India Visit

 Going back to India this summer was a tumultuous ride, much like the one you'd experience when riding the autorickshaw. First there is the thrill of riding in the auto. Then there's the discomfort of the hard, narrow seat. Then there's the hot wind that circulates.

You don't quite know what to make of it, on the one hand, you appreciate it, because of how hot it was, standing on the side of the road, flagging scores of auto drivers, who treat you like you're transparent, until the one, who agrees to the fare, albeit reluctantly. He was hoping that the customer would be the one going long distance, and all I was to go was a couple of miles.

On the other hand, you are constantly reminded of how it feels when you open a hot oven, cranked to 500 deg.F with a cast iron pizza stone sitting in it and how squeamish you feel with sweat trickling down the small of your back and making you writhe, but that is uncomfortable too.

In a mere 10-12 minutes, after a minor signal violation, which you encouraged, you reach the destination. Hand over the money, not caring if you've given a little over the meter, only because you want to enter the cool shadowy interior of the building, which is just a few degrees cooler than outside.

In all these adventures, you also encourage your teenager to 'adapt'. Which basically means, "look kiddo, I want to go home, even if it means sharing a ride. That means, if there are 2 passengers in the auto, I still want to get in, be the third passenger. And because you are the skinny person in this equation, you ride shotgun."

The child braved it and happily. He willingly squeezed himself in beside the auto driver and rode all the way home. We bounced in our seats like potatoes when the auto went over some major potholes or even skirted over the minor ones. I groaned and cursed. The child merely said, "why can't they fix the roads?" That is one question every Mumbaikar has asked over and over and for decades. I'll let my teen know when there is an answer.

Just like the answer I seek for his, "why do they honk incessantly?" This, I felt was rich, coming from the child, who at signals, encourages me to honk (in the USA) at the car in front, if the driver isn't alert, "honk! honk India style Mom" are his exact words. This time he was exposed to a wide range of honking, which coupled with jetlag in the first few days, left him bewildered. It left me cranky to the point where I severely admonished a driver for honking. His expression, now that I think of it, was priceless. No one, and I mean no one says anything about honking. Everyone just, honks. and loudly. And to have someone chastise you for doing what comes naturally, is perplexing.

I have woken up at 3:00 am, roused out of deep sleep to the musical toot of a truck. One even had the infamous Nagin dance tune (to those unaware of the Nagin dance tune, Bollywood has this fixation with snakes. There are movies where the venomous snakes magically transform into humans who sing, dance and writhe sensuously to music. The picture below is not my own, it is a random Google search). And while it was fine in a movie, to be reminded of it in the small hours of the night is rather unpleasant.

Sridevi in Nagina Pic Courtesy: Google search

With all these (many undocumented) ups and downs, the best part was getting to spend time with my father. It hurt, a lot, that my mother wasn't at the door to welcome me with a happy smile and a warm welcoming hug. But I have my Father, I am grateful.

I'd brave anything to be able to spend time with him, even the really unpleasant flight with the unpleasant food. But! that (mis) adventure deserves a post of its own.

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This void is unfathomable.

 

A year ago, today (Oct. 2022) I planned a small 2 week vacation. I had plans to go home, to meet my parents. I was beyond excited. I was leaving on the last day of Diwali, but that was ok, I get to celebrate Diwali twice, I told myself and my parents. 

As I got in my cab to go to the airport, just for that fraction of a second, I had this queer feeling. Just like a strange fear. I ignored it, nerves, I told myself, almost like I was trying to convince myself. 

Now when I look at things in my mind, I see it all so clearly. I was waiting to catch my next flight, when a lady went to the restroom and did not return for a long time. Her husband panicked and since we spoke the same language, I tried to help and went looking for the lady. 

Eventually, they were reunited and I made a call home  to let my mother know that I was about to board my Mumbai flight. My mother did not answer and that was strange. I tried over and over until finally my call was answered. But it was a strange voice, not mom. The lady said my mom had fallen and was unconscious and they were taking her to the hospital. My heart was in my throat and my breathing was difficult.

I reached home to a sea of worried faces. I ran in, dumped my bags and hugged my father, who looked so forlorn and careworn. Nobody said anything...

All I remember was assuring my father that I will take care of everything and then being whisked to the hospital, my backpack still on my back. On the way I was told she had suffered a brain aneurysm. I went blank.

 In the hospital, my mother was in the ICU. I felt my heart shatter. I didn't know if this was real. Am I in some peculiar dream during my layover? 

When she regained consciousness, my mother was so happy to see me, a little confused, but so happy! I couldn't get enough of her voice and her hugs, despite all those tubes sticking in her. 

I prayed like I have never prayed before.

This was the toughest time of my life and I've braved many a storm. 

During the time my mother was hospitalized, my father too, under the stress, had to be hospitalized twice and in a different hospital. I juggled my days and nights between two hospitals, dread tearing my very soul apart, every moment of the day. 

After nearly a month and a half in the hospital, my mother was discharged. Thin as a  rail and weak, but still smiling and braving everything. We moved her to a palliative care facility, given how severe her illness was. My father wanted to be with her, so he moved in with her. Everyday, she did a little better. Then one day, she sat up, pulled out the RT (feeding tube in her nose). I was aghast but thrilled. I don't know, but it felt like she was so much better! 

Everyday I applauded her strength and strong will power to overcome every obstacle thrown her way.

She emerged victorious.

Every. Single. Time...

It lulled me into thinking my Mother was invincible. Convinced me, nothing could harm her, nothing that she couldn’t fight and win.

She did fight. She fought off a brain aneurysm, a stroke and a cardiac event one after the other and made a fantastic comeback. The Drs. looked at her with open mouthed admiration.

She started her recover so well. On the fourth of January, she took her first independent steps! We all danced around her,  celebrating her recovery, which, given all that she had gone through, was nothing short of awe inspiring and amazing! We applauded her and celebrated her. Her beautiful smile and new found confidence shown in her eyes.

And then, on Thursday (Jan.5th.) morning, it all went wrong. HE had some other plan. One that deprived my father, my brother and I of the one person we loved more than HIM.

On Thursday morning, she had a stroke leading to a brain aneurysm. The damage this time was way more extensive than the first time and there was no hope. We had to let her go.

She went peacefully. Loved, cherished and respected by all.

Her heart was full of our love. Knowing she had repaid all her debts and more on earth.

She gave all, expected nothing. She raised us well. Made us capable. Gave us unlimited love.

But she never taught us how we could do without her.

This void is unfathomable.

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