ITS SATURDAY MORNING HERE - THE OLDER KIDS HAVE GONE FOR SOCCER WITH MICHELLE AND YOUNGER ONES ARE WATCHING TV DOWNSTAIRS. AS I PLAY DAD'S FAVORITE SHABAD AGAIN AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN RECOLLECT THOSE MOMENTS OF LOSS, RATHER THE RECOGNITION OF LOSS, OF A GREAT MAN WHO WAS MY FATHER...
As I had mentioned earlier, Jan 26 was the day when I finally realised that dad had passed away from this world - in fact, I felt that dad had indeed died on Sunday night itself but this was possibly a way for me to come back and go through the process of last rites. Days before we were discussing the same issue and comparing dad's situation with that of Bare Daddy (Baba virji's father).
Coming back to the hospital that night was tough - first, I met with Micky virji outside and talked about arrangements for dad's funeral, then Sonu and I faced the reality together but cried separately - this may have happened in the morning. Finally, I faced mom and she wanted to know all the details - Micky virji had warned me not to share my assessment of things but give a straight forward answer (with some hope mixed into it) - and I could not resist telling exactly what I felt.
Most of the moments of that night are unclear now, but I clearly remember the conversation with mom. After stalling it again and again, while she went back and forth from dad's side to the waiting room, mom finally sat down and gave me 100% attention - curiosity had gotten better of her. I wonder if she had already heard the other report from Mrs. Khanna's side...
Anyways, as we sat down and mom had me cornered and my stalling was no good, she asked me again. This time I could not resist and asked if I was talking to the wife or the doctor. Although her prompt answer was doctor, I knew that I was talking to the wife but again, my American self could not resist to give a straight answer. Eventually, I do wonder if that made any difference at all as we still clung to hope for next 4-5 days until dad's heart finally gave in.
"Brain dead!" That's what I told mom - did you hear it? I said brain dead mom, but she was in a different world, as if she could not hear me! No, that may not have been the words that the doctor used, but Mini didi and I were very direct with him and again and again confirmed our fears - you mean he is brain dead? said Mini didi...no, that's not what you mean - you mean he may come out of it? she retorted again; yes, there is hope, even 1%? should we bring him to escorts - anywhere you want it doctor...so desperate was Mini didi - my desperation was of a quiet kind. Can Apollo do anything? would you like to see him - here are the cat scans - what are you saying doctor...not even that much hope - Brain dead?
Yes mom, dad's Brain dead - he probably passed away on Sunday night itself but the people in the first hospital were able to revive his heart and that started the hope process - that ten plus minutes of no breathing between home and the hospital were totally overlooked; but again, I am thankful for that - I would not have any material to write about....
I saw the desperation in my mom's eyes at that time - surely she went through a similar motion, while pumping the inhaler in dad's mouth when he passed out on Sunday night - NO, NOTHING COULD HAVE BEEN DONE ABOUT THAT - yes, she was a wife first to my dad and then a doctor - AND NO THAT IS EXACTLY HOW DAD WOULD HAVE WANTED - I am sure that scene keeps playing in certain peoples mind while they work through their self- guilt and grief. I am grateful to all, that you at least gave me a reason to come back and participate in a family event, which otherwise I would have missed.
I am not sure if mom slept OK that night or not - I was at peace, if nothing else then from the fact that I knew the final answer. Miraculous awakening of dad would be just fine, but if not, then I already knew the fate. So much so that the next few days would be spent in impatience and torment as everybody else still clung to hope while I worked through my self-guilt of wishing/knowing that dad was dead.
The desperate moments had not started yet - they would next day as our clear 2nd, 3rd opinions vanish in the clear enthusiasm of the other opinions from around the world. These were doctors too that were recommending putting keertan in dad's ears as that may awaken the gone. EEG tests would not be performed as the need for that was not felt and also the answer from that was obvious; anyways, I am again getting ahead of the story....
The next day we were at the hospital again and I remember plenty of walking in the corridors of the first floor wing, talking life and death. My first victim was Guria as she came to realise the inevitable as well. She was the most optimist as she was the closest to dad; until that morning. I suddenly saw her accept what was being put forward by these opinions that we had sought in the doctors of South Delhi. She had her crying eyes dehydrate her body but was emotionally quite stable. She talked about memories of dad that are too personal to be shared here. She updated me on the last seventeen years that I was not there. Guria had gotten very close to dad in the last few years and dad used to call her everyday. Did you see that I did not use 'almost', because he did call her everyday!. Also, Amrit and dad had a very good understanding of each other and dad had a lot of respect for his hard work - Amrit was a self-made man, just like dad.
While people gathered and dispersed at the waiting room, Guria and I continued our walks. We talked about life in general and dad in particular. I learnt more about dad during that time than any other time. Dad was very proud of building his business back to where it was - he had taken back the reins of the shop from Mannu, who had lost interest in it anyways. Although life had been quite busy since he left US in August, dad seemed to have enjoyed those times. I did not call him much in his last few months, I did get reports from mom and Guria though. When I did call dad he was always in high spirits and didn't feel burdened by what he was doing - in fact he had a very good attitude, at least that's what I recollect from one of my phone conversations with him.
Mom had told me that dad had started going to the shop as soon they returned back, as Mannu had closed the shop for days while they were here. Dad may have been upset at Mannu but I never got that feeling when I talked to him. He cheerfully told me how he was restocking the shop and how the costumers were coming back - it was almost similar to the situation we had after 1984 riots. I told dad that God had given him another chance to take his business to where ever he wanted to take it to!
We even joked about it and it seems to have given dad a new meaning of life. He had come out of retirement, just to prove to himself (and others) that he can still do it. Guria hinted to something similar while we walked around the corridors and this daily exercise had invigorated dad's life instead of inhibiting it. Although he could not just take off to visit somebody anytime anymore, that was least of his concerns. Guria and Amrit still met dad regularly at the club, his favorite hangout.
This elongated mourning time also helped Guria, I think, in coping with the loss. It would have been harder for all of us if, in fact, dad would have been declared dead on Sunday night. We talked a lot about that as well - the way dad went. Guria thought that dad would have never preferred slow death - he would rather just go quickly. Guria had premonitions that this was his final time but only in this morning discussions did these things come up. I think, just like me, Guria also realised that we had lost our dad.
Gurinder Virji showed up soon - he was there on Sunday night when dad was admitted but had to leave right away - he was unreachable for a next few days and had only come back in town the night before. He was quite emotional about the situation as well - I don't think I had ever seen him that worked up. He agreed with Mannu about no money/work in the pharmaceutical line anymore and seemed still looking for something else to do. I am not sure what all he is involved with, but it was good talking to him.
The discussion that morning would quickly move to getting the EEG done to make sure that it was in fact a 'brain dead' situation. Mini didi and Atul had come back to visit the night before as they also understood the graveness. This morning Mini didi came late, and when she found out that the EEG idea was dropped, she wondered what had changed from the night before. Baba virji did not understand the need for EEG yet as he was not at the doctors night before. Both, while talking to mom, were concerned and somehow the situation felt as if we were pressuring mom to conduct EEG. Let me track back...
The EEG just proves if a person is brain dead or not - our specialist from South Delhi (that Mini didi and I visited) had recommended EEG to Dr. Sachdeva while we were there and it was decided that is what would be done first thing next morning. Then, next morning, Dr. Sharma from US had intervened and instead recommended putting the Keertan on in dad's ears as that is what the situation called for (beyond grave) - according to him, EEG would just prove our worse fears and show no sign of brain activity as dad was quite sedated; positive EEG would prove brain dead situation.
Dr. Makkar and Dr. Sachdeva, with mom's agreement, were more interested in wait and watch scenario. According to them, EEG would be worthless and the present signs of deterioration pointed to that situation anyway. Instead of playing God they wanted to leave the situation in God's hands, and, if he willed, dad would survive. Mom also preferred that but we wanted to know then and there what the situation was. Baba virji got upset as he felt that we were trying to pressurize mom into conducting certain tests...
It was decided that me, Baba virji, Mannu and Mini didi would go see Dr. Makkar in the afternoon/evening to get the latest update on the situation. In the meanwhile, with the orders from the doctors, me, Mannu and Sonu went on a quest to buy a Walkman and Sukhmani Sahib CD.
We went to the Jawalahheri market to find an appropriate equipment. It wasn't long and we found what we needed. For the next few days we intermittently went inside the ICU to make sure the Walkman was working and the keertan was playing - dad probably heard more keertan during that time than any other!
Mom still had hopes - it probably was from the guilt of the happenings of the last day. That's not how the last day between husband and wife plays out! Mom wanted dad to stay home and skip shop that day - Sunday - dad wanted to go to the shop and therefore mom was upset at him. I don't know the rest of the details of that day but surely that is not how it was supposed to end. Mom wanted dad to wake up one more time and set things right. This would come to play when dad finally gives in on Tuesday morning.
Four of us then went to meet Dr. Makkar in his clinic. We wanted to talk to him candidly and therefore did not want mom there. It was a good exercise in raising our hopes again and discussion moved towards how the medical field is practised in the west. In US a person can be pronounced dead if his or her brain is dead - not so in India. If the other vital organs are working fine then the doctors continue to work on the patient and, in many cases, the patient had returned back from the brain dead situations. Dr. Makkar, just like us, was living on hope - that's one disadvantage of having a doctor who is so close to the family of the patient. At the same time, he brought out the human face in the practise of medicine. His role was commendable in the whole situation.
There were still plenty of ups and downs in dad's condition, but thinking back, by this time I had become indifferent to any kinds of reports. The whole day went in a daze as I was finally accepting dad's death as a reality. I am not sure where others were in their acceptance of the situation that day but it seems that Guria might have also accepted the situation - next few days she may have lapsed back into hope, but I am not sure. I don't even remember if I slept in the hospital that night or went home.....
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
THE 5 STAGES OF LOSS AND GRIEF
I was just thinking this the other day - all the people that are reading this blog and all the ones that have contributed to this blog have lost some significant close person in their lives. This kind of a dialogue is resonating with their needs and is almost having a healing effect. For some it is revisiting that past wound, that still may not have healed....
To an extend, an awareness is needed in 'curing' the loss. Certain things are done traditionally in older societies that are lacking in the newer ones, although the newer ones are blessed with the 'studies' of events. Loss and grief is one such event that is studied well in the west and much thought has been put into it academically. What we ritualized in the east, in terms of practice, to overcome the loss, they write books about in the west - may be, without going through the motions of it. The practices of ancient societies have the healing effect although the reason behind the practices may have become unclear now - to an extend that we shun those practices in the present time.
This way, we in the east are loosing our practices/rituals as we do not understand them, while appreciating the answers from the west that may have come from observing these practices! Joseph Campbell talks about myth in a similar fashion but that will be going on a tangent: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Campbell
What I wanted to talk about here was the different stages that people go through when they loose somebody. There is no particular way, I believe, but certain scholars have postulated different theories about this. One of the most famous and the earliest one was forwarded by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book 'Death and Dying'.
I have taken the next few paragraphs from sources on the internet. It goes through the 5 stages of loss/grief that Kubler-Ross proposes, which has been further revised and refined. Please pass this on to my mother and sister - We may all find ourselves on one or the other ladder (with our own losses):
To an extend, an awareness is needed in 'curing' the loss. Certain things are done traditionally in older societies that are lacking in the newer ones, although the newer ones are blessed with the 'studies' of events. Loss and grief is one such event that is studied well in the west and much thought has been put into it academically. What we ritualized in the east, in terms of practice, to overcome the loss, they write books about in the west - may be, without going through the motions of it. The practices of ancient societies have the healing effect although the reason behind the practices may have become unclear now - to an extend that we shun those practices in the present time.
This way, we in the east are loosing our practices/rituals as we do not understand them, while appreciating the answers from the west that may have come from observing these practices! Joseph Campbell talks about myth in a similar fashion but that will be going on a tangent: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Campbell
What I wanted to talk about here was the different stages that people go through when they loose somebody. There is no particular way, I believe, but certain scholars have postulated different theories about this. One of the most famous and the earliest one was forwarded by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book 'Death and Dying'.
I have taken the next few paragraphs from sources on the internet. It goes through the 5 stages of loss/grief that Kubler-Ross proposes, which has been further revised and refined. Please pass this on to my mother and sister - We may all find ourselves on one or the other ladder (with our own losses):
SOURCE: http://www.psychcentral.com/lib/2006/the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief/1. Denial and Isolation
The first reaction to learning of terminal illness or death of a cherished loved one is to deny the reality of the situation. It is a normal reaction to rationalize overwhelming emotions. It is a defense mechanism that buffers the immediate shock. We block out the words and hide from the facts. This is a temporary response that carries us through the first wave of pain.2. Anger
As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry.The doctor who diagnosed the illness and was unable to cure the disease might become a convenient target. Health professionals deal with death and dying every day. That does not make them immune to the suffering of their patients or to those who grieve for them.
Do not hesitate to ask your doctor to give you extra time or to explain just once more the details of your loved one’s illness. Arrange a special appointment or ask that he telephone you at the end of his day. Ask for clear answers to your questions regarding medical diagnosis and treatment. Understand the options available to you. Take your time.
3. Bargaining
The normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control–
- If only we had sought medical attention sooner…
- If only we got a second opinion from another doctor…
- If only we had tried to be a better person toward them…
Secretly, we may make a deal with God or our higher power in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. This is a weaker line of defense to protect us from the painful reality.
4. Depression
Two types of depression are associated with mourning. The first one is a reaction to practical implications relating to the loss. Sadness and regret predominate this type of depression. We worry about the costs and burial. We worry that, in our grief, we have spent less time with others that depend on us. This phase may be eased by simple clarification and reassurance. We may need a bit of helpful cooperation and a few kind words. The second type of depression is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separate and to bid our loved one farewell. Sometimes all we really need is a hug.5. Acceptance
Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be distinguished from depression.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The Great Socialiser!!!
It was a commendable effort by Holly that he started this blog so we could all express ourselves over the untimely death of a person dear to us all, but the ultimate credit should go to Uncle Kulwant himself: even in death, he remains the great socialiser!!! He is the glue joining us: we who are scattered all over the globe;we who have not seen and met each other in years.
I mentioned sometime ago that I would post reflections of my husband Davinder who only got to meet Uncle in the month before his death. Sure they had met, being related, not just through me, but through Masi, but had not done so in a family setting, and not socially as a nephew-in-law!!! Since then, Davinder has remarked no less than a dozen times that he had not met anyone of Uncle’s generation who had such a zest for life, who really enjoyed meeting people, and who absolutely loved to offer a drink! And we both made mental notes that when Uncle and Masi make it to
Even in the days that followed the news of Uncle’s hemorrhage, we hoped, we prayed, and not knowing the extent of brain damage, still expected Uncle to get better! Just so among the many things he still had left to do, there would be the trip here. God knows I had been telling Masi and Uncle to come here even before Gulzar was born, around the time they had that horrible accident!!! I know now that I should have absolutely insisted! Somehow my collection of regrets seems to grow bigger over the years. And each regret is more painful than the ones before.
Monday, February 19, 2007
The Un-realness of it all
In the very week that we lost Uncle, I read an essay on loss, and the writer asked a question very pertinent to death: we know what happens to a body after death; how do we deal with what happens to the consciousness housed in that body? Reminds me of a real-life account of an Australian woman who lost her brother and nephew in a road-accident. The woman’s own young son was playmate and thick friends with her young nephew and kept asking his mother when he could play with cousin Garry, to which the mother sensibly replied ( even though the concept of death was beyond the child’s comprehension), that he could not, as cousin Garry was dead. Her son finally asked the question all of us would like to ask, but do not, because we know better: “ Mum, can I play with cousin Garry when he has finished being dead?” I know I will ask this question the next time I come to
I know I will ask this question because I have asked it once already. It was the day after Daddy’s Bhog fourteen years ago, and my mind was going back over the past few days, which, like Holly’s now, were a bit of a blur (more so, as unlike him, I neither saw my father dead nor said the last goodbyes); and suddenly a thought slipped out unconsciously: Daddy, we have finished with cremating you, and having your Bhog, its time now to get on with the business of living!!! That, for me, was the moment of truth: when the shock hit me, that the business of living was truly over for him. Even then, the mind continued to play games: a few days later we recalled an earlier occasion , when my grandma had complained to my mother that she celebrated only her children’s birthdays, not her husband’s, so Mum asked for Daddy’s date of birth, and that being a lunar date, much calculating was done and the date arrived at. So we set about celebrating Daddy’s Birthday: I baked a lovely
Over the years, I have found that the anatomy of grief has many layers and time only peels them one by one. The first layer is one of incredulity and shock: this can not be happening to me. Then comes sorrow, deep and wrenching: this has happened to me and I have to bear the loss. Finally there is the resignation and the realisation: I have to live the loss. It is this ironic fact of living the loss, living with the death of someone close, and continuing to live that loss as long as one lives, that is the hardest. It would be wrong to say that the pain goes away, it never does, what changes is our perception of it, and how we deal with it. And that is something each one of us has to find for ourselves.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
A Tribute To My Father - Chapter 5 - January 26 -- The day of the freedom?
I have not written for a while - it takes a lot out of you. Life gets in the way. Also, I had to think hard about this day as I have bitter/sweet memories of it - this day it finally sank into me that dad had passed away. I had my share of grief but had plenty of partners in that and this partnership helped me through....
Mannu and I slept at the hospital again - this had quite an obvious meaning for me. I was not sleeping in my own house, as if I had become anaath - again, anaath has a beautiful meaning; without a naath - husband, but here (and generally) the meaning is orphan. I was an orphan now, sleeping along side my brother, who would feel this void more than me. Seventeen years of living in the wilderness creates a distance from everything.
Mannu's story is interesting. He has had his ups and downs. Being the youngest in the lot, maturity came the latest to him but surely it was sudden and forced upon. It was in my absence that Guria got married, it was in my absence that Mannu took over from my retiring dad, it was in my absence that he got married and became a father - I say absence as I came only as a guest, enjoyed the show and went back to my 'other' life. Even if I wanted to be a part of 'that' I could not - I had already broken ties.
How fast and how deeply was Mannu matured/maturing is a reality that only Mannu knows. He is trying to balance a life between what he wants and what is expected of him, something that I did not have to do (or found it too easy and hence was not an issue). This is a story of a lot of us that are trapped in between the demands of the society over our own perceptions of fulfillment. It becomes inflamed if the role you are playing does not jive with the changing times - almost a post-modern issue.
I will refrain from telling the stories of other people as I, again, am a guest to this milieu of writing thoughts for a public discourse. I have had my own share of struggles, as have others. I thought about Mannu because I feel helpless in helping him - not to say that he needs help but rather he was closest to dad, at least physically. Guria thinks she was the closest and she is probably right; but so do Tini didi, Mini didi and Binny didi, just as examples - they were there before we three were born!
Anyways, the morning brought its own rush of people - the republic day helped the masses to come in throngs and stay longer. Mom ran between the ICU and the waiting room, informing everyone the latest score. Doctors came and went by while we all waited patiently for news, any news, that would rekindle hope. Mannu and I were supposed to have breakfast at Bhagwan Dass Nagar, but had to drop something at Khanna Auntie's in Punjabi Bagh - thats where we had breakfast. This is also where the scheming of getting the 2nd, 3rd opinion started.
Khanna Auntie's cousin was a well known neuro-surgeon; so was Mini didi's acquaintance. They were the top people in their field in Delhi and the troops would be sent to their homes in the evening to raise any kind of hope. The CT scan copies were already made last night and ready to go. All we needed were copies of other reports, that duly came in the 'Indian Stretchable time' (IST). Mini didi was concerned that these hospital people already knew the inevitable and were just buying time (and money) till they needed the bed for the next patient - Baba virji was perturbed and insisted that we do not rush things and let mom be the final decision maker as when to pull the 'plug.'
Breakfast was good - ghobi paranthas with makhan and dahi - excellent! Lunch was also awaited patiently in the hospital and all the other decisions listed above happened somewhere in between. We were to leave for South Delhi (that's where the two doctors reside) as soon as we had the reports copied. But waiting for the copying of the report was like witnessing 'waiting for Godot' drama by Beckett ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot ).
As usual, the lunches came from Bari Mummy and Khanna Auntie and were duly devoured in time, respectfully by all. Today, being the Republic Day, everyone was there - even Kaka virji came from Jammu. Gurinder Virji had returned back as well (or may be next day). Gurmukh Uncle were already here. We entered into some planning after lunch as Mickey Virji thought that it would be better if systematised the visitation - surely someone close had to be there all the time. Somehow the hospital administration could not be trusted and a person from the family had to oversee the whole procedure. Sonu and Sonu Khanna were given the duty to stay overnight this time, although I would have loved to continue on.
Also, people had to get back to their regular schedule after the republic day - that was a healthy way of dealing with the situation. I had come on Wednesday night and it was already Friday and I had seen everyone at the hospital as if nothing else was important. But a normalcy had to be restored as this could be a prolonged recovery....
Finally the copies of the reports came and Sonu Khanna was sent to make extra copies. We were supposed to meet at Bunny/Baba Virji's house and make CD's of the CT scans. Sonu was to meet us there and exchange other reports for the CD so we had all the documents to proceed to the two different doctors. Auntie and Sonu went to their acquaintance in Panchsheel and Mini didi and I proceeded over to Defence Colony.
Mini didi called the doctor when we were five minutes away and, being the republic day, the doctor asked us to leave the reports, so he can look them over later. Mini didi, in her style, insisted if we could just get him to see us for five minutes....which he reluctantly agreed to. The driver found the house and we were duly ushered into his clinic, on the side of the house. We patently waited and he arrived as I had the CT scans ready to role on the computer.
After looking through the reports and the scans the doctor was convinced of the inevitable - dad had already passed away (brain dead) and we could confirm this by conducting EEG (to check if there was any brain activity). He also talked to Dr. Sachdeva and instructed him to conduct an EEG next morning to see what was going on. He explained the condition to Mini didi and me.
Dad had suffered Brain Hemorrhage, as was evident in the first cat scan. Further, the blood was not isolated by itself but in fact was mixing with the cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) and hence the complication. As it poured into CSF it was changing the chemistry of the brain and, consequently, as was evident to the doctor in the second CT scan, had caused the brain death.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerebral_hemorrhage
The finality of this opinion took some time to sink - by the time I reached the car it had sunk in deep enough. Mini didi also realised what had happened - we had gone shopping for opinions to find somebody who would give us hope but instead had a stark truth thrown upon us - very well explained at that! This was my first moment of crying while facing this reality.
Last few days of uncertainty was finally over - I had to come to terms to something that I was expecting anyways, but this time with no cushion. It was not tomorrow that he was going to die - he was already dead! I call this bitter-sweet as, on one hand I came to know what was inevitable, on the other it was final with no more days of hope. It was an end to a bad dream, although it was a reality I did not want - it still was an end. It was sweet from that perspective. No body could keep giving me hope anymore. To realise that your father had died was bitter but to be freed from the constant unknowing of a situation was sweet.
As tears unrolled through my eyes, Mini didi had to make a decision whether to go back with me or meet Atul at the hotel, the original plan - I told her firmly that I will go to hospital by myself and she should meet Atul. I did not want to go inside the hotel though and therefore left her at the door and the driver drove me back to the hospital. Mini didi must have seen me cry and probably called Mickey virji to apprise him of the situation. Whether I like it or not, I have a great gift of being aware of a situation all the time - with all its emotions and thoughts. I could see the pain in Mini didi's eyes, leaving me with my grief while she attended to her daily life. She tried her darnedest to comfort me without realising that I did not need comfort. I had understood the situation and was fine with it - the tears were just a physical reaction to a situation given.
The awareness that I talk about is from a spiritual perspective. Without delving into religion and God and without sounding preachy, this is a gift from the beyond, on which no one has control and lies outside the spheres of reason. You cannot prepare for it and when it 'comes' to you you are never prepared - you cannot be! It is a gift for which you have to open yourself - by delearning everything and consummating your ego. Someday I'll talk more about this....
Mickey Virji called me and told me to meet downstairs before coming up - he wanted to talk to me, get info and prepare me to face the public. I do not know what Mini didi had said to him but I understood his need to keep the situation under control. The news from the other opinion may not have been good either, and I was later told that, but I would like Sonu Khanna to give details if possible. My own details are blurred and if Mini didi could clarify (if need be) on what actually did the doctor say.
Anyway, as asked, I duly called Mickey virji when I reached downstairs. We sat down in the car and talked about what we need to do, in terms of services and everything. We talked about keertan and inviting Sunil Arora for that. Mickey virji called him right away to confirm dates and everything. This probably was also the first instant of Mickey virji realising the inevitable - he took time out at night listening to keertan in his car. I do not know what went through his mind but for some of us that day was our final tributes to my father. Sonu Khanna and I also met outside, so did Mannu and we finally let it sink in us......The person that we had loved for such a long time had finally left us orphaned.
Mannu and I slept at the hospital again - this had quite an obvious meaning for me. I was not sleeping in my own house, as if I had become anaath - again, anaath has a beautiful meaning; without a naath - husband, but here (and generally) the meaning is orphan. I was an orphan now, sleeping along side my brother, who would feel this void more than me. Seventeen years of living in the wilderness creates a distance from everything.
Mannu's story is interesting. He has had his ups and downs. Being the youngest in the lot, maturity came the latest to him but surely it was sudden and forced upon. It was in my absence that Guria got married, it was in my absence that Mannu took over from my retiring dad, it was in my absence that he got married and became a father - I say absence as I came only as a guest, enjoyed the show and went back to my 'other' life. Even if I wanted to be a part of 'that' I could not - I had already broken ties.
How fast and how deeply was Mannu matured/maturing is a reality that only Mannu knows. He is trying to balance a life between what he wants and what is expected of him, something that I did not have to do (or found it too easy and hence was not an issue). This is a story of a lot of us that are trapped in between the demands of the society over our own perceptions of fulfillment. It becomes inflamed if the role you are playing does not jive with the changing times - almost a post-modern issue.
I will refrain from telling the stories of other people as I, again, am a guest to this milieu of writing thoughts for a public discourse. I have had my own share of struggles, as have others. I thought about Mannu because I feel helpless in helping him - not to say that he needs help but rather he was closest to dad, at least physically. Guria thinks she was the closest and she is probably right; but so do Tini didi, Mini didi and Binny didi, just as examples - they were there before we three were born!
Anyways, the morning brought its own rush of people - the republic day helped the masses to come in throngs and stay longer. Mom ran between the ICU and the waiting room, informing everyone the latest score. Doctors came and went by while we all waited patiently for news, any news, that would rekindle hope. Mannu and I were supposed to have breakfast at Bhagwan Dass Nagar, but had to drop something at Khanna Auntie's in Punjabi Bagh - thats where we had breakfast. This is also where the scheming of getting the 2nd, 3rd opinion started.
Khanna Auntie's cousin was a well known neuro-surgeon; so was Mini didi's acquaintance. They were the top people in their field in Delhi and the troops would be sent to their homes in the evening to raise any kind of hope. The CT scan copies were already made last night and ready to go. All we needed were copies of other reports, that duly came in the 'Indian Stretchable time' (IST). Mini didi was concerned that these hospital people already knew the inevitable and were just buying time (and money) till they needed the bed for the next patient - Baba virji was perturbed and insisted that we do not rush things and let mom be the final decision maker as when to pull the 'plug.'
Breakfast was good - ghobi paranthas with makhan and dahi - excellent! Lunch was also awaited patiently in the hospital and all the other decisions listed above happened somewhere in between. We were to leave for South Delhi (that's where the two doctors reside) as soon as we had the reports copied. But waiting for the copying of the report was like witnessing 'waiting for Godot' drama by Beckett ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot ).
As usual, the lunches came from Bari Mummy and Khanna Auntie and were duly devoured in time, respectfully by all. Today, being the Republic Day, everyone was there - even Kaka virji came from Jammu. Gurinder Virji had returned back as well (or may be next day). Gurmukh Uncle were already here. We entered into some planning after lunch as Mickey Virji thought that it would be better if systematised the visitation - surely someone close had to be there all the time. Somehow the hospital administration could not be trusted and a person from the family had to oversee the whole procedure. Sonu and Sonu Khanna were given the duty to stay overnight this time, although I would have loved to continue on.
Also, people had to get back to their regular schedule after the republic day - that was a healthy way of dealing with the situation. I had come on Wednesday night and it was already Friday and I had seen everyone at the hospital as if nothing else was important. But a normalcy had to be restored as this could be a prolonged recovery....
Finally the copies of the reports came and Sonu Khanna was sent to make extra copies. We were supposed to meet at Bunny/Baba Virji's house and make CD's of the CT scans. Sonu was to meet us there and exchange other reports for the CD so we had all the documents to proceed to the two different doctors. Auntie and Sonu went to their acquaintance in Panchsheel and Mini didi and I proceeded over to Defence Colony.
Mini didi called the doctor when we were five minutes away and, being the republic day, the doctor asked us to leave the reports, so he can look them over later. Mini didi, in her style, insisted if we could just get him to see us for five minutes....which he reluctantly agreed to. The driver found the house and we were duly ushered into his clinic, on the side of the house. We patently waited and he arrived as I had the CT scans ready to role on the computer.
After looking through the reports and the scans the doctor was convinced of the inevitable - dad had already passed away (brain dead) and we could confirm this by conducting EEG (to check if there was any brain activity). He also talked to Dr. Sachdeva and instructed him to conduct an EEG next morning to see what was going on. He explained the condition to Mini didi and me.
Dad had suffered Brain Hemorrhage, as was evident in the first cat scan. Further, the blood was not isolated by itself but in fact was mixing with the cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) and hence the complication. As it poured into CSF it was changing the chemistry of the brain and, consequently, as was evident to the doctor in the second CT scan, had caused the brain death.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerebral_hemorrhage
The finality of this opinion took some time to sink - by the time I reached the car it had sunk in deep enough. Mini didi also realised what had happened - we had gone shopping for opinions to find somebody who would give us hope but instead had a stark truth thrown upon us - very well explained at that! This was my first moment of crying while facing this reality.
Last few days of uncertainty was finally over - I had to come to terms to something that I was expecting anyways, but this time with no cushion. It was not tomorrow that he was going to die - he was already dead! I call this bitter-sweet as, on one hand I came to know what was inevitable, on the other it was final with no more days of hope. It was an end to a bad dream, although it was a reality I did not want - it still was an end. It was sweet from that perspective. No body could keep giving me hope anymore. To realise that your father had died was bitter but to be freed from the constant unknowing of a situation was sweet.
As tears unrolled through my eyes, Mini didi had to make a decision whether to go back with me or meet Atul at the hotel, the original plan - I told her firmly that I will go to hospital by myself and she should meet Atul. I did not want to go inside the hotel though and therefore left her at the door and the driver drove me back to the hospital. Mini didi must have seen me cry and probably called Mickey virji to apprise him of the situation. Whether I like it or not, I have a great gift of being aware of a situation all the time - with all its emotions and thoughts. I could see the pain in Mini didi's eyes, leaving me with my grief while she attended to her daily life. She tried her darnedest to comfort me without realising that I did not need comfort. I had understood the situation and was fine with it - the tears were just a physical reaction to a situation given.
The awareness that I talk about is from a spiritual perspective. Without delving into religion and God and without sounding preachy, this is a gift from the beyond, on which no one has control and lies outside the spheres of reason. You cannot prepare for it and when it 'comes' to you you are never prepared - you cannot be! It is a gift for which you have to open yourself - by delearning everything and consummating your ego. Someday I'll talk more about this....
Mickey Virji called me and told me to meet downstairs before coming up - he wanted to talk to me, get info and prepare me to face the public. I do not know what Mini didi had said to him but I understood his need to keep the situation under control. The news from the other opinion may not have been good either, and I was later told that, but I would like Sonu Khanna to give details if possible. My own details are blurred and if Mini didi could clarify (if need be) on what actually did the doctor say.
Anyway, as asked, I duly called Mickey virji when I reached downstairs. We sat down in the car and talked about what we need to do, in terms of services and everything. We talked about keertan and inviting Sunil Arora for that. Mickey virji called him right away to confirm dates and everything. This probably was also the first instant of Mickey virji realising the inevitable - he took time out at night listening to keertan in his car. I do not know what went through his mind but for some of us that day was our final tributes to my father. Sonu Khanna and I also met outside, so did Mannu and we finally let it sink in us......The person that we had loved for such a long time had finally left us orphaned.
A Comment By Binny Didi
This is a comment left by Binny Didi - I have put your name in there now and you can directly post instead of just leaving comments:
I still dont believe it. Perhaps I dont want to believe it.
I just see his smiling face and remember his warm hug everytime he came to meet me when I went home to India. He always came to meet me.
I was in office when Mickey called me he was in hospital. I remember I sat stunned with goose pimples just thinking I had got it all wrong. Between that day & the last day, were days of prayers or just pushing the thought out of my mind as I did not want to think about it. Work was buzy and it helped.
But coming back home and not being able to escape the thoughts was torture.
Then when Mickey called in the middle of the night, I knew it! I knew but but still dont believe it.
He came in my dreams that night. I did not know what to think of that and a freind helped me. She told me when people go away to God, they visit their loved ones before leaving.
I love him so much.
He broke his promise to me tho.
When we lost mom, both my Chachaji's promised me they will be there for Dad and now both have left him.
I truely believe they are all together - Mom, Bare Chachaji, Chote Chachaji, Tayaji - they are all with their parents, united with them at last and I am sure very happy together.
When I think like this then the pain feels a bit less.
I still dont believe it. Perhaps I dont want to believe it.
I just see his smiling face and remember his warm hug everytime he came to meet me when I went home to India. He always came to meet me.
I was in office when Mickey called me he was in hospital. I remember I sat stunned with goose pimples just thinking I had got it all wrong. Between that day & the last day, were days of prayers or just pushing the thought out of my mind as I did not want to think about it. Work was buzy and it helped.
But coming back home and not being able to escape the thoughts was torture.
Then when Mickey called in the middle of the night, I knew it! I knew but but still dont believe it.
He came in my dreams that night. I did not know what to think of that and a freind helped me. She told me when people go away to God, they visit their loved ones before leaving.
I love him so much.
He broke his promise to me tho.
When we lost mom, both my Chachaji's promised me they will be there for Dad and now both have left him.
I truely believe they are all together - Mom, Bare Chachaji, Chote Chachaji, Tayaji - they are all with their parents, united with them at last and I am sure very happy together.
When I think like this then the pain feels a bit less.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Anniversary of Bhabhi ji passing away....
Tini Didi just reminded me of Bhabiji's death anniversary....brings all kinds of memories, in fact it was one of my first encounters with a death in the family. I clearly remember that day as I was in Saniwal (Ludhiana), in the flying club....
Dad was able to get hold of somebody in Ludhiana who could pass the message on to me that I needed to come home as Bhabi ji was 'sick' - off course no one comes home if someone is sick...I knew that! But let me not get ahead - by the way, Bhabi ji was Pappa's wife (my tai ji, Mickey virji's mom, but I used to call her Bhabi ji probably because dad used to call her that).
Saniwal is where I got most of my flying - after jerking around Jullunder and Amritsar - and, finally, received my 'solo' as well as the private pilot license. Saniwal is outside the city limits of Ludhiana, right on GT road, towards Delhi - therefore you go back to Ludhiana to catch a train/bus for Delhi. We used to have a favorite dhaba on GT road as our hangout place and that is where I got the news, while eating breakfast/lunch.
A guy came on a scooter asking for me and when told, relayed the message that I needed to go home immediately as Bhabi ji was sick. Delhi is a good 5-6 hour train ride so I left right away, getting a lift on a tempo to Ludhiana - By the time I reached Bhagwan Dass Nagar, it was quite dark and Binny didi was at the gate, seeing off someone. She seemed puzzled seeing me there and wondered how I came to 'know' - At that time I came to know. I guess she was done with crying as her eyes were swollen and dry.
My recollection of the train/bus ride is not that clear but I certainly remember going in circles as to what was the meaning of 'sick' - I had a premonition otherwise but I did not verbalize - the same hope was with me, more so at that time than in dad's case. I didn't have 17 years of western life behind me at that time. Wasn't life simple at that age?
The funeral had already taken place - Bhabi ji was hit by a vehicle right outside the gate the evening prior. Mickey virji was coming back from England - somehow I clearly remember that. I also remember his calm face during the whole ordeal. Off course the Thai meals that followed that event were amazing as the 'cook' from England made us try these soups, with the consistency of water, that were on fire - a very different experience than the sweet and sour soup from the sardar ji's Chinese shop in the punjabi bagh market.
The rest of my time is a blur - I don't remember when I went back to Ludhiana. I guess brain has its own mechanism of erasing every other thing and highlighting that one instance in the whole series of events. I do remember coming back home, especially sitting on the door of the trains, not paying for the tickets, getting off before the station....AND THE REST IS A BLUR.
Dad was able to get hold of somebody in Ludhiana who could pass the message on to me that I needed to come home as Bhabi ji was 'sick' - off course no one comes home if someone is sick...I knew that! But let me not get ahead - by the way, Bhabi ji was Pappa's wife (my tai ji, Mickey virji's mom, but I used to call her Bhabi ji probably because dad used to call her that).
Saniwal is where I got most of my flying - after jerking around Jullunder and Amritsar - and, finally, received my 'solo' as well as the private pilot license. Saniwal is outside the city limits of Ludhiana, right on GT road, towards Delhi - therefore you go back to Ludhiana to catch a train/bus for Delhi. We used to have a favorite dhaba on GT road as our hangout place and that is where I got the news, while eating breakfast/lunch.
A guy came on a scooter asking for me and when told, relayed the message that I needed to go home immediately as Bhabi ji was sick. Delhi is a good 5-6 hour train ride so I left right away, getting a lift on a tempo to Ludhiana - By the time I reached Bhagwan Dass Nagar, it was quite dark and Binny didi was at the gate, seeing off someone. She seemed puzzled seeing me there and wondered how I came to 'know' - At that time I came to know. I guess she was done with crying as her eyes were swollen and dry.
My recollection of the train/bus ride is not that clear but I certainly remember going in circles as to what was the meaning of 'sick' - I had a premonition otherwise but I did not verbalize - the same hope was with me, more so at that time than in dad's case. I didn't have 17 years of western life behind me at that time. Wasn't life simple at that age?
The funeral had already taken place - Bhabi ji was hit by a vehicle right outside the gate the evening prior. Mickey virji was coming back from England - somehow I clearly remember that. I also remember his calm face during the whole ordeal. Off course the Thai meals that followed that event were amazing as the 'cook' from England made us try these soups, with the consistency of water, that were on fire - a very different experience than the sweet and sour soup from the sardar ji's Chinese shop in the punjabi bagh market.
The rest of my time is a blur - I don't remember when I went back to Ludhiana. I guess brain has its own mechanism of erasing every other thing and highlighting that one instance in the whole series of events. I do remember coming back home, especially sitting on the door of the trains, not paying for the tickets, getting off before the station....AND THE REST IS A BLUR.
Message from Sonu Khanna
Sonu Khanna and Sonu outside the house on Sunday evening - the day of the bhog (feb 4). Sonu - you have the access to post it instead of just commenting
I AM POSTING A COMMENT BY SONU KHANNA:
Uncle is a wonderful person & no men known to me till date appeal to me as he did . he was perhaps the most helpful, caring, honest,encouraging,zestful,genuin and calm person. i met uncle for the first time through mannu (my tution friend) around 1993. i had gone to mannu's shop in 93and uncle was there. he was very cheerful and friendly.
from thereon i never looked back, one good thing led to another and time flew. mannu & me got into drinking and had the honour to have drinks with uncle. i still remember when mannu proposed to marry guddu in1997 and uncle spoke to me for this. papa not being there i was the one trying to talk things out.
but he made everything look so easy. i stil remember him telling me" sonu relax, they want to get married , so let them be," And from thereon our families came together.
everybody in our family had always loved him and known him as an easy going lively cheerful person.
he had faced some difficult times(the theft, the car accdient ,84 riots .....) with such strength and ease that it would leave an example for us.
i really feel short of words to say anything in his respect.
i close here stating that i would love to have a drink with him whenever we meet next.
I AM POSTING A COMMENT BY SONU KHANNA:
Uncle is a wonderful person & no men known to me till date appeal to me as he did . he was perhaps the most helpful, caring, honest,encouraging,zestful,genuin and calm person. i met uncle for the first time through mannu (my tution friend) around 1993. i had gone to mannu's shop in 93and uncle was there. he was very cheerful and friendly.
from thereon i never looked back, one good thing led to another and time flew. mannu & me got into drinking and had the honour to have drinks with uncle. i still remember when mannu proposed to marry guddu in1997 and uncle spoke to me for this. papa not being there i was the one trying to talk things out.
but he made everything look so easy. i stil remember him telling me" sonu relax, they want to get married , so let them be," And from thereon our families came together.
everybody in our family had always loved him and known him as an easy going lively cheerful person.
he had faced some difficult times(the theft, the car accdient ,84 riots .....) with such strength and ease that it would leave an example for us.
i really feel short of words to say anything in his respect.
i close here stating that i would love to have a drink with him whenever we meet next.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
The last time that I met Uncle, I almost did not! The more I think, not just about the last two months, but also the last fourteen years, an uncanny pattern begins to emerge. More about that later. As I said, when Masi first called me to invite us all for dinner, I reluctantly declined; with two days left to leave for home, and one leg at my in-laws' and the other at Mum's, I was fairly run off my feet. When Davinder came to know, he cancelled some of his errands, and I called Masi to say we would be able to come after all (I don't know which of us was happier!!! )So there we were, including newlyweds Jappi and Timmy, youngest Jawai of the two families whose turn it was to be initiated into the colourful clan he had married into. As it was for Davinder, rightfully the eldest Jawai, but a Johnny-come-lately ( his recollections in my next post).
We were all there, well, not all because we missed Holly, Michelle and their kids and Jaswinder, Daisy's husband. There was another person who was not there, but he would be missed in a different way. Anyway, not one to be fazed by her husband's absence, Daisy proceeded to bring the house down as she regaled us all with imitations of our host cousins' childhood musical performances, starting with Holly, ( Kali re, kali re, tu to kali kali re; remember this Holly? or the other song by Sushma Shreshtha that you and I used to sing?), going on to Guria (Nova piyo ji Nova, Nova se inkaar kaisa?) at her most nasal, and signing off with the most guttural and constipatedly-voiced Yankee Doodle ever that went to town riding on a pony, courtesy Mannu!!!
We were all in splits, eating, drinking and being merry, and then Uncle disappeared! I assumed he went off to answer a phone call that had become long, and after asking Masi repeatedly where Uncle was and getting a non-committal reply, gave up. It is only now, after Uncle is gone, that Masi has told me and I know. Why he went away was because while Masi had Mum, and we cousins had each others' company, it was Uncle who was alone, and he was missing our Daddy! So he had to go away to compose himself so he could once again step in, not just for his nieces, but for their husbands too, the Jawais that Daddy never saw.
Talking about patterns, even the last time that I met my own father, I almost did not. I know this is about Uncle, but as Holly commented on my last post (pun not intended), perhaps it is time to bring it all out so we can find a salve for our collective grief. What happened fourteen years back ( it was January, the very days when Uncle was in hospital this year!) was that my parents were in Delhi and I was supposed to come down at some stage and meet up with them. It was more than an year since I had seen Daddy, and I was looking forward to when I would.
Then I called Delhi on the 20th and came to know that Daddy had to rush back to Nagaland, and was leaving on the morning of 23rd Jan, while Mum would stay on. So I went off to get my tickets for the next evening, 21st January (dates! dates !). What with a grumpy supervisor not really happy to grant me leave, and being stuck in the criminally-slow traffic of Varanasi, by the time I made it to the travel agent, the last tickets were gone; so that when my friends got back to hostel to take me to the station, I was a mess and promptly burst into tears. No worries mate, said one of them who was leaving for her hometown Kanpur next morning, 'we'll get you to Delhi and to your Daddy , no matter what'.
So there we were, at Varanasi station at 3am, catching the train to Lucknow from where we took a taxi to Kanpur, Swati having phoned her sisters to be there at Kanpur Station with food for me. At Kanpur, I was pushed into the train, having run into a friend of Swati's who was also going to Delhi. We managed to find room to sit, which by nightfall, materialised into room to lie down, not that we were going to lie down, the train being due in Delhi by 8pm! Unfortunately, this was the express that was not! three hours short of Delhi, it ground to a halt, and stayed put. And we waited as 8pm became 10pm, and the hours crept on, and I wondered whether I would make it to Delhi by 6am when Daddy's train would leave for Guwahati.
We finally crawled into Delhi at 4am. I got off on a deserted platform and called masi to ask whether I should come home or wait for Daddy, and she told me that my parents and Uncle had waited all night at the station and had just come home so Daddy could collect his lugggage, while Mum was there at the station itself. By this time it was becoming hard to lug my suitcase around, so I was wondering what to do with it when I spotted an elderly Sardar Sahib doing Paathh on a bench waiting for the someplace-Amritsar Express to arrive. I excused myself and asked if he would mind keeping an eye on my suitcase while I went looking for my Mataji, trying to make Mataji sound like a doddering 90-year-old in urgent need of being found! Well, the eye that the Sardar Sahib gave me and my suitcase ( while I strove not to look like a female terrorist) was not very encouraging, but he agreed.
So I traipsed off to find Mum, avoiding the shadowy ends where I thought shady characters might lurk. Said Mataji not being found at the end of a combing operation, I decided to make an announcement and found Mataji had been smarter and made an announcement only fifteen minutes back (probably when I was hobnobbing with Sardar sahib). Finally found Mataji at the shadowy end, being one of the shadows that lurked there, her arthritis having reduced her to a Mataji indeed on a freezing January morning!!!Well, mother and daughter united, we made our way to the Sardar Sahib who was as much relieved to see a Mataji in substance as he was with a well-behaved suitcase.
On to the platform where Daddy's train was supposed to go off from,and sometime later, the train came in at nearly the same time as I spotted Daddy. This was the second time in my life that I met Daddy at a railway station, and I was as overjoyed; the first time being when we went back after Masi and Uncle had got married. Daisy and I were very little then, 4 and 5, I think, and as our train pulled into the Howrah Station at Calcutta, I saw Daddy making his way through the crowds, and I yelled with joy. I did not yell at the present occasion, but was very happy and told him of my adventure over a cup of tea.
Then there was an announcement, the train blew its whistle, and he was gone, that precious half hour with him my last in an year and half. Four months later our lives changed for ever. His death and Kulwant Uncle's could not be more dissimilar, but neither of them literally knew what hit them! they went without knowledge of impending death. And for that, Iam grateful. As I am to one Swati Lall!
We were all there, well, not all because we missed Holly, Michelle and their kids and Jaswinder, Daisy's husband. There was another person who was not there, but he would be missed in a different way. Anyway, not one to be fazed by her husband's absence, Daisy proceeded to bring the house down as she regaled us all with imitations of our host cousins' childhood musical performances, starting with Holly, ( Kali re, kali re, tu to kali kali re; remember this Holly? or the other song by Sushma Shreshtha that you and I used to sing?), going on to Guria (Nova piyo ji Nova, Nova se inkaar kaisa?) at her most nasal, and signing off with the most guttural and constipatedly-voiced Yankee Doodle ever that went to town riding on a pony, courtesy Mannu!!!
We were all in splits, eating, drinking and being merry, and then Uncle disappeared! I assumed he went off to answer a phone call that had become long, and after asking Masi repeatedly where Uncle was and getting a non-committal reply, gave up. It is only now, after Uncle is gone, that Masi has told me and I know. Why he went away was because while Masi had Mum, and we cousins had each others' company, it was Uncle who was alone, and he was missing our Daddy! So he had to go away to compose himself so he could once again step in, not just for his nieces, but for their husbands too, the Jawais that Daddy never saw.
Talking about patterns, even the last time that I met my own father, I almost did not. I know this is about Uncle, but as Holly commented on my last post (pun not intended), perhaps it is time to bring it all out so we can find a salve for our collective grief. What happened fourteen years back ( it was January, the very days when Uncle was in hospital this year!) was that my parents were in Delhi and I was supposed to come down at some stage and meet up with them. It was more than an year since I had seen Daddy, and I was looking forward to when I would.
Then I called Delhi on the 20th and came to know that Daddy had to rush back to Nagaland, and was leaving on the morning of 23rd Jan, while Mum would stay on. So I went off to get my tickets for the next evening, 21st January (dates! dates !). What with a grumpy supervisor not really happy to grant me leave, and being stuck in the criminally-slow traffic of Varanasi, by the time I made it to the travel agent, the last tickets were gone; so that when my friends got back to hostel to take me to the station, I was a mess and promptly burst into tears. No worries mate, said one of them who was leaving for her hometown Kanpur next morning, 'we'll get you to Delhi and to your Daddy , no matter what'.
So there we were, at Varanasi station at 3am, catching the train to Lucknow from where we took a taxi to Kanpur, Swati having phoned her sisters to be there at Kanpur Station with food for me. At Kanpur, I was pushed into the train, having run into a friend of Swati's who was also going to Delhi. We managed to find room to sit, which by nightfall, materialised into room to lie down, not that we were going to lie down, the train being due in Delhi by 8pm! Unfortunately, this was the express that was not! three hours short of Delhi, it ground to a halt, and stayed put. And we waited as 8pm became 10pm, and the hours crept on, and I wondered whether I would make it to Delhi by 6am when Daddy's train would leave for Guwahati.
We finally crawled into Delhi at 4am. I got off on a deserted platform and called masi to ask whether I should come home or wait for Daddy, and she told me that my parents and Uncle had waited all night at the station and had just come home so Daddy could collect his lugggage, while Mum was there at the station itself. By this time it was becoming hard to lug my suitcase around, so I was wondering what to do with it when I spotted an elderly Sardar Sahib doing Paathh on a bench waiting for the someplace-Amritsar Express to arrive. I excused myself and asked if he would mind keeping an eye on my suitcase while I went looking for my Mataji, trying to make Mataji sound like a doddering 90-year-old in urgent need of being found! Well, the eye that the Sardar Sahib gave me and my suitcase ( while I strove not to look like a female terrorist) was not very encouraging, but he agreed.
So I traipsed off to find Mum, avoiding the shadowy ends where I thought shady characters might lurk. Said Mataji not being found at the end of a combing operation, I decided to make an announcement and found Mataji had been smarter and made an announcement only fifteen minutes back (probably when I was hobnobbing with Sardar sahib). Finally found Mataji at the shadowy end, being one of the shadows that lurked there, her arthritis having reduced her to a Mataji indeed on a freezing January morning!!!Well, mother and daughter united, we made our way to the Sardar Sahib who was as much relieved to see a Mataji in substance as he was with a well-behaved suitcase.
On to the platform where Daddy's train was supposed to go off from,and sometime later, the train came in at nearly the same time as I spotted Daddy. This was the second time in my life that I met Daddy at a railway station, and I was as overjoyed; the first time being when we went back after Masi and Uncle had got married. Daisy and I were very little then, 4 and 5, I think, and as our train pulled into the Howrah Station at Calcutta, I saw Daddy making his way through the crowds, and I yelled with joy. I did not yell at the present occasion, but was very happy and told him of my adventure over a cup of tea.
Then there was an announcement, the train blew its whistle, and he was gone, that precious half hour with him my last in an year and half. Four months later our lives changed for ever. His death and Kulwant Uncle's could not be more dissimilar, but neither of them literally knew what hit them! they went without knowledge of impending death. And for that, Iam grateful. As I am to one Swati Lall!
Monday, February 12, 2007
A Tribute To My Father - Chap 4 - Jan 25 afternoon, evening....
Second Cat Scans - taken on 25th afternoon - seems that the blood is dissipating, if compared with the first scan. The way it would be explained to us later is that the blood was infact not just leeking in an isolated place but was instaed mixing with the brain fluid and therefore could not be drained. Also, because of that it was changing the chemistry of the whole brain.
As the thoughts become blurred and unreal, this narrative is entering a new stage of fabrication and fiction....not that they are not real anymore but where reality lies and where my own perception of things start is unknowable.....
This is the power of myth and myth is not unreal - myth is the collective mind that is always present and driving to a certain preordained mind set. We had all entered that stage of hope and ready to pull dad out of the realms of uncertainty. Mini didi wanted to know really bad, Baba Virji was confronting it quietly, Mickey Virji busied himself in providing structure to the chaos. Next day would bring a realization of inevitability - interestingly, the day of freedom for the country.
The news was not good on the 25th afternoon, so much so that the doctor present ordered a second set of CT scans (posted). This was ordered because of the situation or the pressure from Dr. Bansi is unknowable, but in any case, dad was taken downstairs and we all followed him diligently. The CT scans looked fine, at least that's what the doctor at that time thought. Lunch followed....
By the time evening came around we were all looking for second opinions as we second guessed what the doctors were doing. Again, not that we did not trust the doctors - we had some of the best - but we had a different kind of a problem. We were from the family of doctors and had enough resources at our disposal to ask for a 2nd, 3rd, 4th opinion. Next morning we requested copies of documents so we could take them to all over Delhi.
Vohra, my friend from school, was by my side most of the time; so were Mannu's friends - it was a good feeling having friends, apart from family, by our side. Dr. Bansi wanted copies of the cat scans - Bunny Virji had a good resolution digital camera, Amrit had a good sense of photography and I had a good sense to watch the whole drama unfold....these scans would be sent to three people that night - Dr. Bansi in Chicago, Pawanjeet Maamaji in Jullundur (who never received it) and one of the Neurosurgeon friends of Sameer/Nippun (sons of Chowdhary uncle) who was somewhere in the US.
I did not have the strength to do all the scanning so Amrit/Mannu/Sonu took charge - everybody was coming together to do their bit and redefined their relationship with the person that I called dad. I only saw that person from one angle but he meant different things to different people.
Sat Uncle called me two or so days back, reflecting on his/my loss. He had been trying to reach me in Delhi without results and had already talked to Michelle. He was at a loss of words but was encouraged by my upbeat reflection on things. He is planning to put some photos/videos together of dad/mom when they had visited him in California in 1994. Dad had some good friends, to the point that I feel that mom was jealous of his friendships as she felt that he neglected his own family to accommodate friends.
Amrit and I went to Bunny Virji's house that night to download the CT scans and email to all. Off course we had dinner (yummy) there - I forgot Mannu had not had dinner and he was still waiting at the hospital as we were supposed to stay another night there. Well, skipping dinner could only help him....
By the time we reached hospital it was quite late. We again stayed late talking, but more of playing with the computer and Mannu putting songs in his new toy - the ipod. The discussions that night are blurred, but then this whole account was supposed to be blurred and imaginative.
As the thoughts become blurred and unreal, this narrative is entering a new stage of fabrication and fiction....not that they are not real anymore but where reality lies and where my own perception of things start is unknowable.....
This is the power of myth and myth is not unreal - myth is the collective mind that is always present and driving to a certain preordained mind set. We had all entered that stage of hope and ready to pull dad out of the realms of uncertainty. Mini didi wanted to know really bad, Baba Virji was confronting it quietly, Mickey Virji busied himself in providing structure to the chaos. Next day would bring a realization of inevitability - interestingly, the day of freedom for the country.
The news was not good on the 25th afternoon, so much so that the doctor present ordered a second set of CT scans (posted). This was ordered because of the situation or the pressure from Dr. Bansi is unknowable, but in any case, dad was taken downstairs and we all followed him diligently. The CT scans looked fine, at least that's what the doctor at that time thought. Lunch followed....
By the time evening came around we were all looking for second opinions as we second guessed what the doctors were doing. Again, not that we did not trust the doctors - we had some of the best - but we had a different kind of a problem. We were from the family of doctors and had enough resources at our disposal to ask for a 2nd, 3rd, 4th opinion. Next morning we requested copies of documents so we could take them to all over Delhi.
Vohra, my friend from school, was by my side most of the time; so were Mannu's friends - it was a good feeling having friends, apart from family, by our side. Dr. Bansi wanted copies of the cat scans - Bunny Virji had a good resolution digital camera, Amrit had a good sense of photography and I had a good sense to watch the whole drama unfold....these scans would be sent to three people that night - Dr. Bansi in Chicago, Pawanjeet Maamaji in Jullundur (who never received it) and one of the Neurosurgeon friends of Sameer/Nippun (sons of Chowdhary uncle) who was somewhere in the US.
I did not have the strength to do all the scanning so Amrit/Mannu/Sonu took charge - everybody was coming together to do their bit and redefined their relationship with the person that I called dad. I only saw that person from one angle but he meant different things to different people.
Sat Uncle called me two or so days back, reflecting on his/my loss. He had been trying to reach me in Delhi without results and had already talked to Michelle. He was at a loss of words but was encouraged by my upbeat reflection on things. He is planning to put some photos/videos together of dad/mom when they had visited him in California in 1994. Dad had some good friends, to the point that I feel that mom was jealous of his friendships as she felt that he neglected his own family to accommodate friends.
Amrit and I went to Bunny Virji's house that night to download the CT scans and email to all. Off course we had dinner (yummy) there - I forgot Mannu had not had dinner and he was still waiting at the hospital as we were supposed to stay another night there. Well, skipping dinner could only help him....
By the time we reached hospital it was quite late. We again stayed late talking, but more of playing with the computer and Mannu putting songs in his new toy - the ipod. The discussions that night are blurred, but then this whole account was supposed to be blurred and imaginative.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
BASANTA MAAMI - Person responsible for bringing Dad from Pakistan after Partition
Basanta Maami - She came on Sunday (Feb. 4) for dad's Akhand Path bhog and I asked her the details....One of the Muslim students from Bangalore - that I had met 3-4 years back and who had ended up at my school - his father invited us to dinner when mom/dad visited me in Bangalore. When I gave dad the father's name to enter in the cell phone, he said 'oh my god' and I asked, 'what?' Dad said, 'Ali Mohammed was the name given to me when I was in Pakistan.' He surely remembered his time there but never ever shared that with us. This was the first instance that he had ever mentioned about the life past. Incidently, Pappa never mentions Pakistan that much either and has no desire to visit, whereas I would love to visit Muzaffarabad/Naluchi - so would other cousins.
Basanta Maami (BM) started with, 'Mainu pathar marda see - mai nahi janda eh koon hai' (he used to throw stones at me and denied knowing her). Dad had been adopted by a landlord who did not have kids and was living a comfortable life - BM said that he may have been in 6-7 grade, that puts him older than 65. She was able to contact the right people and was able to 'rescue' dad, along with others, and brought them to India.
I cannot imagine a life changed twice - once left back, then adopted and accepted, and then thrown back to the old life. Then again, I cannot imagine the life of a brother who gets everyone together, raises them, just to see them all leave him in the end....
BM was upset but did talk, and fondly, about the past. She was more upset at seeing Pawanjeet Maamaji's sons not keeping hair! 'Pachaana nahi jaande, kon haen ei?' I asked honey to come over and introduce himself, me the ignorant one, and BM gave him her piece of her mind. She had saved 2-3 scores of years back, just to loose these to the modernity.
I promised Pappa that I am planning to come back in March and will spend 2-3 days with - I want to talk to him about the past. He did tell me a story about our great grandfather who fought along side the British and was honored for that....
For at least three of his nieces (Priya, Daisy and myself), and possibly more, Kulwant Uncle was, in addition to being an Uncle, the Uncle- who-was-there!!! There at the bus-stop, the railway station, or the airport, either to drop us off, or to pick us up and bring us > home. To HIS home, which we, his young relatives, had converted into something of a transit camp!!! This fact was brought home very poignantly last week by Babli Masi and by Daisy, the latter recalling a time nearly a quarter of a century back, when her train from Ajmer would get into Delhi at 5am in the morning, and Uncle, as usual, would be there. I myself made a new rule when I moved to Varanasi in 1991. I insisted that I was now a big girl, and could to and fro without needing Uncle to hold my hand. Less than two years down the track, Uncle broke that rule, and defied tradition too, when he was at the airport and the railway station to collect Daisy and me on two sweltering days in May. He was there, because our lives were shattered, we were little girls all over again, and we needed more than an uncle: we needed a father-figure to hold our hands: and Uncle stepped into those shoes! Shoes that are becoming increasingly hard to > fill !!!
Friday, February 9, 2007
A Tribute To My Father - Chapter 3 - Jan 25
Interestingly, the first night at the hospital waiting room was not bad - I slept like a child, although only for 4-5 hours; they came to wake us at 8AM - I was already up and kicked Mannu to a wakeful state.
Jan 25 - A certain schedule was set for all family members for the daily hospital pilgrimage; my first experience was on this morning. I guess this was already happening every day before my coming - Mom got there, either with Guddu or Mannu picked her up, Guria, Amrit were there as well, Mickey Virji, Mini didi, along with Sonu, Sonu Khanna were next unless they were taking turns in sleeping there; Bunny Virji, Baba Virji came, unless they were out because of the flight. The women of the household - all the Parjai ji's - came in early afternoon. Badi Mummy and Mrs. Khanna brought delicious foods next, that was devoured in time - special requests were taken seriously, as I enjoyed yummy pakwaans everyday.
What was normal in the Indian society became a cultural experience for me. I had a realisation that I was not an Indian anymore - coming days would put prove that thought correct and, at the same time, bring back the Indianness. Not that I was an American now - neither that - I had lost touch with my roots, although 2-3 days of orientation was enough. A person that is a product of multiple cultures can critically look at each, without absolutism, and detach himself from the 'happening'. I wish the situation was different but, then, only situations like these have their acute effect.
Pappa was told of the situation, although not the graveness of it. Again, that optimism was a powerful potion and everyone was hoping against all odds. The doctors usually made their rounds in the morning - we were fortunate to have a family friend walk us through the whole ordeal - Dr. Makkar came in the morning and I met with him; I also met with Dr. Sachdeva, the neurosurgeon that was responsible for dad's care. Although the atmosphere inside the ICU was quite laxed, the strictness of visitation gave it a fake sense of empowerment - the strictness was for certain people, not for us...the social hierarchy became quite evident. The same security guard that stopped the masses from seeing their near and dear in the ICU would let us in with no problems - I guess he was also instructed to do so from the top; even if it was not verbal, it was quite evident.
Dr. Makkar seemed quite busy in the morning although he did not mind talking to me. Finding him preoccupied I asked him for an appointment time when I could discuss dad's situation clearly - a time in the afternoon was set, at his private clinic. In the meanwhile, I did meet with other doctors in the care of my father - again the optimism was quite obvious. I don't want to sound as if they gave us a lot of hope - the survival rate was told to be low but then the miraculous escapes from such dire conditions were always highlighted. And this is where the culture shock seeped in.
The seventeen years in US had made me a straight shooter. I had lost the Indian sense of indirectness and had almost become blunt to the point of rudeness. In the my daily work I talk about these differences in culture and move from one personality to another - American with Americans and international with internationals. This multiple personality is a great asset in my field as I am able to react to different situations in different manners, to the point of 'faking' it. By this I do not mean that I have become superficial but instead I see clearly the relativeness of cultural values and I do not buy into it.
Every culture tends to impart its values as absolute values. And, its not the cultures fault - if a human being only experiences one culture he or she will always endear those values as absolute! Also, these values create the personality and a sense of belonging - its not that easy to just 'wear it down'. 'This is what makes you an Indian, a German, an English, a Japanese. The conflict only comes when you become a product of more than one culture. In the globalised world this is becoming more and more common. And thus more and more people are going through a readjustment of their sense of being. You could choose to belong to both culture, but I have chosen to belong to none. More on that later.
I asked Mannu if he could join me when I visited with Dr. Makkar as I had some difficult questions to ask and Mannu would need to hear the more difficult answers. The finality of the condition had not seeped in yet - that would happen tomorrow - but I needed to prepare Mannu as I was just a guest to the situation and, ultimately, it would be Mannu who would be running the show in a drastically changed world. My sense of self-confidence and easy going were not going to make the situation easier, especially after I left. Mannu needed to know, and that also quickly, that he had become the head of the household. Not of the clan - for that we had GODFATHER.
I was really grateful to Mickey Virji for clearly telling me what to do - come to India right now. Even if dad would have survived this, I would not have changed this a bit - I may have had different afterthought, no blog for sure, and a different outlook, but clearly, it still would have been a cultural experience - a coming back home 'culture shock'. We call this a re-entry shock in the field. This is when a study-abroad student comes back to his country after a semester or year of living in another country - his shock this time around is usually more acute than the initial one that he had entering another country. I am attaching a document called 'Intercultural Adjustment Cycle' instead of continuously bringing this topic people - people can read the whole document, if they feel like.
Anyways, going back to the story of Godfather - a name given to Mickey Virji - and the clan. Growing up we had always heard how the four brothers had survived the odds and established themselves in the newly formed country. Pappa had taken upon himself to see that his brothers not only survived but thrived in the new environment. He was responsible for everything that we were, maybe indirectly for our generation, and surely the adhesive for the whole family to stay together. The events of this past ten days passed on the torch to the next.
I coined the term light-heartily as I saw Mickey Virji take charge without imposing on others. He naturally organized things that made sense with no elders being hurt with his lead. From hospital duty charts to food preparation responsibilities, and later, dad's final rites, Godfather took upon himself to see the situation through. That reminded me also of my childhood memories of Mickey Virji taking me to the Punjabi Bagh market on his bicycle (which I could only climb after standing on the small gate at Pappa's house) for all sorts of goodies, from chaat to campa cola, not to mention the eventful Bangalore time. Anyways, the term stuck and Godfather for this generation was confirmed.
After everyone arrived at the hospital Mannu and I went to see Dr. Makkar. By this time I had come to know all the details of the situation and slim chance of dad's survival, optimistic myths-stories set aside. Dr. Makkar confirmed everything and gave dad a 30% chance to survive - the situation would change in a day though. It was not grim yet but pretty grim - may be everybody was buying time so that the fatality was not considered immediate but instead in a slow progression. Again, the stories of people surviving situations as such were highlighted, although in my mind I was not a believer anymore. I had thrown in the towel and was of the belief that dad in fact had passed away on Sunday night itself and instead this was God's chance to give me time to come back to India to observe the last rites, a situation that never happened in Bade Daddy's case. Interestingly, both brothers had some kind of stroke/brain hemorrhage - I still clearly remember Bade Daddy's passing away and my time with Bunny Virji, while he was stuck in Chicago due to 9/11.
That day the topic of discussion moved to the following: Is it better to go quick (as Bade Daddy did) or is it better to let a situation linger on (as was the case of dad). I was discussing this everyone and, hopefully, nobody minded it. Again, I was being direct of something that is not discussed that frankly in certain cultures. People looked puzzled by my asking but no one seen to take it personally - either they gave me the benefit of doubt or overlooked due to my temporary status. In any case, certain discussion of the situation brought in other players in to the field.
Mini Didi was troubled by the stalemate of the situation, so were Baba Virji. On top of that Dr. Bansi and Pawanjeet Mama ji were gravely concerned and in constant touch with doctors or mom. That afternoon the situation was also planning to take a grave turn and another Cat scan would be ordered. The comparative pictures of the scans will be photographed and emailed to all corners of the world. Further, next day 2nd and 3rd opinions would be sort and, atleast in my mind, a finality of the situation would set in.
Jan 25 - A certain schedule was set for all family members for the daily hospital pilgrimage; my first experience was on this morning. I guess this was already happening every day before my coming - Mom got there, either with Guddu or Mannu picked her up, Guria, Amrit were there as well, Mickey Virji, Mini didi, along with Sonu, Sonu Khanna were next unless they were taking turns in sleeping there; Bunny Virji, Baba Virji came, unless they were out because of the flight. The women of the household - all the Parjai ji's - came in early afternoon. Badi Mummy and Mrs. Khanna brought delicious foods next, that was devoured in time - special requests were taken seriously, as I enjoyed yummy pakwaans everyday.
What was normal in the Indian society became a cultural experience for me. I had a realisation that I was not an Indian anymore - coming days would put prove that thought correct and, at the same time, bring back the Indianness. Not that I was an American now - neither that - I had lost touch with my roots, although 2-3 days of orientation was enough. A person that is a product of multiple cultures can critically look at each, without absolutism, and detach himself from the 'happening'. I wish the situation was different but, then, only situations like these have their acute effect.
Pappa was told of the situation, although not the graveness of it. Again, that optimism was a powerful potion and everyone was hoping against all odds. The doctors usually made their rounds in the morning - we were fortunate to have a family friend walk us through the whole ordeal - Dr. Makkar came in the morning and I met with him; I also met with Dr. Sachdeva, the neurosurgeon that was responsible for dad's care. Although the atmosphere inside the ICU was quite laxed, the strictness of visitation gave it a fake sense of empowerment - the strictness was for certain people, not for us...the social hierarchy became quite evident. The same security guard that stopped the masses from seeing their near and dear in the ICU would let us in with no problems - I guess he was also instructed to do so from the top; even if it was not verbal, it was quite evident.
Dr. Makkar seemed quite busy in the morning although he did not mind talking to me. Finding him preoccupied I asked him for an appointment time when I could discuss dad's situation clearly - a time in the afternoon was set, at his private clinic. In the meanwhile, I did meet with other doctors in the care of my father - again the optimism was quite obvious. I don't want to sound as if they gave us a lot of hope - the survival rate was told to be low but then the miraculous escapes from such dire conditions were always highlighted. And this is where the culture shock seeped in.
The seventeen years in US had made me a straight shooter. I had lost the Indian sense of indirectness and had almost become blunt to the point of rudeness. In the my daily work I talk about these differences in culture and move from one personality to another - American with Americans and international with internationals. This multiple personality is a great asset in my field as I am able to react to different situations in different manners, to the point of 'faking' it. By this I do not mean that I have become superficial but instead I see clearly the relativeness of cultural values and I do not buy into it.
Every culture tends to impart its values as absolute values. And, its not the cultures fault - if a human being only experiences one culture he or she will always endear those values as absolute! Also, these values create the personality and a sense of belonging - its not that easy to just 'wear it down'. 'This is what makes you an Indian, a German, an English, a Japanese. The conflict only comes when you become a product of more than one culture. In the globalised world this is becoming more and more common. And thus more and more people are going through a readjustment of their sense of being. You could choose to belong to both culture, but I have chosen to belong to none. More on that later.
I asked Mannu if he could join me when I visited with Dr. Makkar as I had some difficult questions to ask and Mannu would need to hear the more difficult answers. The finality of the condition had not seeped in yet - that would happen tomorrow - but I needed to prepare Mannu as I was just a guest to the situation and, ultimately, it would be Mannu who would be running the show in a drastically changed world. My sense of self-confidence and easy going were not going to make the situation easier, especially after I left. Mannu needed to know, and that also quickly, that he had become the head of the household. Not of the clan - for that we had GODFATHER.
I was really grateful to Mickey Virji for clearly telling me what to do - come to India right now. Even if dad would have survived this, I would not have changed this a bit - I may have had different afterthought, no blog for sure, and a different outlook, but clearly, it still would have been a cultural experience - a coming back home 'culture shock'. We call this a re-entry shock in the field. This is when a study-abroad student comes back to his country after a semester or year of living in another country - his shock this time around is usually more acute than the initial one that he had entering another country. I am attaching a document called 'Intercultural Adjustment Cycle' instead of continuously bringing this topic people - people can read the whole document, if they feel like.
Anyways, going back to the story of Godfather - a name given to Mickey Virji - and the clan. Growing up we had always heard how the four brothers had survived the odds and established themselves in the newly formed country. Pappa had taken upon himself to see that his brothers not only survived but thrived in the new environment. He was responsible for everything that we were, maybe indirectly for our generation, and surely the adhesive for the whole family to stay together. The events of this past ten days passed on the torch to the next.
I coined the term light-heartily as I saw Mickey Virji take charge without imposing on others. He naturally organized things that made sense with no elders being hurt with his lead. From hospital duty charts to food preparation responsibilities, and later, dad's final rites, Godfather took upon himself to see the situation through. That reminded me also of my childhood memories of Mickey Virji taking me to the Punjabi Bagh market on his bicycle (which I could only climb after standing on the small gate at Pappa's house) for all sorts of goodies, from chaat to campa cola, not to mention the eventful Bangalore time. Anyways, the term stuck and Godfather for this generation was confirmed.
After everyone arrived at the hospital Mannu and I went to see Dr. Makkar. By this time I had come to know all the details of the situation and slim chance of dad's survival, optimistic myths-stories set aside. Dr. Makkar confirmed everything and gave dad a 30% chance to survive - the situation would change in a day though. It was not grim yet but pretty grim - may be everybody was buying time so that the fatality was not considered immediate but instead in a slow progression. Again, the stories of people surviving situations as such were highlighted, although in my mind I was not a believer anymore. I had thrown in the towel and was of the belief that dad in fact had passed away on Sunday night itself and instead this was God's chance to give me time to come back to India to observe the last rites, a situation that never happened in Bade Daddy's case. Interestingly, both brothers had some kind of stroke/brain hemorrhage - I still clearly remember Bade Daddy's passing away and my time with Bunny Virji, while he was stuck in Chicago due to 9/11.
That day the topic of discussion moved to the following: Is it better to go quick (as Bade Daddy did) or is it better to let a situation linger on (as was the case of dad). I was discussing this everyone and, hopefully, nobody minded it. Again, I was being direct of something that is not discussed that frankly in certain cultures. People looked puzzled by my asking but no one seen to take it personally - either they gave me the benefit of doubt or overlooked due to my temporary status. In any case, certain discussion of the situation brought in other players in to the field.
Mini Didi was troubled by the stalemate of the situation, so were Baba Virji. On top of that Dr. Bansi and Pawanjeet Mama ji were gravely concerned and in constant touch with doctors or mom. That afternoon the situation was also planning to take a grave turn and another Cat scan would be ordered. The comparative pictures of the scans will be photographed and emailed to all corners of the world. Further, next day 2nd and 3rd opinions would be sort and, atleast in my mind, a finality of the situation would set in.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
At Mini Didi's house in 2004
Mini Didi just sent me this photo - although you guys can put photos on your own, I'll put them up if you feel uncomfortable - this is at her house in 2004. I always insist on having a party/get-together when I visit :) -- thanks Mini Didi!Pappa, Dad and me
A Tribute To My Father - Chapter 2
LAST TEN DAYS - 2nd Blog
I guess dad had lost control on Sunday night (Jan 21) while taking a drink. While they were in their room , dad had raised his glass and then could not hold it - mom and guddu were there in the room as he collapsed on the bed. He could not breathe and therefore mom tried to give him the inhaler by pushing open his mouth. They rushed him to the nearest hospital....
As soon as I arrived at the hospital on Wednesday night (Jan 24) mom asked me to go see dad in the ICU - everybody insisted that I talk to him. I took my shoes off and put on the chappals, specially designated for visitors, and went in to visit dad. He was on a ventilator as he had not breathed on his own since Sunday night; surrounded by plenty of gadgets, dad seemed peaceful and not struggling a bit in the state. I told dad that I was here.
The visit was brief - I went out and made arrangements for sleeping on the floor, with Mannu, in the waiting area - a common practise among the many that were there. We did not sleep for a very long time as we chatted with Mickey Virji, Sonu, Sonu Khanna and others - I needed to catch up with the whole situation.
Dad had not shown any signs of illness before although he had had some close encounters with death. Pappa (taya ji - Mickey Virji's father) was not told of the situation yet as we were not sure how he would react, given the fact that he was quite fragile - we did tell him the next day though, although he was surprised to see me there. The cat scans a day before had shown brain hemorrhage with blood seeping into the respiratory control part of the brain - thus the respiratory arrest. Earlier, the doctors had thought it was a heart condition that had caused this.
Dad was in the process of rebuilding the business - he had taken over the shop from Mannu and was quite busy in creating relationships again. I had talked to him on several occasions about this and felt that he was in fact enjoying this. 1984 was the other occasion that he had had to do something similar - starting from the scratch. Mom told me that dad was basking in the glory of praise from his returned customers as they appreciated his coming back to the shop. Mannu, on the other hand, was training with Infosys and enjoying the change as well....
Anyways, I am attaching the first cat scans - the dark parts in the middle is the blood that seeped into the brain.
Its 5AM CST - still jet lagged and can't go back to sleep. This picture was taken by Amrit (and therefore he is missing) in Chicago. I bet Dad's feet were hurting by the end of the day but he is not a complainer kind. I knew that his knees bothered him to the extent that he had a take a pain killer every time he came to the house after gardening outside.
Arjan is in the back with me - he is 7 years old now. Jaya is to the right of Guria and she is 4. Meera, next to Michelle, is 9 and Kabeer is 2 - will be 3 on April 14, 2007.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Dad and Mom were with us this past summer. Guria and Amrit visited us for a week or so...We had just gotten ready to go to Chicago for a full day museum hopping and downtown wanderings. Dad was showing Guria all the exciting things he had done in the garden during the summer.
This photo was taken on the east side of the house, in the front yard.
2006
A Tribute To My Father - LETS DRINK TO THAT...Cheers!!!
LAST TEN DAYS - 1st Blog
Father to three (plus three), Chaachaa ji and Masar ji to others, Uncle to still others, Dad was quite popular with many. Daadaa and Naanaa were his other popular names - friend he was to many, some of whom lost it at the hospital and others could not call because they would loose it on the phone. With tears still fresh and some still flowing (in Michelle's eyes), I write this blog as a tribute to my father - Capt. Kulwant Singh
Laddi Didi's Eulogy (printed on the bottom) inspired the title - truly, dad was an officer and a gentleman - even in his death. Many other tears will roll that I may not become aware of and therefore create this blog - to record all losses that were/are felt in different parts of the world. Please share in this grief by posting on this blog.....
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I will try to summarise my past 2 weeks as accurately as possible. I am not of the emotional sort and therefore intend to be objective. I am thankful for the last summer that dad spent with us and, as I look outside, with snow falling and falling temperatures (-22C), I cannot wait for daddy's garden to grow back to the summer glory.
Amrit called, as none other had the strength, to let me know that dad had a stroke and was in the hospital. Perplexed and not knowing the extent of damage, I immediately made reservations through Shammi Virji in NY. Many times had mom/dad had incidents that they had come out of, I was not concerned but still made sure that I had a ticket at a moments notice....past had taught me, with missed occasions of grief - Bade daddy, Harbans uncle - to be prepared. After talking to many, the occasion did not seem as critical....
Only when Mickey Virji called and said that 'it is not fair that we get to have all the fun in the hospital and I am away' and urged me to come, did I make up my mind to fly next day - tickets were electronic and I had the visa. I left for Delhi on Tuesday, Jan 23 American Airline's direct flight.
Arjan asked me why do I have to go - he is attached to me the most (and was to dad) - I replied 'what would he do if his father was sick - he did not ask again AND that surprised me. Arjan is a persistent kind and is very insistent on attention; he does not like people leaving, especially the ones he becomes attached to - dad leaving in 2002 is a clear reminder...Arjan had a hard time adjusting. Dad/mom leaving in 2006 was no different, given the fact that Arjan played rummy with dad every awakened moment - daddy leaving for the backyard gardening as an excuse to get out of that contract!
Michelle and Meera reacted in a different way - they both cried. Surprisingly, Arjan did not do so. M&M understood the graveness of the situation - if nothing else, this was the first time that I was leaving with any of my parents sick - I had ducked all other occasions in the past with my parents surviving all of them. Jaya and Kabeer are too young to understand although I need to watch Jaya closely....
Mannu, Guria and Amrit came to pick me up and apprised me of the situation. That night was spent in the hospital as Mannu and I caught up on our lives. On this side of the border, Mom and Guria were the emotional kinds - Guria being attached to dad the most. It somehow reminded me of dad's relationship with Tini didi and her marriage scene came to life.
I was quite young during Tini didi's wedding but I clearly remember her crying in daddy's arms - may be it was told to me later. I was also told the stories of dad picking/dropping the nieces for the school and once the car backed on him as it stalled....anyways, I could see that relationship through Mini didi's swollen eyes during the whole ordeal. Surely it is tough on Tini didi and Binny didi...as it was tough for me when I was helpless in US during Bade Daddy's passing away....
I think I will have to write this blog in many sittings as I put my thoughts together. I will keep posting photographs as well. I want to end this session by posting the Eulogy written by Laddi Didi.
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Over the last five days, I have been talking with Daisy, Shammi, Shailly, Guddi Masi, and trying to comprehend our loss. This eulogy is the result. It might surprise you to know that though I have penned the lines, the last three lines have come from Daisy: it was after she spoke them that I was inspired.
To Uncle
Father to three (plus three), Chaachaa ji and Masar ji to others, Uncle to still others, Dad was quite popular with many. Daadaa and Naanaa were his other popular names - friend he was to many, some of whom lost it at the hospital and others could not call because they would loose it on the phone. With tears still fresh and some still flowing (in Michelle's eyes), I write this blog as a tribute to my father - Capt. Kulwant Singh
Laddi Didi's Eulogy (printed on the bottom) inspired the title - truly, dad was an officer and a gentleman - even in his death. Many other tears will roll that I may not become aware of and therefore create this blog - to record all losses that were/are felt in different parts of the world. Please share in this grief by posting on this blog.....
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I will try to summarise my past 2 weeks as accurately as possible. I am not of the emotional sort and therefore intend to be objective. I am thankful for the last summer that dad spent with us and, as I look outside, with snow falling and falling temperatures (-22C), I cannot wait for daddy's garden to grow back to the summer glory.
Amrit called, as none other had the strength, to let me know that dad had a stroke and was in the hospital. Perplexed and not knowing the extent of damage, I immediately made reservations through Shammi Virji in NY. Many times had mom/dad had incidents that they had come out of, I was not concerned but still made sure that I had a ticket at a moments notice....past had taught me, with missed occasions of grief - Bade daddy, Harbans uncle - to be prepared. After talking to many, the occasion did not seem as critical....
Only when Mickey Virji called and said that 'it is not fair that we get to have all the fun in the hospital and I am away' and urged me to come, did I make up my mind to fly next day - tickets were electronic and I had the visa. I left for Delhi on Tuesday, Jan 23 American Airline's direct flight.
Arjan asked me why do I have to go - he is attached to me the most (and was to dad) - I replied 'what would he do if his father was sick - he did not ask again AND that surprised me. Arjan is a persistent kind and is very insistent on attention; he does not like people leaving, especially the ones he becomes attached to - dad leaving in 2002 is a clear reminder...Arjan had a hard time adjusting. Dad/mom leaving in 2006 was no different, given the fact that Arjan played rummy with dad every awakened moment - daddy leaving for the backyard gardening as an excuse to get out of that contract!
Michelle and Meera reacted in a different way - they both cried. Surprisingly, Arjan did not do so. M&M understood the graveness of the situation - if nothing else, this was the first time that I was leaving with any of my parents sick - I had ducked all other occasions in the past with my parents surviving all of them. Jaya and Kabeer are too young to understand although I need to watch Jaya closely....
Mannu, Guria and Amrit came to pick me up and apprised me of the situation. That night was spent in the hospital as Mannu and I caught up on our lives. On this side of the border, Mom and Guria were the emotional kinds - Guria being attached to dad the most. It somehow reminded me of dad's relationship with Tini didi and her marriage scene came to life.
I was quite young during Tini didi's wedding but I clearly remember her crying in daddy's arms - may be it was told to me later. I was also told the stories of dad picking/dropping the nieces for the school and once the car backed on him as it stalled....anyways, I could see that relationship through Mini didi's swollen eyes during the whole ordeal. Surely it is tough on Tini didi and Binny didi...as it was tough for me when I was helpless in US during Bade Daddy's passing away....
I think I will have to write this blog in many sittings as I put my thoughts together. I will keep posting photographs as well. I want to end this session by posting the Eulogy written by Laddi Didi.
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You had in you a dozen years
Or one score if not more.
Who took those years away?
Of all the battles that you fought
Was any more intense
Than the one you fought alone?
And we could only pray.
Your leaving leaves as much a void
As one that happened years ago.
A blood-stained memory that one though
And here you softly slipped away.
It is almost as though you took care
To cause no pain to us who cared
And chose to join your brothers
In the most dignified of ways.
And while we learn to face the truth
That we shall see no more of you
That you are now beyond our ken
You surely know it well yourself
That you were, till your dying breath
More than just an officer
A Gentleman.
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