Last week my 83 year old father had a brain seizure. His brilliant brain, sort of short circuited, and he was suddenly mentally incoherent. All this caused by a condition called hypoatremia, where sodium levels in the body plummet.
As I sit by his bedside in the Intensive care unit of the hospital I listen to my father. Dad has lost touch with reality. Random communications tumble out of his mouth.
I observe that Dad is not fully conscious, yet he was struggling very systematically to undo the knots and bindings that strap his wrists to the hospital bed ( to prevent him from pulling out the various tubes and needles plunged into his frail body). I admired his persistent and combative nature fighting challenges even in his semi conscious state.
My admiration soon evaporates, and I am suddenly filled with dread and gloom. I realise that I may never be able to sit and talk about God, life, philosophy or politics and a thousand other things. We might never be able to share jokes and laugh again. I sense a strange hollowness in my being.
The hospital room is stifling and I go for a walk, I meet a couple of friends and try to pretend that everything is ok, Maybe this is just a bad dream, one from which I will wake up and learn that my anguish was caused by a trick played on me by my mind.
In the life of a family where you stay and work together, there is a lot of scope to do stupid stuff, to say and do things which we look back with regret in later years.
I and my father had our share of disagreements. I was too keen on doing things right and he was keen on getting things done asap (as soon as possible). I can't help but feel that he has been a better dad than I have been a son.
Dad and I were estranged for several years. Maybe it was a blessing that we lost everything that was material and thus eventually found our love in each other again. He hasn't changed that much but I have learnt to be a better son. I no longer wish to change him, I merely want to be with him.
Traditionally Indians have described their fathers as 'Anna Datha' the provider and hence life giver. The same term is also used for God. The one who gives and protects us. This we so readily forget.
I can recall numerous instances where our father walked those extra miles to get us whatever we desired or needed to guide and protect us, sometimes excessively. We were sometimes unreasonable and selfish, yet he never refused us anything, ever.
I remember when I was about 8 years of age and studying as a boarder in Bishops School, Pune. I can vividly recall my Dad riding one chilly morning into the school on a Lambaretta scooter with a bundle of blankets, one for each of us brothers. He had sensed that the winter was exceptionally cold and he had travelled 200 kilometers to Pune to get us extra blankets so that we would be warm.
My life is full of many kind acts of my parents and I am sure there in everyone’s life. The tragedy is, we seem to have a selective memory of remembering clearly the few unpleasant things they may have said or done while remaining blank on all the wonderful things and the sacrifices they have made for us.
It is difficult to understand human behaviour. Maybe it is best to stop rationalising and start feeling. I now know that feelings of love and gratitude humble us, and make us better people.
I feel blessed that I can look after my aging parents and my widowed aunt. Not to be their feeder and caretaker but to be their companion. This is always easier when you have a compassionate and supportive spouse.
All those who are born must leave us someday. Between the borning and the departing is but a short spell. Let us not waste it on collecting things at the price of losing family and friends.
I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. I want to just bask in the love and blessings of my parents. A service only lucky children are privileged to get.
I pray that my dad gets well soon and we can have a little more time together, doing nothing more than enjoying the passage of time.
I remember my Uncle Manohar Singh ji with whom I stayed for many years and who looked after my Grandmother with great devotion and love, once remarked; "The elderly need so little , but they need that little, so much".
As I sit by his bedside in the Intensive care unit of the hospital I listen to my father. Dad has lost touch with reality. Random communications tumble out of his mouth.
I observe that Dad is not fully conscious, yet he was struggling very systematically to undo the knots and bindings that strap his wrists to the hospital bed ( to prevent him from pulling out the various tubes and needles plunged into his frail body). I admired his persistent and combative nature fighting challenges even in his semi conscious state.
My admiration soon evaporates, and I am suddenly filled with dread and gloom. I realise that I may never be able to sit and talk about God, life, philosophy or politics and a thousand other things. We might never be able to share jokes and laugh again. I sense a strange hollowness in my being.
The hospital room is stifling and I go for a walk, I meet a couple of friends and try to pretend that everything is ok, Maybe this is just a bad dream, one from which I will wake up and learn that my anguish was caused by a trick played on me by my mind.
In the life of a family where you stay and work together, there is a lot of scope to do stupid stuff, to say and do things which we look back with regret in later years.
I and my father had our share of disagreements. I was too keen on doing things right and he was keen on getting things done asap (as soon as possible). I can't help but feel that he has been a better dad than I have been a son.
Dad and I were estranged for several years. Maybe it was a blessing that we lost everything that was material and thus eventually found our love in each other again. He hasn't changed that much but I have learnt to be a better son. I no longer wish to change him, I merely want to be with him.
Traditionally Indians have described their fathers as 'Anna Datha' the provider and hence life giver. The same term is also used for God. The one who gives and protects us. This we so readily forget.
I can recall numerous instances where our father walked those extra miles to get us whatever we desired or needed to guide and protect us, sometimes excessively. We were sometimes unreasonable and selfish, yet he never refused us anything, ever.
I remember when I was about 8 years of age and studying as a boarder in Bishops School, Pune. I can vividly recall my Dad riding one chilly morning into the school on a Lambaretta scooter with a bundle of blankets, one for each of us brothers. He had sensed that the winter was exceptionally cold and he had travelled 200 kilometers to Pune to get us extra blankets so that we would be warm.
My life is full of many kind acts of my parents and I am sure there in everyone’s life. The tragedy is, we seem to have a selective memory of remembering clearly the few unpleasant things they may have said or done while remaining blank on all the wonderful things and the sacrifices they have made for us.
It is difficult to understand human behaviour. Maybe it is best to stop rationalising and start feeling. I now know that feelings of love and gratitude humble us, and make us better people.
I feel blessed that I can look after my aging parents and my widowed aunt. Not to be their feeder and caretaker but to be their companion. This is always easier when you have a compassionate and supportive spouse.
All those who are born must leave us someday. Between the borning and the departing is but a short spell. Let us not waste it on collecting things at the price of losing family and friends.
I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. I want to just bask in the love and blessings of my parents. A service only lucky children are privileged to get.
I pray that my dad gets well soon and we can have a little more time together, doing nothing more than enjoying the passage of time.
I remember my Uncle Manohar Singh ji with whom I stayed for many years and who looked after my Grandmother with great devotion and love, once remarked; "The elderly need so little , but they need that little, so much".
