Fiction (Flash): The Wait

(Republished)

I’m sure that I fell in love with her only after my death.

As the end was nearing I was afraid – the dread of the unknown. She was also in the room along with a few others, standing apart in a corner. Her eyes, which often met mine, gave a silent assurance that she would be there to see me off to the place I was going. That helped.

She was crying quietly as I left.

There was no wall, no door, and no veil to go through. I was in one world and a moment later in another. It was a surprise that I could still see humans and kept watching what was happening on earth. She was at the funeral as well, dignified, even beautiful, but I knew that her inside was lacerated. I wanted to reach out and sooth her.

Was it then that I fell in love?

We had been schoolmates in our small town. Later I became a travel journalist and a globetrotter. She stayed back, became a teacher, and went through a marriage that ended in divorce within two years. We met occasionally on my rare visits home. That was always enjoyable.

What struck me about my new home was the emptiness that stretched out to infinity. I was alone. From time to time translucent images moved in the distance, some in a hurry, others slowly – spirits like me. But we had no communication between us.

Sometimes I wondered how she would like my present abode that would be hers too some day. I watched her on earth regularly. She looked different – sadder, older, so lonely.

I had no physical wants. Days and nights did not exist where I was. All that could be seen was the woolly nothingness. But time was aplenty. Not in units. Interminable.

My entire earthly life was on show frequently. At each viewing new revelations emerged – the wrongs and rights I did, matters that I could have handled better, my failures, weaknesses, and so on. I was capable of much more good. And questions came up. Why did I hurt people? Why didn’t I help others as much as I could have? Why did I carry grudges?

There was no feeling of guilt but only realisation, disappointment that I had not performed as well as I could have, and a sense of sadness. The greatest regret was that I failed to recognise her love for me. We could have been married happily, had a home, children.

Then I started visiting her at night. I would sit silently on her bed watching the woman I loved. Some times I communicated without words. I knew she understood because of changes in her expression and the rare smiles. In the morning she perhaps forgot what had happened in her sleep or dismissed it as a pleasant dream.

During one of my nocturnal visits she fell sick, suddenly going into a fit of coughing. She was perspiring profusely and clutched her chest, gasping. My inability to help was frustrating. I returned, praying that her death would be painless, and waited.

I was unaware how long it took, but finally she died.

Shortly, an image flashed past me. Was it her, looking for me? She didn’t know where I was in that vastness of space. Then it sank in – a soul had no visual identity without physique.

What next? Rebirth? Resurrection of the body?

The wait for my beloved continues.

Kerala Medicare – good nurses, doctors, hospitals

Three hospitals were involved in treating my recent medical problem. My good blogger friend ER Ramachandran has suggested in a comment on Life without computer - 2 that I write about my experience, particularly about the hospitals, the doctors and nurses.

Well, here we go.

In spite of my wife being there I paid more attention to the nurses than I would have normally. The reason was to confirm what I already knew. You must have read recently the comment on Kerala nurses that a politician in North India had made. According to him the nurses from Kerala are dark and ugly and that a person would find it difficult to address them ‘sisters’.

In the three hospitals that I spent time, almost all the nurses were fair and good looking. Even the darker ones were attractive and pleasant. I feel that none of them would bother to give the comic politician a second look. This quote should be enough to give a clearer picture: “The high literacy rate and access to modern and progressive education help the state churn out the most sought-after Nursing workforce in the global labour market.” (Nurses Abroad,10 Jan 2013)

According to Emerging Kerala Human Development Indicators (HDI) in the State “are the highest in the country and even on par with some developed nations.” Kerala’s longevity rate the highest and infant mortality rate the lowest in the country.  The birth rate of  40% is lower than the country’s average. Even maternal mortality rate (1.3/1000) is the least in India.

According to Wikipedia, Kerala has the largest government network in India – 2700 medical institutions offering 330 beds per 100,000 population. Apart from this there is a large number of private hospitals, covering even the villages. They include several multi-speciality and super speciality ones. Almost all of them are manned by experts. As a result, medical tourism is developing into a growing phenomenon in Kerala.

Actually, this makes the choice of hospital when one gets sick rather difficult particularly in a city like Cochin. I picked the ones where I knew the doctors. That helped – comfortable rooms, best medical attention and good food!

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Haemophilia - the Royal Disease, the Christmas Disease.

PA George Tharakan (1944 – 2013)

[He was the bravest man I have met. From his childhood he struggled with a crippling disease. Even while enduring bouts of severe pain there was always the charming smile that was his trademark. He did so much for patients like him and for others including the poor fishermen living along the coast. He had a large circle of friends from all walks of life.

This post about him was written by my brother PK Hormis Tharakan IPS (Retd.) who was the Director General of Police, Kerala, Chief of RAW and Advisor to the Governor when Karnataka was under Presidents Rule. I am proud to publish it.] 

 

When I read on Thursday morning (Feb 20) about the Haemophilia  Centre at Aluva being inaugurated by the Chief Minister, my thoughts went back to the day when I handed over a letter from my cousin , late George A.Tharakan, who can justly be called the founder of the Haemophilia Care movement in the country, to the Chief Minister's Office. I still have a copy of that letter, dated June 5, 2012 on my computer.

In that letter, George (whom we called Vakkachen) requested the Government to implement a comprehensive scheme for haemophilia care in the State. He also attached a specific proposal, seeking government sanction to start a Comprehensive Haemophilia Centre in the District Government Hospital, Aluva, where a Dialysis Centre and a Blood Bank were already functioning under public-private partnership.

I am glad that today my cousin's dream has come true. He did not live to see it happening. He succumbed to haemophilia-related problems on the 23rd of February 2013, almost exactly a year before his dream materialised. His family and numerous friends are getting to ready to honour him with a memorial service on March 1.

Haemophilia is a disease about which not many people know. As George clarified in his proposal to the Government, Haemophilia is a hereditary bleeding disorder caused by the lack or absence of one of the 13 clotting factors in blood. If the deficient clotting factor is Factor VIII, it is called Haemophilia A, or Classical Haemophilia and if the deficient factor is Factor IX, it is Haemophilia B, or Christmas disease. Though a hereditary condition, 30% of the haemophiliac cases are without previous history. Haemophilia is also known as the "Royal Disease” because it affected the Royal Families of Europe, like Russia, Spain and Germany, through the daughters and granddaughters of Queen Victoria of England.

Being a haemophiliac means having to endure unbearable pain all through one's life. It also means having to incur crushing financial burden because the cost of the factor concentrate needed by haemophiliacs is prohibitively and unbelievably high. I realised this only when I was trying to help with the procurement of the medicines required by George in his last days. That is why I would like to compliment the Chief Minister for having acted on George's proposal and all the others who worked to realise his dream, including Dr. Vijayakumar, Dr. Rema Pai and Dr. Vijayaraghavan of the Planning Board.

But it is important that the remaining proposals in George's  scheme, like the collection of data on haemophiliacs, provision of testing facilities in medical colleges, supply of medicines and factor concentrates at subsidized rates for emergency treatment, prophylactic care and ensuring the safety of the product of treatment are also implemented soon.

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Short short story: Medicine Specialist

 (I am republishing this story in the light of the experience I had recently.)

“Pretty nasty fall,” the elderly doctor said after studying the X-rays. “On your right side, one lower rib and the little finger of the hand are broken. Some minor lacerations. But not to worry.”

Lying on his examination table a bit dazed, I tried to recollect what had happened. After breakfast I had left home to buy a newspaper. I had just been transferred to Mallai and was still in the process of getting things organized. The place was strange to me except that I had transited through the airport a couple of times.

I was walking briskly along the tree-lined avenue. The broad and even footpath was about one foot higher than the road. The locality was surprisingly clean and neat. A refreshing breeze blew in from the sea. The disciplined traffic moved smoothly. Nice place, I thought and carried on, reading the shop signs on both sides of the street.

Then it happened, all of a sudden. I tripped and fell forward. In a fraction of a second before hitting the pavement I realized that my hands would not be able to break the fall. I spun in the air the moment my palms touched the ground, like a slip fielder taking a diving catch. My right side banged against the edge of the walkway as I rolled on to the road.

In no time a crowd gathered around me talking excitedly in the local language, which I did not understand. Telling them that I was okay didn’t have any effect. I was carried to a doctor who was almost directly across the road.

While examining, the doctor had asked whether my head had hit the surface. It hadn’t. He wanted me to point out the places where it pained. After that the X-rays had been taken.

“The fractures,” the doctor said, helping me to a chair opposite his, “will take six weeks to heal."

“Six weeks!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t be alarmed. That’s normal. And you won’t be incapacitated."

He explained the line of treatment. No medicines except painkillers if absolutely necessary. The rib was to be left to heal on its own. I was to avoid sleeping on that side and lifting weights. The doctor placed a piece of dressing between the broken finger and the next one and bound them together with microporous tape. 

The hand was to be kept in sling whenever possible.

“If you like,” the doctor said, “I can refer you to an orthopedist. But really, there is no need.”

“Fine,” I agreed.

“Do you drink?”

I was taken aback by the sudden question. “Not for breakfast,” I replied.

The doctor laughed. “When you get home,” he said, take a bucket bath with some antiseptic in the water. After that have couple of stiff drinks with lunch and go to sleep.”

“Thanks for the prescription. I like it.”

“That’s for the trauma,” the doctor went on seriously. “Now, there are some symptoms you must watch out for. In case of any vomiting, nausea, or dizzy spells, contact me by phone immediately. Here’s my card.”

I had finished reading ‘Dr. Scaria Zachariah, Medicine Specialist’ when the doctor asked, “What caused the fall?”

I looked up and replied, “You did.”

“Me? How’s that?”

“While walking, I saw your signboard. It was the first time I came across the usage ‘Medicine Specialist’ and thought it rather amusing. Actually I was laughing inside me when my foot caught the manhole cover.”

Dr. Zachariah nodded. “The moral of the story is,” he said smiling, “don’t laugh at medicine men.”

I smiled back.

“Actually,” the doctor went on, “I’m a GP. In this area, the term ‘Medicine Specialist’ is used to identify physicians.” After a pause he continued, “Eye specialist, bone specialist, skin specialist and so on. Why not medicine specialist?”

“Yes, why not?” I agreed, wondering what they called the general surgeon.

Ends.

Two photos of our tharavad

Thekkanattu Parayil, Olavipe. 2013

Copy Reserved.

Life without computer - 2

Five years back I wrote about the same subject (http://parayilat.blogspot.in/2008/11/life-without-computer.html). For the last 10 weeks I was again off computers, spending time in and out of hospitals. Tried to use a laptop but couldn’t concentrate. In any case the reference materials on the desk top could not be accessed.

Early November I completed 80 years. There was a string of parties, family and friends celebrating the event. That was great, but affected my writing. In fact I could produce only one post during the month.

December started with a nasty fall. I had gone for a funeral. The lady who had died was the wife of Dr. Jacob Taliat’s (The greatness of human nature – a true story) grand son. While climbing the steps to the house I tripped on the steps. Had a complicated fracture on the left ankle. The left leg had to be kept up almost continuously. With the care of the best doctors in Cochin the problem has been taken care of and I am back at the computer.

I am so happy that though there were no new posts for nearly three months, there were so many visitors to my blog. Thank you. Please do continue to give me support.

I hope to post regularly once pending comments have been attended to.

Thank you once again.

Kasturirangan Report: Crusade in Kerala

There have been eight major crusades from 1095 to 1270 organized by the Roman Church to bring the lands around Jerusalem under control. Minor crusades were also organized against pagans and heretics and for other purposes.  All of them failed. Now the Catholic Churches in Kerala have started a crusade against the Kasturirangan Report which is meant for preservation of the Western Ghats. Their strange bedfellows in this are the Communists and some political parties.

If you ask any of them what the problem is, prompt answer comes “The Report is against the farmers”. Don’t ask how because none of them seem to know the answer. The Report says, “It is because of the harmony between people and nature in the Western Ghats that we recommend policies to promote green growth, sustainable and equitable development across the Western Ghats region.” (Quoted from TOI, Nov. 17, 2013)

Apparently the Church and its partners have started the agitation against the Report without really studying it. The Bishops of Thamarasserry and Idukki started the blaze. The Kerala Catholic Bishops Council subsequently declared support to them and then set up a committee to study the Report. Probably actions like these gave rise to the phrase – setting the cart before the horse.

A couple of days back the media carried pictures of the Thamarasserry Bishop wearing a Gandhi cap and announcing to the people that there would be bloodshed. Actually, his Chancellor was there when blood was shed in Thamaraserry Town earlier in the month. That priest watched the gory events in which many policemen were hurt, several vehicles were destroyed and some government offices were burned.

Blood had been shed earlier too. The Bishop should learn a bit of local history and understand how Christian presence was established in his area. Powerful local timber mafia prevented the settlers from Travancore cultivating the land they had bought in the place. This was around 1940. It was after Jose Kallivayalil with his contact from the Governor of Madras down the line, money and man power entered the scene and defeated the mafia in a long fight the Christians could operate there. Jose Kallivayalil also built a church for them. (See http://stjosephshs.webs.com/parishhistory.htm)

In Idukki, farmers from the foot hills moved to the High Ranges in the 1920s. Jose Kallivayalil’s father KC Abraham Kallivayalil (Konduparampil Pappen Chettan) bought about 7000 acres from the Vanjipuzha Chief and distributed it among landless farmers from Palai area on sharecropping basis. (See: Remembering grandfather). They were the first ones apart from the big plantations to utilize such lands. KC Abraham too built a church, at Peruvanthanam for his people.

None of these two groups encroached on government lands. The trees in Idukki which were (and are) protected by the Cardamom Hills Reserve rules were left untouched. In the North Kerala area the forests which were denuded by the timber mafia were utilised for eco-friendly cultivation.

The forefathers of those whom the bishops are leading to agitation were people committed to the soil. They toiled and sweated and created a brighter future for the present generation. Don’t let religion mess with that. The Church certainly has better things to do than joining hands with some politicians to protect unlawful quarries, sand mining, encroachment and illegal resorts.

First, study the Report. If there is any deficiency or mistake, it can be discussed and corrected. This is not the early Middle Age for crusades.

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Related posts:

The maiming of Munnar

Trees are vital