Thursday, May 14, 2009

Bondings....


He lay on the bed. With needles and pipes coming out and going in at many points in his body, he looked weak, and somewhat in pain. She noticed he’d been staring at her, as she passed his bed, or made tea, or arranged his bed. She wondered why wasn’t he talking today. After all, she was the only one whom he was speaking to since the last few days. He would hold her hand, kiss her fingers, and with tears in his eyes say something she wouldn’t quite understand. But she understood one thing for sure: Her Dad was in great pain.

Last week, when the doctors put him on oxygen cylinders for the first time, she trembled with fear, a degree of apprehension kept her anxious, and she tried to visualize all the heroes-on-oxygen-scenes from the movies. Why, she had just turned 15 a few days ago, when her father gifted her a new dress, though expensive by the current standards. But, then, standards were not like this a few years ago, when her father’s business was doing good, and she was taught that she would get all the good things in her life if she would be a “good” daughter. Somebody called her Mom to another room, and after a few minutes, when all the see-we-are-here-in-your-bad-times relatives went out for a break, she was again alone with her Dad.

He lay peacefully, with his eyes closed. She felt his breath, and smiled to herself. He’d gone real thin, his fingers looked fragile; his face dull, with lines making graphs everywhere. His hairline was receding fast, and his neck showed loose skin. She touched him on his head, arms, hands, and neck. As if to make sure that the touch stays forever. She spent hours like this, sitting by his bed, pouring juice in the glass when he would need it, sometimes talking to him about family, friends who were here, what she learnt at school, and how her algebra problems were growing in numbers since he’d been here. It was the same everyday. Almost everyday.

After 3 days, when he was shifted to another room, she noticed he had not been talking to her much. His subject shifted from her to the family. He often said to her, ‘Darling, all my life I have brought you up as a son; promise me, promise me that if I go to the other world, you would take care of the family. Just as a SON.’

She promised

Another 2 days passed..

On the fateful day, as she held out his medicines to him, before leaving the hospital for the night, he refused to take them. In confusion, she called out for her Mom, who came in with a relative or two. All of them persuaded him to take the medicine, and he let out a huge cry. She dropped the glass of water; he hit her, and yelled at her to leave. She cried aloud. He cried aloud. The Mother cried aloud. And the relatives left the family in the room.

‘Tell her to go’.
‘But…wh..what did I do, Dad’.
‘Nothing. But can’t you leave?’
‘Sure, after you have this dose, I will go, as I have been all this week.’
‘No. Enough.’ Another glass crashed on the floor.
She ran down the stairs. Tears still flowing. Confusion over his behavior still prevailing. She went home and took a bath. She was upset over her father today. She was hurt. The crashing sounds of the glasses were still ringing in her ears. After she’d cried enough, she decided to watch her favorite show, The Tom and Jerry show, at 7 in the evening.


The doorbell rang.

Her mother on the door, alongwith a few other relatives.

Mom? At home? This time?

But she stayed at the hospital with her Dad.

She handed out a small piece of a tissue paper.

‘Darling, I couldn’t go till you were in front of my eyes.
I love you more than words can explain.
When you will grow up, you will understand how difficult it was for me to shout at you.
But it was the call from God.

Keep the promise, my Son.’


Some bondings are difficult to explain.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Light

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one,
Yet the light of the bright world dies,
With the dying sun….

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one,
Yet the light of the bright world dies,
With the dying sun……


F.N. Bourdillons