Jao Beta

It has been a roller coaster ride over twenty years apart. Similar and different like the fingers on a hand. We still find it hard to talk about that one.

This Rukhsati will come at any moment now. Peace is elusive. Hiding, sulking, lurking.

There are more tubes flowing (in and) out of his body. Like parachute lines holding him from slipping away. The head nurse and later the doctor asked the parents The Question. Should they try to resuscitate him if his breathing falters?

I hope none of you ever have to face this query.

The illness of their son, a little older than our eldest son has gushed forth many queries. Most of them uncomfortable with no simple answers: the ones we tend to shirk away from. He was a nice kid. Already I am using the past tense.

More polite, considerate, helpful and well behaved than our two.

Questions abound. About everything. Love, God, relationships, Meaning of Life, Life itself. Feel like an unwilling articling student whose assignment is to balance a sheet and is missing a sum to balance the books. It is a small sum. But should s/he plug the books? Of course nobody will notice the small figure. And it will complete the assignment. But...

Is there a God? Any god? What is the Meaning of Life? Any life? Why are we here? Is there Justice. Why this Cruelty? Is there a Hell or a Heaven?

And the plea from the dying son --- “I am afraid: I don’t want to end up in hell.”

“Son, you have been a good human being. You have not intentionally hurt fellow beings. You have followed most injunctions. You will not go to hell.” I feel like telling him despite my personal doubts. I don’t. Rather, I can’t!

In the past year and a half he has been given different drugs and treatment, some experimental in nature. I will spare you the details. Nothing stopped the onslaught. Recently, the specialists treating him told the parents what they did not want to hear. They could not do anything more for him. They sent him home for the rukhsati. Another set of doctors and nurses now visit him at home to make his remaining stay as painfree and comfortable as possible.

After the carro-tussle of 9-5 we drive over and spend the nights with them.

As you know words come rather easily to me. But they abandon me if I have to express my feelings verbally. Specially where condolences are concerned. At best I can mumble platitudes. And recently I found out I cannot even discuss death with the living.

How would you like to go? If we had a choice, M concurs with me, we would like to go painlessly and quickly, and in each others arms. (The romantic sucker that some of you know so well.)

If wishes were horses....

A few days ago the young fellow had trouble breathing, ambulance rushed him to the hospital. That is where the doctors popped The Question. The next night his breathing became laborious and irregular. The mother stroking his hair whispered “Jao beta, jao hum phir milaiNgay.” (Go, son, leave now; we shall meet soon.)

He stopped talking. The next morning he improved, talked on his initiative. Spoke of going home. The cycle continues between lucidity and incoherence. It could be the result of powerful drugs he is being given, we hope: or the spread of cancer in his brain, we fear. The end will inevitably come shortly.

At the hospital the crowd of old friends and acquaintances who had studiously avoided paying them a visit at home or sharing in their grief until now emerged out of the woodwork. Is this a Desi trait? I have said enough for today.

You are an eclectic bunch, my friends. Therefore I will ask you to pray to your Gods or Bhagwans; and if a skeptic, hope and wish; that the pain of this young fellow subsides and he goes away peacefully.

JAO

Jana hay tou jao

yaadouN maiN qaid

khaabouN ki maanind

waq’t ki lehrouN maiN

bikhar-jao

mooskurah-hatouN kay paimaanouN ka

mauj-e-beh’r-e shauq ka

dil maiN mehfooz lamhouN ka

sheeraza bikhair dou

jana hay tou jao

..........................chalay jao.

Kitab-e-dil kay safha-e-aakhir pey

kiya raq’m hay, maa’loom hay humaiN

kuh’r-e-oodaasi maiN leh’r-e-gham

phir ik baar hum aaghosh hogi

chund sa’atouN kay liyay

ya a’bud kay liyay

shayad....

GO

Leave, if you must

like fond dreams

imprisoned in memory cells

vanish with the waves,

dissolve

---the promises of Smiles

ignore

---the waves from the Ocean of Love

melt away

---those moments ensconced in the heart

go, if you must

................leave.

On the last page of Book of Heart

we know what is writ large,

pensive mist will embrace

the waves of sadness, yet again

for moments few

or forever

perhaps...