The Rainbow

I do not like the sound of the hooting ambulance. It scares me when I am on the road driving. I start steering my vehicle to the right and left in the thick of Mumbai’s traffic because I want the ambulance to pass and give me relief. So, when it is my turn to be in the ambulance, no matter how urgent it may be for me to reach my family to the safety of the hospital, I ask the driver to put the lights on but to keep the hooter on silent mode.  On one such ride, about five years ago, when we were taking my mother-in -law to the hospital, somewhere near Mumbai Central, I made the same request to the driver who seemed quite surprised considering the fact that the distance to be covered was quite a lot and the patient did not look good at all. Good that my wife stood by my decision and we had it our way.

As we reached the hospital, the staff was ready and immediately took the patient for some quick tests which were explained by the resident on duty after consulting the Head of Department that my mother-in-law had to be immediately admitted to the ICU. We were asked to fill up a number of forms and make a handsome advance payment. One of us had to stay back with the patient and the daughter said that she would be there for as long as it was required. Wonder why in our mythological stories and in our society, till this very day, people seek divine help for a son to be born to them when a daughter often does much more for them when the time comes?

Next morning, when I reached the hospital, with a change of clothes for D, the waiting area of the ICU was brimming with activity with many people. This is one place which is completely cut off from the rest of the world. People here may look sad and down but there is a strange camaraderie among the in-mates, if I may call them, with each trying to their bit for their own people and also going out of the way to help others. Only they understand each other. The outside world does not exist for them, nor does this place exist for the outside world. Each has its own pulse, each moves in its own rhythm. Here people exist in the present, for every moment is precious here, every moment brings hope, comfort and even loss.  It is my personal opinion that this is the holiest place on earth for all Gods, Goddesses are remembered irrespective of caste, creed or religion and they surely descend to give their divine boon of life to many.

I went and sat next to D and enquired about her mother. She said that the senior doctor attending was doing the rounds and post that he would let her know what course of action would be initiated. In that crowd of sad people, I could see a few of them were different…..when I say they were different, they truly were different. I walked up to the water cooler trying to pour myself a glass of water but actually wanting to take a closer look at these folks. They seemed pre-occupied with their own talk and one of them even gave me a knowing smile. I had to reciprocate and quickly made my way back to where D was sitting and waiting for the doctor to come and talk to her.

After a while, I left for work and then returned at mid-day to relieve D for a couple of hours so that she could go back home, freshen up and then return again. By now we knew that the patient had to undergo surgery the next day and the doctor had told us about the dangers of the procedure in view of the patient’s age and condition. D was upset and she had every reason to be. There was a sense of fear and helplessness. When D was gone, the waiting room was relatively less crowded. My eyes once again fell on the three people in sarees who were now sitting quite close to where I was seated. One of them looked at me and folded her hands…I was forced to reciprocate by making the namaskar gesture.

Mataji kaisi hain…..How is Mataji?….she asked in her deep and husky voice.

The doctor has said that she will need to undergo surgery tomorrow.

Don’t worry. She will be fine. This is a good hospital and the doctors are dedicated here. Everything will be fine….Saying this she raised her hands towards the roof as if saying Allah will take care of her.

Thank you. Who in your family is unwell that you’re here?

Hamari Appa…Our mother. She is here for the last eight days.

I am sure she will get well soon.

I started reading the newspaper after turning my head away from her. I was wondering as to what had come over me that I was talking to them? All my life I have made fun of these folks. As a kid, I would rush to the homes where a baby was born or someone had got married to watch them. These people would inevitably land up in colourful sarees and clap their hands in a typical fashion, showering blessings and seeking money or gifts. When they were not given clothes of their choice or enough money, the scenes could turn ugly. Then, when I grew up, I would often come across them on local trains and crossings on the road where they would once again clap in their style and seek money. In all my over fifty years, I had never spoken to one of them, apart from a few monosyllables, and here I was chatting, as if with an old friend, both trying to pep the other up in the face of trying times.

After a while, D returned and we had coffee in the cafeteria. We spoke on a lot of things but I did not tell her about my conversation in the waiting room. Was I ashamed? Maybe…maybe not…for I was not sure how it would be understood. No matter how much I tried to convince my better half that we could take turns to stay at the hospital at night, she was firm and I agreed.  She wanted to do everything possible for her mother and I was not going to deny it to her. As I was leaving D, one of them spoke up…

Don’t worry. We are here. If she needs anything, we will help her.

Thank you….and I left with a feeling that D was not alone in the hospital. Strange it may seem but that’s how I felt…reassured by people I never considered as my own, people who I always made fun of and people who were objects of sneer and shame for most of us.

Next day, I had an important meeting that I could not abstain from and the brave daughter sat through the operation procedure all alone…..maybe not. I prayed that she would get some company and help of others whose fathers, mothers, brothers, husbands and children were no better than her mother….terribly unwell and needing intensive care. I reached the hospital as soon as my meeting got over and by then the surgery was done. The doctor said that the operation had gone off well and the patient would now take some time for recovery but we had to wait for next forty eight hours before anything could be said with certainty. After a while, D left for home and I stayed back in the waiting room. 

We were now being allowed, one by one, to go into the ICU to see our respective patients. As I entered, I was given the direction of the bed where my mother-in-law was lying. I tip-toed to her and saw her head was bandaged and she had tubes attached all over. Her eyes were closed but she looked at peace. Surely the operation would have gone off well or else the pain would have reflected on the patient’s face? I spoke to the attending nurse there who also reassured me that the patient was responding well to the medication. I felt somewhat relieved and as I was going out of the ICU, I peeped behind the curtains where Appa was lying….I knew her bed number well for my new found friends had told me about it.

Hmmmm….she looked exactly like my mother- in- law….old…eyes shut…tubes attached all over and machines ticking all around….there was just no difference….I felt like saying…

Bhagwaan ka ghar ho (In the House of God)
Ya aspataal ka dar ho (Or the doorstep of the hospital)
Yahaan sab ek (Everyone’s the same here)
And when we step out of these two places, we start drawing lines.

I asked Shanti….Who is Appa and how are you related?

Appa is our mother in this world. She picks up children who are abandoned by their parents and gives them shelter. She even tried sending us to schools but they would not allow us in. She then tried to help us with teachers who would come to our locality to teach the kids but somehow our struggle for survival and basic needs of food and clothing made us skip the classes after a while and venture out in the world where we could make ends meet. If the police harassed us, as they often did, she would help us. She took care of us when we were unwell. She is now very old and sick, so all of us contribute a small sum daily to make sure she gets the best treatment. It is not easy for us to sustain a patient in such a big hospital but with God’s grace, our daily collections outstrip our requirements. Help is pouring in for Appa from everywhere. She is not just a mother to us but our God Mother.

I was speechless and for the first time felt a sense of guilt and remorse for how indifferent I had been all my life to this segment of people.

The next day when I came back in the afternoon, I noticed that Shanti and her mates were not there. Even before I asked D about her mother, I asked….Where Shanti and the others today?

The old lady died this morning. About ten of them came and they took her away quietly. They all had tears in their eyes and they disturbed no one as they took turns to go in and pay their respects to Appa and later they all gently rolled her stretcher towards the lift. One of them even came and put her hand over my head in a gesture of blessing and then left. I will miss them.

We went to the cafeteria and ordered for a coffee each and some sandwiches. While eating, D started talking about Appa and her children on how much of help and support they were during her night stays from fetching water, talking to her and giving her company. I nodded my head….I know…..

I didn’t know earlier but now I surely know…

The sky is blue
The sea is green
And the world is a rainbow
With a colour and place for all.

Picture courtesy: Internet

SS