Generations

 ‘Please don’t go father!

……That’s the way of all flesh’. - Cinderella [2015]

The view from O6 ward of Christian medical college is majestic. Set on high altitude, the block overlooks the city of Vellore and its historic fort. When you peer through the latticed windows, you can see vehicles and people just racing along on the roads like busy ants indulging in their daily pursuits. From such a distance, life also looks small and ephemeral. Into this cardio thoracic ward, my patient got admitted for undergoing a bypass procedure of the heart. Since I was the part of anesthesia team, I had dropped in to say hello.

My patient [lets’ call him Rakesh] was a 70 year old gentlemen. With balding grey hair and teeth that may fall off any moment, he was a verbose personality. He starts his conversation and does not give a chance for the listener to even intervene and break the flow of words. Doctors already suffer from a malady of not letting the patients talk enough. As I asked him what his problem was, he started narrating a story that dated back to his teen years. I was getting restless five minutes into conversation. But as I paid attention, his passion captivated me and the twinkle in his eyes amazed me. The next half hour of the meeting brought me one of the greatest life lessons.

Rakesh was a bank accountant. He also had a consultancy by which he helped people to manage their finances wisely. He was successful and built good reputation for himself in the city of Patna. He got married, had kids who are doing extremely well now. His wife who was akin was also in her sixties and a diabetic on daily medication. Rakesh retired and was leading a comfortable life. He decided to go on a Himalayan pilgrimage under the aegis of the government of India. He had enrolled for the tour and since the temples he had to visit were miles above sea level, he had his mandatory health check up. The doctors told him that his heart vessels were blocked. He was an athlete all his life and never had any health issues. He could not trust the medical camp and so he flew down to Vellore the next day for a second opinion.  It was confirmed that he had a heart problem severe enough to require a surgery.

As we were talking, his wife slowly trudged along with a heavy bag towards the bed.  She had gone to pay for the medicines and food. I offered my help to place her bags and requested her to have a seat. Priya { let’s call her that!} was also an equally energetic woman. She would burst into laughter explaining her husband’s antics of the years gone by. In the midst of all this camaraderie and joy, which is quite unusual before a major surgery, I felt something was very incomplete.

I could not but probe Rakesh about his children. The smiling face of Rakesh turned sore and tears began to roll down his ripe cheeks almost involuntarily. Priya added that whenever they talk of his kids, Rakesh himself breaks down like a kid. His two sons were engineers and passed out of  the IITs. Both of them are in the US. One works for the NASA as a project consultant and the other is a CEO of a software firm. They were not married yet and when they come back, Rakesh plans to get them partners.

I enquired when they would be coming. Rakesh sobbing along told me that they were too busy to come. So whenever they call him, he begins to cry like a child in boarding school embarrassing him and his offspring. It was not that Rakesh and Priya were lacking anything materially. Rakesh, in his long uninterrupted speech, mentioned that he donated crores of rupees for a local hospital. He still travels by air and keeps contacts with friends in high places. But as his tears flow down it was evident that he missed his kids during a life threatening event like a heart surgery. I consoled and assured him that his sons would soon visit him and his surgery would go just fine.

As I walked back the long corridors of the ward, I just opened my phone to see when I had called my mom last. The Asus Zenphone's pixelled screen displayed ‘3 days ago’. Life has become so busy that I did not even find time to call my parents and enquire about their well being. All my days go in work and whatever is left is wasted away by the sedation of anesthetic gases. As the chain of thought progressed, I imagined my dad in the place of Rakesh. Will I be with my parents in their most vulnerable moments or will I be busy constructing my own career? Will I be with them in their last few years or will I be too ambitious to look after them?

Life is too short. I can still feel my dad’s warmth as I hugged him under thick blankets in frosty winters. I can still remember jumping into his arms from a guava tree in our neighborhood. The taste of my dad’s fruit salad still lingers in my mouth. My mom’s words of love and patience still resonate in my ears.  I now recollect those pathetic moments when I questioned and rebelled against my parents’ wishes. I can still relive those moments when I doubted my parents love for me.

 Now I am married and have a daughter of my own. Our girl with drooling mouth and milk smeared face jumps over me in excitement as I come home shouting in joy- “ dadhee…..dadheee”! I can to some extent feel how my parents would have felt when I was harsh towards them. And parenthood like many other lessons it delivers makes one realize how grateful we have to be to our parents. Putting my child to sleep on a single day is like putting an INSAT in orbit in our home. My mother did it for almost a decade for me and my sis together, not out of helplessness but love. And each time when I find it difficult to deal with my daughter, my mind immediately raises a question- “ how did my parents manage me and my sister?”.

Three generations 

Rakesh had inadvertently gave me a strong advice on what parents mean in our lives. I called my mom instantly. My mother was cheerful as she received the call. I was glad to hear that all was well.

 “You must call more often son”, she said. I promised that I would be better next time.