The dark days

V's father was breathing from an Oxygen cylinder. That night, his supply was running out. V went to nearby hospitals, but could not find a bed to admit his dad. His father was not looking good, and V was doing everything in his capacity to find oxygen cylinders. With limited means and no family in proximity, he kept struggling till 1am. At last, he called my co-volunteer, Pranjal, who swung into action and convinced a Sardarji to open his store and provide Oxygen cans.

We were all under severe stress, V was in panic. When I asked Sardarji about money, he said, 'take the oxygen cans right now, save the man first'. I quickly booked an Uber, and requested the driver to rush to V's house with the cans. Pranjal was on call with V, trying to calm him down ...his dad's breath was getting heavier. 'Papa ke nails blue ho rahe hain', V said.

V's dad stopped breathing. He was dead. Pranjal alerted the local cops so that someone could be there to take care of the body and be there for young V. He had seen his dad dying infront of him, wanting to breathe...terrible shock for a young boy.

That night, I froze, almost went into shock. The pain that V must have gone through & my guilt for not being able to help him on time comes back every night. Between me, Pranjal & all volunteers who were associated with us, we have many such stories. Stories of pain, misery, helplessness and loss.

It's okay to be strong, it's okay to be weak

We knew it was a pandemic. Yet, we didn't want our lives to be affected. Some took vacations, many could not stop partying and get togethers, many married and some even planned babies (!!!). The govt did nothing to save us, but let's not forget that most of us ignored all warnings. We were in some false belief that it cannot hit us, or may just touch and go like a normal seasonal virus. 'Sab ko hona hai' was the narrative. 'We can't just sit at home'. A dear friend recently told me not to be a paranoid, else I may land up in an asylum.

If only people had shown some restrain, many homes may not have lost their near and dear ones. If only we'd not used our contacts to call 1000 people at our parties/ weddings, or gotten passes to travel through the lockdown, or used our connections to illegally run our businesses. The entitlement didn't save anyone. Nor the eagerness to 'look at the positive side'.

Having said that, I feel for all those who were at work because they had no choice, and got infected. Also, all those who were at home, but still got it...all the frontline workers...who put their lives in danger to save many through diminishing oxygen, medicine supplies and common sense.

In these difficult times, let us also pay attention when you feel someone is in trouble but avoids conversation. STOP saying, 'start again', 'sab theek hoga', 'you have everything', 'don't be depressed'. Make yourself available to listen and neither judge, nor shoot advice. I am here to listen, not judge. I am here to help, not advice. It is okay to appear weak, break down, admit failures. Reach out to your friends. Seek help. Don't give up you lovely people. And please, call me if anything is bothering you.

No, do not celebrate us on Women's Day!

Most women in India are struggling for their basic rights - right to food, hygiene, education, marriage and reproduction at will. We are a country where women are dropping out of schools after puberty because there are no toilets. There are women who are forced to undergo abortions till they produce a male child. Some of them, under-age and under-nourished, lose the battle and pass away.

In the posh lanes of our metros, domestic crimes against women are on a rise. The risk to mental health of women is at an all time high. Marital rape is common, and the screams of women who are abused, tortured are conveniently are even today, ignored by the neighbours.

It pains to see how the burning issues and requirements of women are trivialized. Media is neither reporting number of unsolved cases of crime against women, nor reporting stories of women who are struggling in the rural bylanes of the country, seeking help in breastfeeding, in bringing up their children, in supporting them if something happens to their husbands. Nobody is talking about the undernourished girls who do not get a fair share from the menu, because the stock is limited, and the best is reserved for their brothers. 

Urban India can be blind to the horrid condition of women in the deeper regions of the country. But even in the cities, why can't we focus on financial independence and career avenues, rather than painting a picture of the career women with a baby by her side and looking like a sacrificed goat. We need to think harder about what women want. 

'Treat her like a princess' is passé. Giving her special treatment in the corridors of patriarchy will not help. Let her free, educate and empower her, make her financially independent - now that is a message that we need. Not to be special, but to be equal. Not to be kind, loving, caring, amazing, super woman, but to be who we are.

That night in the ICU

That night in the ICU was very long. I opened my eyes to that familiar beep sound of the vitals monitoring system. That beep scares me. So does the ICU. In flashes I could remember mom and Abby asking the doctor how my surgery went. I also remember trying to speak in between, but all I remember saying was, ‘pain, pain’.                                                                                                            

I rang the call bell on my bed, to be greeted by a sleepy nurse. She looked tired, but very eager to help. ‘How are you feeling’, she whispered politely. My instant reaction must have been, ‘it is hurting’, but I did not want to sound like a ninny. ‘Can you give me a glass of water, I’ve not had anything for over 24 hours now’, I requested. ‘Sorry mam, only after the doctor sees you tomorrow morning’, she responded. 

She told me it was 2 am, and the doctor will see me at 8 am. It was a long wait. After she left, I started feeling my stomach which was hurting as if someone was rubbing a blade on it. With one arm holding the vital monitoring system clip and the other wearing the canula, my hand movement was restricted. With the little movement, I could feel some dressing on my stomach, a tube originating from somewhere and extending towards the right corner of my bed. On the left, there was another tube with blood looking fresh in it. It was a drain-pipe originating from inside me and pumping residual blood out, I was told later.

The pain was unbearable, but I suddenly realized that I was smiling. I was so happy to have made it alive. I was so excited to get rid of that malignancy inside. The malignancy, I carried for four years, along with excessive discomfort, embarrassment and agonizing pain. All of it is gone, I thought. ‘I will now spend more time with Maulik, take him for a vacation, sort out my career and make life more worthwhile. Next year will be rocking’, I was telling myself.  

I moved a bit in excitement, and I felt tearing pain in my belly. But I smiled again, nonchalant of the distress. I was thinking about all the people who mattered in life – Maulik, my family, my friends – and everyone who has ever been there to comfort me. For the next few hours, I was just making random plans – picnics, vacations, food trips, events – and getting excited. In the morning, the doctor told me I looked tired. I knew why. I had a hectic night 😊.