One Visit, A Million Thoughts

     It was a brutal day for my mind. A mind previously calm was misbehaving like an adamant 3 year old. Suddenly, I felt different. My thought process had taken a different turn all together. There was a need to attain satisfaction and contentment. I felt like a criminal for no reason whatsoever. A sudden urge to change came from within. 

   It was a usual Bangalore morning. I was into the second week of my semester holidays. Following my years of tradition, I spent the first week doing what I do best, doing nothing. Sleeping, eating and watching TV shows was all I did. This morning, I was up early because my mother had given me an errand. The previous day, my house keeper(I find the word maid very offensive) had requested my mother to accompany her to a hospital as her child was very sick. This was because, my house keeper, like millions of women in India, in the below poverty line wasn't properly educated and she wanted an "English speaking person" to help her in the hospital. As my mother had a meeting that day, I was entrusted with the job of accompanying my house keeper and her kid to the hospital. And as usual, I wasn't given full information as to where, what and some such interrogatives.

   Sharp at 8 30 AM, she came with her kid. I was waiting for her arrival. She told me she wanted to go to Kidwai Memorial Hospital. Kidwai memorial hospital is one of the top facilities in Bangalore for cancer treatment. The moment she mentioned Kidwai, I was taken aback. Why would she want to take a little kid to a cancer hospital unless the kid had......it was a little brutal just to think of it.

I merely asked her "Yaake Kidwai ge hogbeku...Yaaru nimge hogakke heliddu(Why do we have to go to Kidwai...Who asked you to go there)?". Her reply was "Nanige gottilla...ondu doctoru magu ge bere chikitse kodbeku...Kidwai ge karkond hogi antha helidru(I don't know...A doctor told the kid might need different treatment and he asked me to go there)". I was shaken from head to toe. I merely nodded without uttering a word and called an auto rickshaw to take me to that place. All the time during this small conversation, her 7 year old boy had an innocent, typically childlike gleam in his eye and an "ignorance is bliss" kind of smile on his face. He looked abnormally frail and was slightly feverish. 

   During the travel from my house to Kidwai in the typical, annoying traffic, I learnt that over the last month, the kid had severe bouts of head ache, vomiting, gum bleeding, fever and even a few occasions of fainting. She even told me that she had visited 3 doctors before and none could figure out what it was. She mentioned that only the third doctor she went to asked her to visit Kidwai. Sadness was most visible on her face when she mentioned that she had spent 3000 rupees on doctors and medicines over the last one month. Yes, in India, 3000 rupees is a colossal sum in a lower middle class household. A part of me twisted and turned as she told me the happenings. If she goes to Kidwai and the suspicion of the third doctor is true, she would be crushed and her financial condition would fall apart like a hut caught in a tornado.

    At around 9 45 AM, we reached Kidwai. I helped her fill out a host of forms. And we were told that we had to submit the kid's blood sample in the lab and the doctor would see us with the report at 12 noon. The officials spoke to us with typical arrogance, the style in which the so called "higher class of people" treat the poor in this country. After giving the blood sample at 10 30 AM, I had a good 90 minutes to spend before we saw the doctor.

  That 90 minutes, I have to be honest was the most thought provoking and the cruelest of my life. The surroundings, the people, their actions, their activities, tears, smiles, anguish, glee, it had everything, obviously for different reasons. People from different parts of the city, state and even country came for treatment of the dreaded and mostly fatal disease, cancer. Every class of people-rich, poor, Hindu, Muslim, Christian etc were there for a single reason, treatment and above all, a new lease of life. The place saw more sincere prayers than what a temple, mosque or church would ever see. Prayer, in its real form was seen. Some of them cried, some of them wailed, some of them held up until the threshold was reached before an outburst. 

   

   Every report that was printed was received with more anxiety than a 12th standard result. A positive report meant doom and a negative report meant peace. So different from the outside world, isn't it ? It was that part of the world, where a mere mortal, a doctor was seen as a godly figure. His words were the scriptures. So much of hopefulness existed, which during most times was washed away by the monstrous disease. It was a place where quotes like "Live your life, don't merely survive" didn't apply. Survive is the only thing people wanted to do and their kith and kin wanted them to do. You would be consumed into the sadness and gloom that persisted there.

     The worst part was several kids, who had years of life ahead were given chemo shots at an age where they were supposed to be given vaccination shots. Some of them were in the final stages with no facial hair, bodies which looked like frail beans, droopy eyes and withered skin. They were unwillingly knocking at the door of death. Some more of them were still in the early stage, just diagnosed, probably going for their first session of treatment. They were mostly accompanied by petrified parents. A little more of them were happy. They were the lucky ones whose reports announced that their little bodies were devoid of cancer. And yes, their parents were happy. Happiness took a new definition on their faces. 

  

     I was suddenly pushed out from this wave of thoughts by my house keeper who slowly reminded me that she was being called by the doctor and requested me to come with her. Damn, those 90 minutes were quick. We went to the doctor's room. The doctor confirmed that the child had first stage of Leukemia and had to be admitted immediately for further treatment. A bomb had been dropped on her. As the doctor explained her what cancer was, she cried and cried. She just couldn't bear the fact that her child wouldn't be with her for a long time. She begged the doctor to cure her kid. Any person who witnessed the happenings would have shed a tear. To be honest, without an ounce of shyness, I will admit that I did shed a tear. I had never witnessed such a thing before. A mother's love, a family's hope and despair, it was very, very touching. What broke me was, when his mother was in the saddest conversation of her life with the doctor, the kid asked me "Anna, mummy-ge yenaithu, naanu enaadru tappu maadudna(Anna, what happened to mummy...did I do anything wrong) ?" No part of the child knew what he was going to undergo. 

       I helped them with the admission formalities and left for my house. I was disturbed and troubled after all that I saw. I had never seen such a thing ever in my life. That was the day I really wanted to change. I realized that I wanted a Nexus, a bike, a laptop, passes for a cricket match but several people in the world wanted only one thing. Gift of survival. I fought with my mother because she didn't prepare coffee the way I wanted it but someone out there is fighting with a disease to survive. I got peace of mind by going to a hill station but someone out there got peace of mind by getting to know that the number of cancer cells had reduced in their body. I cried because Australia lost a match by 1 run but a family somewhere cried because their family strength had reduced by 1. 

     I felt sad, beaten, guilty and provoked. I felt a sudden urge inside me to change and change soon. I wanted to be satisfied in life. I realized that life is short, too short to carry grudges, for fights and for strained relationships. Suddenly Love and Hope seemed like two live individuals behind whom I wanted to run. 

 The above bunch of words are mere fiction.