Why Me?

I recently watched many videos on YouTube on Rheumatoid Arthritis. The first time I heard that word was from a friend who said she had it. The videos disturbed me and I recalled snippets of her blog entries describing similar experiences.

This friend had first appeared in my high school class in the middle of an academic year. The Gulf war had broken out and they had to flee and come back to India. She was stout, with a big, round mouth and prominent teeth and a big laugh. In my eyes, everything was big about her except her hair. Her hair was short. Or what we called, bob cut. I, the villager, didn’t know then that there was a country called Kuwait. Since she had come from “foreign”, I thought she ate a lot of chocolates and was privileged.

Some people’s struggles with sickness are the stuff that many of us cannot imagine. But it resonates with people who suffer similarly; just as she has found strength and comfort in reading those that have suffered more than her. But is that the purpose of her life - to inspire others like her. Motivate those who may be having a harder time than her; to say to them, to not give up; to hold on for just a day more; to keep the faith. That despite her illness, she has found ways and means to share laughter and jokes, build friendships with people she may not have met in real life or renew those from her past – online. To experience the selfless love of her spouse who stood beside her like a rock of Gibraltar. That life can have meaning even when one feels there is none. That the daily chores of cooking, cleaning and washing can either turn into an unbearable drudgery or ways to engage one -self in tasks that keep one’s mind busy. She has lived through her illness with a lot of grace and strength. I wonder if she’d be the kind of woman she is if it weren’t for what she went through and is going through.

I have been reading a lot on the role of pain in human life. Is pain good? We all want to be happy. We actively chase happiness and do everything in our capacity to avoid pain.  Being healthy is a huge part of being happy. But what if pain befalls us? What if it is our destiny to be in a state of health that needed constant medical intervention, family support and care? How does one live through it? Why should I live through it?

Someone wrote it beautifully when he said the following. Here is a snapshot of the lines. 

Many of the stories of grief and sorrow, of loss, of bereavement, have the power to comfort another similarly suffering, weary soul. When we read some of the life experiences of people on the internet, we are thankful that our load is a lot lighter. That life truly is a gift, even when it sucks and you feel there couldn’t possibly be anything worse than this. That life is short. That some days are really good and pleasant even when there is an overcast sky outside. That family is everything. That family need not mean 10 siblings and 100 relatives. Sometimes, it’s just your spouse beside you and he alone is equal to an army. Many say grief is similar to death. When you go through something that is sorrowful, your old soul dies and you have to recreate your life from nothing but the will to live. You know that if you have been able to get through this, the worst, you can get through anything.

Pain cleanses and purifies us in a way that happiness cannot. I guess the people who suffer unbearable physical or emotional pain leave behind a whiff of hope - that all is still not lost. I remember reading the story of this labourer from Rajasthan who was gang-raped, and was left to die on a railway track. Her mother tried to make some money by brokering a deal with the rapists and then, abandoned her. She is fighting a legal battle, all alone. She is now working for an NGO and learning to read and write. One life and such power to transform the lives of others! 

Death

My daughter's best friend lost her father. Last year. She was in 5^th standard. Ten years old.

She didn't cry. Or rather, I didn’t see her cry. Two weeks later, when she came to our home, I didn’t see her sad or mourning or weeping. I was looking out to catch a tear waiting to roll down. There was none. So normal she was that I was appalled to see it.

But wait! Why was I so desperate to see her sad? Why was I scanning her eyes? Why was I waiting for her to start missing her father any moment now and maybe either start howling in sheer grief or sit in a corner and sob silently?

Is it because it pushed me to think of my own death? It made me wonder how would Tanvi my daughter, react when faced with a similar unfortunate and clearly mentally devastating situation, so early on in life. Will she also be “normal” in two weeks flat? Most importantly, do I WANT her to cry for days on end when I die?

I do. I do!

Oh My God! Did I just say that out loud? Such a vain woman! So vain! So utterly despicably vain!

Thoughts of mortality – are they morbid or actually uplifting and beneficial? Visiting my mortality, time and again, in my thoughts, over the years, has been a see-saw ride for me.

I have said this, to many people, many times, that if I live till 50, that’s all I ask. I don’t want a long life. 50 will do for me. And to think, that’s just another ten years ahead.

Sometimes, this thought of death is accompanied by a sense of urgency and unreasonable bouts of jealousy. Knowing that there are so many places I still have not visited and desperately, (yes, desperately in bold and red), want to see, and so little time to do it all. That makes me wonder if I will be an unhappy soul. An ‘atrapth atma’ (unfulfilled soul) roaming the streets pushing tourists off the cliff or drowning others as they splash in the beach or choking some as they relish their food in a fancy restaurant. Will I be doing that? Will I turn into a vengeful, dissatisfied ex-traveller snuffing out the lives of other seemingly happy travellers? I can very well see myself doing that! What a shame! But I swear, if I die before I have seen all the places I want to see and do all the things I want to do, I will come back and haunt YOU – You who are now onto your next lovely travel adventure.

Then my thoughts turn to my daughter. 11 years old now. How will she manage her life without her mother? The question is almost always followed by a long, thoughtful pause.  And then hits the piercing, stabbing-my-heart-till-it-bleeds-and-wets-the-floor realization. She will do just fine. She is far too practical and far less emotional than I have ever been. And that is both scary and comforting, at the same time.

It is scary because I am a selfish mother. Won’t she shed a few bloody tears bemoaning her great loss? Don’t I deserve a few months, (no, make it years), of sorrow for having given birth to her and raised her and then gone, wooof into thin air, leaving her all alone? I the mother, the creator, the nurturer, the nourisher - forgotten easily and surely – is that my fate?

It is comforting because for a mother there is no greater achievement than knowing that her daughter is confident. That she raised a girl who is self-reliant and can live her life without being a crutch. That all the sweat and sacrifice one endured has resulted in a child who will be just fine, even without you. That’s huge. I know. After all, isn’t that the whole purpose of parenting? To raise a young one such that one day they can set out on their own and not depend on you.

Sigh! I have to make peace with not getting those bucketful of tears.

Damn!

One Second

8th June: 2 days after Tanvi’s 5th birthday. She & I were crossing a road near our house. I was holding her hand. I looked to the right, saw a bike coming, stepped back & looked to the left. There was an auto approaching. By the time I looked again at the road ahead, Tanvi had left my hand & was running across. In a second, I saw the horrifying scene of her being hit by the auto. She fell down & the back wheels of the vehicle ran over her right foot. The next thing I know, I was carrying her in my arms, hugging & consoling her. She was showing her bloody (literally) foot to me & crying out, “Mummy, my leg.” She was completely shaken & scared. I lifted her, sat in the same auto & went to the nearest clinic. I’ll never forget what she said to me. We both were sobbing uncontrollably & out of nowhere she said, “Don’t cry mummy. I love you mummy. I’ll never leave your hand again. I’m sorry mummy.”



I remember a friend once telling me that a hospital is a depressing place. But the children’s ward is the worst. You feel so sad at what you see there, that it makes you want to kill yourself. I now understand what she meant. The past few days that Tanvi has been suffering, & especially the day the accident happened, seeing her in so much agony, tears streaming down her cheeks continuously, it’s a nightmare. I understand now why some people say, “Mere dushman ko bhi yeh sazaa na miley”. What do you say to a child who looks at you, full of hope & complete helplessness, & cries “mummy, it’s paining a lot”? I’ve felt so helpless.

Seeing her learning to walk again is heart-wrenching. Because every step she takes sends millions of pain shots through her body & she begs me, “Mummy, I can’t, too much pain.” I remember teaching her to walk when she was only an infant. It was such a pleasurable & memorable experience then. Today, it’s very painful for both of us - she can’t walk because of the excruciating pain & I can’t see her writhing like that but I have to.

One second’s haste has caused my child two fortnights of trauma & me & Sathya unending ache. One second was all it took for my daughter, who had just turned 5, to become confined to the bed, listlessly watching T.V. She is not the type of child to sit in one place for more than 10 minutes. She is so naughty that I’ve pleaded with her, “Enough for 1 day Tan please!!” She is always either busy climbing the railings of the building stairs or bouncing up & down the bed or running, walking, sliding, basically up to some mischief every waking hour. To see her now, unmoving, is a nightmare.

But I thank God that it was only a laceration. It’d have been worse, a fracture or something else, god forbid! And thank God because even though she hasn’t been able to walk, her appetite is good, she talks, smiles, laughs & even cracks jokes, like before. They say people turn out to be the exact opposite of what their names mean. Like, girl named Shanta grows up to be very short-tempered. I named her Tanvi because it means ‘a delicate girl’ & I wanted her to be strong. And I’ve realized that she is!