken, and silent treatment followed. Despite me saying I wasn’t influenced by anyone, no one listened. Perhaps because I was too young.

Since I took a week off from my school, my classmates didn’t know why I was absent for so long. But news spread, not just to my classmates. The entire school. Teachers and seniors would stop and ask me what happened. Apparently, no one believed my version of the story. Looking back at the incident, I feel it just happened; no one is to blame but myself.