I am numb

 

I am numb

 

I am numb, dumb and all my senses have gone blunt. Out of 24 hours, I find myself sleeping, totally blackout, for more than 18 hours. Opening eyes is like having a spooking look through a tunnel, struggling to find something which makes sense, and by the time I realize that there is something known in visibility, I close it again. Total blackout again. For few glorious moments when I am in senses, what bothers is my Son’s struggle to settle in London. How do I facilitate him is the only sensible target left to meet out?

 

A person is very selfish. It is never ‘me’ in life. I was reading Sadguru’s ‘Inner Engineering’. He says- be responsible for your responses. I try to focus on my inner element, know my surroundings and think within. But alas the external issues are overwhelming. They do not let me sleep in peace. How do you undo what you have done for half a century in your life? Can a line of wisdom relieve me off the baggage which I have been carrying all my life? Even when life is threatening with shallow breath, half consciousness, mindless presence, still there are couple of factors bothering me, beyond my own self, my Son and father-in-law…  Maya is what weaves life’s activities. Sadguru advocated to come out of maya, and here I was thinking of two generations, one above and one below, and the current that is me is relegated to backburner, though physically struggle was on current. The power of mind put to use in traditional way, to solve literally where I had no say, is what we had been taught whole life. Worry for what you don’t have and worry for what you can do nothing. Worry has become a way of life for us.

 

My struggle is serious, with my lung infection due to COVID calling for medical emergency of sort. I am on high dose of steroids, and my numbness is perhaps attributed to those medicines. Sugar level has gone haywire because steroids don’t let them settle. I had got hospitalized on 15^th with sugar level shooting up to 550, and every day in the hospital it would read close to 350 odds, at least once a day. Rest of the time it would fluctuate less than 200. ‘Don’t you bother for sugar parameters, as we are managing through insulin’, doctor had reassured. Four insulin shots in all, one each before meal and one before bed, and twice blood thinner shots, all on my belly. I wondered if the small bulge on the abdomen is due to these 6 shots I was enduring. In the hospital at least six to seven times I was dripped with medicine. Israeli’s were the best in drip irrigation, to survive the plants in arid zone. My body was surviving through the same drip feed.

 

Day before, on 22^nd April, 2021, a lightning had stuck. Morning around 630 am I had received a call from Amitabh, my co-brother, that our father-in-law suffered severe cardiac arrest. He was in Chirayu hospital, Bhopal, for almost 14 days now. After 8/9 days of hospitalization, he had shown signs of improvement and suddenly things deteriorated. He was put on oxygen and on 20^th evening he moved to ventilator. In the family group he would text a short message about his wellbeing and anxiety. But the message papa sent in the family group ‘The Twelve’ on 20^th at 1135 pm read as ‘Aaj aahk… gf anr, nb FB’ and at 1149 pm ‘Kg ji Y aaz n. Abs sakas sbd az’. At 1144 pm he had texted on 'har har narmade' mandla family whattsapp group, 'Sjdbn nv2#$#$%%^*(=:-?.?' It made no sense and that shook us from inside. It was disjointed, disoriented but conveyed in volumes. Something terrible was wrong. Those were the last words perhaps he tried to communicate and they were incoherent to our sensible minds. We needed some esoteric talent to decipher them, which none of us had. It threw us into panic. Was it not surprising that he had managed to get into both the family group to communicate. He was sending his last words, in the form of blessings, bidding adieu and perhaps informing that he is connected to two worlds now. He had reached out to all family members he loved. To be honest he had not betrayed us, not left us without any signal. He had been loud and clear. The journey had started. With the strike of the midnight or may be in the wee hours, Hindu's 'Brahma Muhurta', he had embarked on his journey, but Maya didn't let us give up.  

21^st was wait and watch, and 22^nd morning the impossible happened. He couldn’t be revived from the cardiac arrest. ‘He was supposed to live forever’, is what Udhav/Anhad had written to me from London when he had heard about the loss in the morning. So, did we think. Certainly, I had sometime long back thought of spending some retirement time with him, discussing books, his favourite pass time. I have almost nine years to retire still. Plans which is not worth planning. What is in store tomorrow we don’t know but we tend to plan for decades. Yes, management teaches you that, plan meticulously. What is meticulous in life? Taking a cue from Sadguru’s book, I had texted him personally on Tuesday, 20^th April at 738 am, ‘Papa Pranam. You have to fight it out please. Talk to your organs, it helps. Please take charge. Work on inner healing. I pray. Look inwards, see your organs and tell them you have long wat to go (folded hands emoji)’. He responded at 1034 am with two blushing smileys. Those smileys were not smiley to me but his face with that permanently etched smile.

On Thursday, 22^nd, at 616 am I had written in the har har narmade whattsapp group of Mandla family, ‘Each one of you have loved papa unconditionally. Unki taqat ka source aap logon ka prem, pyaar, sneh aur dulaar raha hai. Sabhi apne mandir mein, isht devi/devta se prarthna karen. Samuhik aur vaqtigat prarthna karen please… I believe in miracles and let us together pray for miracle to happen (two folded hands emoj)’. And within half an hour the news had shattered my belief in miracles.

 

All these days, Amitabh and Rinki (Pragya) had been with him, traveling daily with food to feed and daring through COVID hospital to meet him. They would connect with Doctors, nurses and everyone to ensure that papa was well attended to. From Delhi, Didi (Manisha) and Bhaisahab (Shyam) pulled all the strings in the State Government to ensure that he was well attended to. No stone was left unturned to facilitate all help possible. Nanu (Priyanka) was coordinating with the security incharge of the hospital to ensure presence of person to take care. I lay in the bed struggling my own battle, being a mute spectator, praying with Durga naam path and other possible ways, trying to send some healing through reiki and just helplessly grieving in loneliness.

 

Papa was a mentor to me. A saintly person who did not hold anything against even his adversaries. Who had inspired me to a great extent to pen down my thoughts? Who would be happy hearing me speak in forums? Who would be happy that I am taking his lineage forward as a writer? He expressed less, when it came to family matters. Did not interfere in anybody’s personal matter, and found peace and solace in his writings, books and support system he created for others. He would always say to issues in family, ‘everyone is matured enough. They will find a way out’. He was sometimes too silent to create ripples. The noise that his silence made was disturbing. Silence has been his weapon, with Mummy and others. His strongest communication was through his silence. Going mum was a potent weapon to avoid or to communicate for him. How silently he communicated his opposition or wish. He had gone silent now, forever…

 

To him his brothers and their family meant everything. After years of detachment during his children’s growth, he had found this new love for Mandla (his place of birth) too spirited. When Mummy was there it had to be his three daughters and their family. But since she passed away in 2014, it was his family. Going back to roots, perhaps was the calling. His last celebration was with them at Tikamgarh and last grief at Mandla for his brother. His laugh and sorrow had mingled in the sand and water of Ma Narmada, a deity river at the shores of which he had grown.

 

He was bhishmpitamah of the family. Everyone was welcome to stay with him, talk to him, share their woes and happiness. Not necessarily he would talk in the language one wanted but still his voice was respected, because everyone knew that he had ‘malice for none’ in his life. This spirit came reflecting in the pieces written in the newspapers and other places by his acquaintances in these last two days. Everyone has a story to tell, and all are unique. He touched people’s life as a saint, without letting them know what changes he would bring in them. He was a giver, a generous contributor. For him what he had was for the community. None of his children can claim rights on what he had, as they were for all.

 

As of now, I am plastic, as my own senses do not support me. My voice is meek and feeble. I cannot sometimes recognize my own sound. Whoever talks to me thinks I have to take care of myself. I had to get discharged in urgency after I got the news of Papa, to be with my wife, Priyanka. I knew she cannot take it. All the way from Noida it took me more than an hour to reach. The doctors were magnanimous as they had discharged me without settling my bills. A goodwill coming from common acquaintances. All through the drive, I kept my eyes closed, as mind and body were not in sync. On reaching home when I entered, madhav was desperately waiting for me. He had already called four-five times as handling his mother was getting difficult for him. Priyanka entered the scene with disheveled hairs, colour totally drained out and asked me to take bath. I robotically went to the bathroom as directed and came to sitting lounge. She was sitting there thumping her foot down on floor hysterically, waving like a dry leaf and shouting that she doesn’t want to speak to anyone and no one should touch her. I tried to approach her and she ran away, walked briskly all around saying no talk and no touch. She was in denial. Whom to console, myself or her? For two three hours it continued. I switched off her mobile. For seven days I had been waiting desperately to return back home from hospital. Caged in four walls, lying unconscious most of the time, nurses pumping in fluids through all means, gulping food for the sake of it, was getting on my nerves. It was the love and concern of loved ones that was healing me and helping me go on. But this return to home was not what I had expected. Neither my mind, body or soul were in order. It was so plastic and unnatural. The red flowers had blossomed in this last week but the colours did not excite me. Neither the jamun branches which had moved inside our balcony, accepting my request, which I had been making for more than a year now, made me smile. Everything seemed so meaningless and unnatural.

 

Amitabh and Rinki said that they were doing the last rites, ‘Would Nanu like to talk?’ Rinki asked. She was not ready. I was positive and so was our whole family. Bhaisahab was positive at his place and Didi was with all symptoms. One flight to catch at 1125 am to make it to funeral, but neither the time permitted, as I got discharged finally at 1020 am and with all positive reports none was allowed to travel. ‘Papa, are you not taking too much of precaution?’ I would ask him when he wouldn’t let anyone at home for almost 8 months as precaution to COVID. ‘I know, but I do not want to get ill and you guys take leave to serve me,’ he would smilingly say. ‘my precautions are for you guys,’ he would reiterate. I was warned by a wise person sometime back that mind what you say, as once in a daytime Saraswati gets on your tongue, and whatever you wish becomes nature's command. Once, when my mother had disagreed to come to  my posting place Narsinghgarh, I had irritatingly said that you will come to die in my arms. And that is what happened, two years later. I had taken her to the hospital in my arms, last time when she had spoken in senses. Papa had said that he did not want anyone to come to serve him. He lived his wish. He had stayed there in the COVID section in the hospital so minimum personal help could be extended to him, and when he left us physically, for heavenly abode, even then we could not afford to take pain to join for his formal last rites. He had left without asking for any service. Amitabh, Rinki, Kanu and Kanishka, who had been support for years now had the privilege and honour to be at his side, in breath and without. In one of my blog, I have written that I don’t want anyone to worry for my last rituals after my physical death, as that is a mystery, and without resolving it there is no point in following rituals mechanically. I always wonder what is life after death, if I will be able to interact with beloved ones some way. In my book ‘Treatise from a Deathbed’ I have aspired to connect, and still my aspiration lives. Someday, maybe I will be able to connect with my parents, in-laws and others and tell them that life is not easy for those who are left wailing. There should be a way to connect and settle unsettled communication.

 

I am still numb and dumb. I know my state will remain for a week or so, before, as always, I will be back struggling for my daily bread. I have moved on when I lost my father at 18, my mother in 2009 and others so loving. I will carry on, move on….(24th April, 2021)