Fighter

I arrived at 7:20 a.m. in Pune from Singapore to see him. I had heard that he had been suffering a lot and I wanted to give him moral support.

My mother and cousin Akash received me at the airport and we drove straight to the hospital. He was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). As only one visitor was allowed at a time, I mustered up all the courage I could and began my journey towards his room. I could sense myself choke up with emotions as I went down the corridor. My uncle, Purushotham Manvi, greeted me at the entrance of the ward. As I peered into ward, I saw him crumpled in one corner of the ward bed. There was a huge oxygen mask attached to his mouth and nasal area. For a moment I was horrified by this scene. In my entire life, I had never imagined that this day would ever come. As much as cancer hovers a countdown clock over the patient, until the actual moment occurs it is very hard to fathom the extent of seriousness of this abhor-worthy disease.

I tried to talk to him but tears began to well up in my eyes and everything became blurry. I fought them as I did not want to bring down his spirits but I just couldn’t seem to have that kind of willpower. I hugged my uncle tightly and wept in his arms. Finally, I looked at my handsome grandfather and tried to ask him questions. He slightly nodded in response.

After I could no longer take it, I made my way out of the hospital and decided to visit him later in the evening. This time I decided to be more emotionally stable and try to cheer him up. The entire ICU atmosphere was so overwhelming that I ended up tearing up. With great determination, I walked up to him and ran my hand over his mostly bald head. I looked straight into his cataract-ridden eye and asked him if he could see me. He nodded and I immediately wiped my tears and plastered a smile on my face. When I told him that I had secured a job at a certain bank, he opened his eyes slightly wide.

I was later told by my mother that when she had informed him about my job initially when I was still abroad, he was excited. He had even lifted his arm from under his sheet gesturing ashirvaada (blessing).

When Akshay and I finally decided to leave the hospital for the time being, Akshay informed him about it. He slightly began to frown and I could see tears welling up in his eyes. Unfortunately, the equipment attached to his face restricted him to express his emotions. I felt a lump in my throat at this sight. True to his nature, his comprehensive powers were still efficient but sadly his body was not complying with his mind. A wave of despair washed over me when I saw this. The fighter in him had shown tremendous strength all these years and to see him in this condition was gut-wrenching. My heart yearned to make him feel better but I felt utterly helpless. All I did was look him straight in the eye and let him know that we all love him and were there by his side.

It was around 6 a.m. in Pune and I was awoken by a loud wailing noise. My cousin Suman shook me awake and asked me to hurry up to the hospital. There was a lot of commotion in the house. My mother’s elder sister knocked loudly on the bathroom door and my mother emerged perplexed from the other side. “Appa left us”, my aunt barely managed to say. My mother evidently seemed to be overwhelmed with shock and after a minute or so she began to weep incessantly. When my aunt began to hug her, she pushed her away. All the ladies of the house and four grandchildren made our way to the hospital where both my uncles were by my grandfather’s side all night long.

As I began to climb the hospital stairs, my heart began to race. The strong smell of medications added to the sadness. When I finally reached his ward, I didn’t immediately register the limp body lying on the bed. His feet and arms were swollen and his lips had turned almost white and dry. His eyes were shut but his mouth was slightly ajar. It looked like he was calmly sleeping sans rhythmic breathing. The oscilloscope next to his bed depicted a straight horizontal line without a single peak or trough. It was almost as if the machine was telling us that he was finally at peace.

Both of his daughters rushed to his side and began weeping loudly. They kept requesting him to wake up. It seemed like he was adamant about joining his wife on the other side. I went by his bed side and touched his head. It was still relatively warm. The doctors had declared him dead at 5:50 a.m. He had apparently stopped breathing at 5:40 but the doctors tested him for 10 mins before declaring him dead.

We were in his ward for another 30 minutes and we were requested by the security guard to move out as it may have been disturbing the patients next door. When we sat outside the Coronary Care Unit (CCU), phone calls came flooding through. Relatives and friends conveyed their condolences to this legendary man. I still didn’t feel the weight of the situation although my heart felt very heavy at this point.

Arrangements for his funeral were being made and the cremation was to be held at the local cremation ground called Vaikunth Smashanbhoomi. A few relatives made their way to Pune to reach in time for the cremation.

The family reached the cremation ground by car and his body was brought to the location via an ambulance. It was bizarre how a man I’ve known all my life was now referred to as a body. I refused to call it a body as I found it disrespectful to my dearest grandfather.

He arrived in an ambulance and was embalmed from head to toe. I looked into the Omni van in which he was brought and I could only see his toes sticking out of the embalming bandages. His feet had a tag on them with his name, patient ID and time of decease.

He was brought out of the van and his face was uncovered. His nostrils were filled with cotton balls and his mouth was closed. His daughters ran to him and shook him hoping to wake him up. They repeatedly pleaded him not to leave them. It was a heartbreaking scene. His sons then went on to finish the Hindu rituals as instructed by the Pandit. We were then allowed to say our final goodbyes to him. I stroked his head for one last time and it was very cold; almost as if he was taken right out of a refrigerator. I wasn’t ready to say my goodbye yet. I still had so much to talk to him about and hear riveting stories from him. There was so much unfinished business we had to deal with before I could let him go away.

Alas, it was time to cremate him. The rituals were all over. He was to be cremated using a furnace. A lot of us were shocked to find out as we were under the impression that it would be done in the traditional way of burning wooden pieces. Since the authorities there do not provide wood, we would have had to source for it ourselves and due to shortage of time and better efficiency, the furnace method was adopted. We were warned not to witness this stage but I wanted to see him for one last time. He was transferred to a metallic stretcher and was rolled down to the door of the furnace which flung open as soon as he approached it. It was a horrifying scene. The furnace was brightly lit and scarily orange in colour and it seemed like the doors to an alternate universe had just opened and gobbled him up. The door shut after him and I never caught a glimpse of him from that moment onwards.

Even to this moment, I replay that scene in my head and wish things would have been different. If only I could bring him back somehow.

I can say this with utmost confidence that my respect and love for him will never diminish and he will always have a very special place in my heart. The void can never be filled with anything and I console myself by reminding myself how lucky I am to have had such a wonderful human being as my grandfather.

On the way back from the cremation ground, I saw his death certificate dated 26-05-2014. The cause of death was stated as ‘Carcinoma Prostate with multiple metastasis with multiple organ failure’. Metastatis, which is the spread of cancer from one organ to another, seemed to have eaten up his pancreas, lungs and many other organs.

Everything around me felt so unreal. The weight of the situation hadn’t completely hit me yet. I still hadn’t realised that I wouldn’t see him ever again.

The next morning two men arrived at the door to take back the bed that had been rented for him as he was expected to return home from the hospital.

My cousin Akash and I witnessed this and were saddened by the scene. It suddenly began to rain as we stood in the balcony. “This rain is almost symbolic of washing away the old and starting things afresh. Life is so strange. A new generation of kids are going to come into this world and we will get old one day. The cycle goes on”, he mused.

As my grandpa rightly says, allide mane illige bande summane (My house is elsewhere, I’m just a temporary visitor here).

C’est la vie!