Walking with Krishna: Based on True Life Events

Walking with Krishna: Based on True Life Events

by Dipal Parikh


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Inspired by true life events, comes the story of a young Rutgers University student who had lost his memory after getting into a life changing car crash. His life turned upside down as he could not remember anything... from who he was, to who his parents were, where he went to college, what he studied, his friends, girlfriend, and that he once had a passion for dance. After being diagnosed with Retrograde Amnesia, Dipal was basically starting over; rediscovering his own life and other new experiences, almost like he was a child again in a 20 year old's body. No one knew if Dipal would ever regain his memory. This is Dipal's journey, in his own words, as he rediscovers himself through family and friends, his lost passion for dance, with unfortunate lessons on how society can treat those they do not understand... all with a little help from the God within and the lessons of learning how to truly let go

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781468561173
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 04/23/2012
Pages: 322
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.72(d)

Read an Excerpt

Walking with Krishna

Based on True Life Events
By Dipal Parikh


Copyright © 2012 Dipal Parikh
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4685-6117-3

Chapter One

May 20th, 2007- A Night to Remember

It was a Sunday night. Everything seemed too good to be true. I found myself in the middle of all my students who were from ages six to ten years old. They were all dressed up in their dance costumes; the costumes looked pretty bright and shiny as they were supposed to be all dressed up to be in the spotlight - it was their end of the year dance recital. We were on the stage left side line of the dance floor hall at the State Theater in New Brunswick, New Jersey. This was the Paramus NJ, small group, one of the two groups I taught part-time with Arya Dance Academy.

I kneeled down and said, "Guys, guys, hey hey, gather around put your hands in, come on, look, you already know this dance inside and out, now you gotta show everyone else ok, just do one thing for me and when you dance, just remember to have the biggest smile on your face and be happy, can you guys do that for me, k, Arya on three, one ... two ... three.... ARYA!"

The lights dimmed down, and the announcer said the next dance number that was about to begin. I walked onto the stage to place the kids in their proper positions, and went back to stage left looking on. The lights came back on and the music had started. As much as was already going on in my life, drama, family ordeals, college struggles, and relationships, seeing those kids dance away with the brightest costumes shimmering in the spotlight, dance relieved everything away as always. All my pain was gone instantly. I cheered and clapped on like a crazed fan from the side, they were my students, and I wanted to encourage them on.

My mom, my younger sister Ekta, mom's best friend Chhaya and her daughter all came to see the show and saw me on stage towards the end when the teachers made a final appearance and received flowers and a plaque for teacher appreciation. When Rupal called my name, the founder and director of Arya International, I came on with a big smile on my face and thanked her, "Thank you Rupal Aunty." That didn't quite sound too appealing to her as she is young and hip, but still only several years older to me. However, it did fly with the audience as they all got a little laugh out of it. After that moment the night ended too quickly, especially for me. Mom and everyone left with her friend in their car, and I was heading home the same way I came, alone in my car, my babey.

"Good bye Rupal Aunty."

Later Dipal, oooo before you go, pictures pictures. -Rupal

All right all right.

After the pictures were taken, Ravish came up to me and I guess he was just being nice and all, because we never really talked, he was a very important person in Arya Dance Academy. He was hired by Rupal from none other than film city Mumbai, India, or Bombay as the Gauras call it. He's the bollywood choreographer who basically trains the senior dancers and is one hell of an amazing dancer himself.

Dipal man, stay back. –Ravish

Nah Dude, this is your night, have fun with your Yeh Raat crew. (The senior troupe Hindi song)

We were shaking and holding each other's hands at this point when he told me ...

Dipal, me and you, we will do a dance, me and you, take care man. –Ravish

Yeah ... sure, that's cool, you take care too, bye.

I didn't know what to make of that, and thought "Righhhtttttttt" back to reality; I need to get my butt home before mom starts yelling and getting mad at why I'm out so late especially now that I was home on the weekends. Man, living under her roof is like lock down, you got to always tell her who your with, where you're going, does she know them, do you have any money, when will you be back, and pick up your damn phone whenever she calls, even if it's in the middle of a dance recital and she's right there in the second row watching on. Ugh ... Indian parents, chill back.

Surprisingly, there weren't that many police officers on the roads and highways on my way back home from New Brunswick. But still, I lived an hour and half away. I couldn't risk it; I could still hear my father's voices in my head.... "Go slow betta, dhere ja." It's like Dad, chill back, I got this, I aint no rookie you know. I was 19 years old, been driving for nearly two years now, when I sped, I speeded, it was Jersey, the limit saying 65mph really meant going 80mph. For some strange reason I started to get hungry and went to the Suburban Diner before I came home, spent about a half hour there eating just mozzarella sticks. Only thing open at close to midnight was just diners, nothing else was open, I didn't care, I needed food, and knowing mom, her fridge is filled with food, but non eatable foods, like all immigrant families. I ordered mozzarella sticks and marinara sauce, and a Pepsi to go with that. Life was amazing when you're a vegetarian, yeah pretty much, they need more of a variety over there, it was either the sticks or a veggie garden burger, and my stomach knows it cannot handle diner garden burgers, ugh. What can I say, that's all I wanted even though I was vegetarian.

Mr. Aliano, my 8th grade student teacher for history class was there that night with what appeared to be his family. I said hello and good bye before he and I both left. I hadn't seen him in years, and he still remembered my face, I don't know how, I was growing out my beard and hair, it was getting a bit too shaggy, I didn't know why, but I liked the way I looked in it, though some people have told me otherwise ... mom especially.

I left the diner around midnight and took the Century Road exit to cut the cross street Fairview avenue where my house street gets off from. The speed limit there was 35mph, and in a residential zone so I never took chances, especially when there were hardly that many people on the road on at this hour. I was nearing three to four blocks away from my house street, Haase Ave. I was going straight on the two lane street, when on the opposite side of me another car was making a right turn onto a street, and a car behind it jumped the gun and came on to my lane.


Made a quick ass sharp right turn, and hit the top curb of the street block as I was now going down the hill of the church street, literally the block before my street.


My brakes, wouldn't budge, what the hell was up with that shit? I looked down, and from the back a packaged water bottle of Poland Spring got caught underneath my brake. This must have happened as I hit the curb as I made the hard right to avoid a head on collision with the other car, UGH, stupid woman drivers.


The bottle wouldn't budge at all. Ok, let me take off this stupid seatbelt, and so I did, and bent forward and down to reach the bottle. Never mind that since I am actually going downhill, I am actually picking up speed and accelerating now, to speeds nearing 50mph.


As I was lifting the water bottle, my car hit with full force head on an island curb in the middle of the church parking lot. The steering wheel was only inches from my face as I was bent down to pick up the bottle. The last thing I remember was the rapid flush of the airbag popping out. It was so fast that it jerked my head back against the back head rest of my driver's seat with such force. I dropped the water bottle which rolled back underneath my seat, and my head kept hitting back and forth against back seat and airbag. I was completely knocked out. I was unconscious at the scene of the car accident when the Paramus police officers and paramedics arrived. It seemed strange to them as they all were intrigued to find out the cause of the situation. They were unable to interrogate or interview me as I was still unconscious at the scene when they arrived. They put me on the stretcher and in a neck cast. The New Jersey Police Crash Investigation Report, stated in their 135 Crash Description:

{Veh #1 entered the parking lot of 234 Farview Ave. and struck a curbed median. Front airbags deployed. The driver was unresponsive, thus officers were unable to interview him. Treated at scene by EMS #1 and ALS #401 and transported to HUMC.}

Date of the crash was May 21st 2007, as it happened a half hour to an hour after midnight. During the ambulance ride to HUMC (Hackensack University Medical Center) was when I first regained my consciousness, and was that an experience. They opened up my eyelids and flashed a strong LED light close to my eyes snapping me wide awake. I could move little as I was strapped onto a stretcher and had a cast around my neck and head. The paramedics started asking questions.

Hey buddy, hey hey, look at me, can you tell me what happened? (The paramedic officer asked)

Huh, what? What's going on? – I was clueless ...

Hey hey, you tell us that, you got into a car incident, what happened?

My head, oh ow, my head, my head my head my head!

Dude, did you strap on the brace to tight I think? – EMS Officer 1 said to the other

I thought it was alright, lemme recheck it. – EMS Officer 2

Hey listen, are you ok? Do we need to take you to the hospital? – EMS1

Hospital? Where am I now?

Call HUMC, make sure their expecting another one tonight, hey can you tell me your name?- EMS1

Name? My name? No, I don't know name

This kid better not be pulling something from House MD on me –EMS1

Dude, I think he hit his head rather hard then we thought, check for swells or bruises – EMS2

There's nothing –EMS1

We gotta get him in, it could be internal. –EMS2

Ow my head, my head.

Alright, strap him down, hey can you tell me what year it is? – EMS1

His license is 1987 issued, makes him what 19 right now. – EMS2

Yeah, kids can't drive these days, can they not see a freaking curb before they hit into it, such a waste of time man. – EMS1


K, he's a bit messed up, we're taking him in. –EMS2

I had no idea what happened. I didn't know where I was ... hell? I didn't know who I was or what I even looked like. Was I that messed up to be in a stretcher strapped in? Was I really involved in a car accident? What was name? Did I have a name? What was year? What was year 1987? Why was this thing I was strapped into moving? Why do I hear such strange noises that sound so irritating? So many questions had kept on coming from all different angles into my mind. My head was pounding, like someone was drilling an iron into it. From hindsight I know that it was the sirens creating the noises, it was really the year 2007, and my name was, is and will be Dipal ... or so they told me at that time.

Chapter Two

At the Hospital

I never knew I would be wearing a hospital gown until I actually had to. I didn't know where to even put my hands through or my legs but I did anyway with help from my roaming eyes looking at other patients in the E.R. room. I was already transferred to this bed with all these little things attached to it and poles sticking out and these long drape things hanging over, which were really known as curtains. I didn't know where I was, some type of place where they treat people like me I guessed. Were they all clueless there too? I thought. They had already taken the neck brace off me gently as it didn't bother me that much without it on anymore. My head was still throbbing from the inside, this time smaller shots of pain coming ever so often but not killer as a half hour before. The lady, also known as a nurse came to me as so many people were going this way and that way and I couldn't concentrate on any one thing because it was so busy, apparently.

So how are you? I'm just going to check on a few things, k? Give me your hand.

My hand?

She held her's out to get mine so I did just the same.

Oh, yes hand.

Now give me a squeeze


She gently squeezed her hand and I responded back just the same.

Hmmm, let me just check a few more things, just put your head back and relax for me, and

keep your eyes open for me ok?

Yeah sure ...

She checked on my heart rate and pulse, and wrote down other things on her sheet pad as she did something with her face, it was a smile, and said,

The doctor will be here shortly, mm k?

Doc door? Ok

She left from the side of the curtains as a man with a black coat and a black hat came up from behind her. He had hair underneath his nose and had these eye thingers on. It was a mustache and glasses Dipal ... jeez.

Dipal beta, kevu che? –Dad (Dipal son, how are you?)

Huh? I don't know.... You ...? (Giving an utterly confused expression)

It was my father; I did not even recognize him. My father was talking in our native tongue of Gujarati, and asked how I was. I did not know what language or what dialect or what on earth he was saying, it sounded like gibberish coming from his mouth or to me it was.

Dipal ... it's me, tha ne kevu che? –Dad (... How Are You?)

Who are you?

The nurse intervenes and basically explains to him what the situation was. Another lady, behind the nurse, shorter, a little more rounder with the same glass thinger on her face but had much shorter hair came up to me along the bedside. It was my mother, also wearing glasses, and has a boy cut, as it's apparently the new look on women her age.

Dipal? Mommy chu beta, how are you? -Mom

Huh? I really don't know you ... I'm ... I'm ... sorry.

Don't be sorry, I'll see you a little later. –Mom said last before she closed the curtains and started this hugging touching thing with the other man who was inside previously before her, and the nurse tried to calm them down and explain the situation. My mom was crying, and my dad was trying to comfort her, sucks knowing that your son has failed to recognize you, ouch, that would hurt any mother I'd bet.

I sat there, and didn't see those two people again, for a while, and after 15 minutes or so the same nurse came in along with another person, I knew who it was. It was the doc door. The doc door looked at me and talked to the nurse saying things that I could not clearly make out. They decided to take me to another corridor for something called X-Rays and internal X-Rays, mostly concentrating on the area where I told them was hurting me ... my head. The services were long and tedious, but as described and done to me that early, early morning of the 21st of May were IV insertions, oxygen set up, CT head/brain without dye, two chest views PA & L, cervical sp, min four vie, pelvis-AP only, a single drug screen, urinalysis auto without mic, initial evaluation, intermediate service and ketorolac tromethamin. The attending physician at the time was a lady, Kathleen O'Hara, MD.

Everything seemed to check out fine, and it disturbed some of the doc doors and nurses a little to figure out a specific diagnosis for me, whatever diagnosis meant. They shifted me again to some other wing across the ER side where the Psycho doc doors work. This man came to me as I waited in an empty room isolating me from the other patients in the busy emergency room. He was tall, seemed old and had no hair like my supposed father had, but not by that much. He didn't have the glass thingers on and he asked me questions.

Deepaul, how are you, so what seems to be the reason for you to be here?

Huh? I don't know, they brought me here.

Who brought you here?

The people in the too roo roo sounding box thing.

What? Deepaul were you being followed? Did you have plans to commit suicide tonight?

What? Soo side? Comet? Huh?

Hmmm, I'll just be a minute, outside with your father.

I had no idea what was going on, these questions seemed harder than the ones before, not as easy as what was your name and all, but soo side? Who is soo? And which side was he talking about? Man oh man, that was irritating my head a little, but the two men, one of them this psycho doc door and the other my apparent father were conversating outside, where my father kept nodding his head up and down like a robot machine I saw earlier as the psycho doc door talked to him, out of my ear range for me to get or hear anything at all. A little while later my father comes in and says we were going home. They put me in a wheel chair, and took me to some small facility as they gave me some socks and shoes, as I caught on that everyone was wearing them on the bottom of their bottoms. I put them on, as my dad puts his black coat thing around me. They have discharged me from the hospital. What was discharged? Discharged to what and where though? To this new place called home? What was home? Where was home? What is a home? Does this home have a name like I do?

More questions came as my father put me in a similar looking thing as was the one that brought me to the hospital. It was a car. I read the sign where it said, CARS ONLY. We sat in a car as my dad used some small jingling thing that brought the car to life. The car was alive, all the lights and buttons and sounds and stuff started flashing and ringing and beeping and this thing was strapped around me as my father put me right next to him, calling it the passenger side. This wasn't home I guessed, it was the car.


Excerpted from Walking with Krishna by Dipal Parikh Copyright © 2012 by Dipal Parikh. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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