08 February 2016

(ഇതിൻറെ മലയാളം പതിപ്പു കാണാൻ ഇവിടെ ക്ലിക്ക് ചെയ്യുക.)

I was walking

Without knowing the way

Aimlessly

Travelled along many paths

Crossed many paths

You came

Along one of those paths

Paths met

We met

I asked,

“Coming with me?”

You blushed

Looked down

Then said,

“Yes”

That was a Sunday

1981 February 08

Then onwards

We walked together

When I wavered

You supported me

When you staggered

I caught hold of you

Joys

Sorrows

Dreams

Above all

Unconditional

Love and faith

We shared all

Occasionally

We quarreled

Then reconciled

Smiled

Held our hands together

Children were born

Not one

Not two

But three

Our daughter

Flew away

To the world of eternal light

Before seeing the light

Thirty five years!

Let God

Bless us

To again

Continue our journey

Quarrelling occasionally

Then reconciling

Smiling

Holding our hands together

Let the Goddess of Mannadi

Give you the strength

To tolerate me

To ignore my eccentricities

I will never forget

To love you

To trust you

For sure

The Accident

O! God! What kind of sound is this? A thousand war planes flying together? Or continuous thunders and lightening? Or my head being crushed between two huge hammers? Why this horrible burning sensation? Why is my head paining so terribly? Why is that I can’t see anything? Why this pitch darkness? Where am I? What is happening to me? Why this pain all over my body?

The terrible and unbearable sound continues.

I shout, ‘Please stop, please stop.’

Oh, my! What happened to my voice? Why am I not able to shout?

Let me try again, ‘Please stop.’

No, no use. Why does no voice come out?

Why am I feeling sleepy again? I woke up just now only. Why do I feel so tired? Where am I?  What has happened to me? What has happened …? What has …? What …?

** ** ** ** **

Why this darkness? Is it night? Why can’t I feel my hands and legs? Why is this excruciating pain all over my body? Where am I? What happened to me?

Many questions, but no answers.

The sound which I earlier felt like a thousand war planes has now come down drastically. Oh, the sound was of two people quarrelling loudly. One man was accusing another of doing something wrong for which the former had been held responsible. Who are these people? Why can’t I see them?

‘Doctor’, that is yet another voice, and it is a female voice.

‘Yes?’, a different male voice.

‘Doctor, can I see him now? I am his wife,’ the female voice.

Oh! So this is a hospital. I am in a hospital! Then why do they not do something to reduce my pain?

I tried to call out, ‘Doctor’.

But the words dried up somewhere in my throat.

How did I end up in the hospital? What is my name? Who am I?

‘All right’, that is the voice of the doctor. ‘Only for a few seconds, okay? He has been gaining and losing consciousness off and on. So please don’t disturb him.’

‘Yes, doctor’, the female sound. This time the voice cracked, as if she was crying.

Whose wife is this lady? There may be other patients in this room. Is this a room? Or an ICU? What is going on? Why am I not able to remember anything?

Footsteps! They are coming closer. Who could it be? The lady who said she is the wife of a patient? Maybe I will ask her who I am, if the footsteps pass near me. The steps came closer and stopped near me. A few seconds must have passed. I wanted to talk to her. Suddenly I felt something on my hand. It is a hand! A hand touching my hand! Oh, God! I can feel the hand. So warm, so smooth. Whose hand is this? And why is he, or she, touching my hand? Delicately caressing? Is it the lady who said she was the patient’s wife? Is she my wife? She has to be. Otherwise I would not have felt so much love, care, affection, and warmth in the touch. Maybe she will tell me something about me. I felt a few drops of warm water falling on my hand. Warm water? Those are probably her tears. She must be crying. Yes, I can hear the sobs.

I shouted, ‘please talk to me, please say something’.

She didn’t hear my voice. She didn’t notice my tremendous effort to talk to her or to shout.

I tried to clutch her hand. But I could not move my fingers.  I tried hard to remember again. And again. No, nothing. Nothing comes to my mind. I can’t think of anything.

O! Lord! How I want to see her, to look at her face. Maybe I will be able to recognise her. Maybe I will recollect something about me. But I cannot see anything. And I am unable to speak.

I heard the doctor’s voice, ‘Mrs Verma, let him rest, please ...’

She slowly and delicately moved her hand from mine. I shouted, ‘No, no, do not go away. Please stay, please stay.’ Nobody heard me. The footsteps slowly retreated.

A few seconds later I heard the doctor again, ‘Look, Mrs Verma, you need to be brave. Very brave, indeed.’

‘Doctor’, my wife said (yes, now I can confidently say she is my wife), ‘Tell me something. His condition frightens me. You can tell me the truth. What do you ... What ....’

Her voice choked too much and she could not speak. I only heard her sighs.

‘All right, Mrs Verma. I was waiting for your son to arrive. But maybe I should tell you. You need to be calm. You understand that the accident was terrible. It is a miracle that he is still alive. All the other occupants of the car died on the spot. His condition is, however, very critical. Very very critical. Both his legs and left hand have multiple fractures. His spine has been fractured at a few places. His skull and brain have serious injuries, too. His heart and liver are in a very bad condition. If you believe in God, please pray for him.

‘Let me also tell you that even if he recovers after many surgeries and several months of hospitalisation, he may still face a number of problems. He may not be able to move, he may not be able to see, or speak, or hear, or even think. He may just be in a vegetative state. I am not trying to frighten you. I am only warning you what to expect.’

Oh! God! Is the doctor talking about me? Am I in such a serious condition? Is that why I am not able to see? Is that why I can’t talk? He was talking about an accident. Did I meet with an accident?

There was continuous sound of blowing the nose.  I knew she was crying. And then there was silence. Utter silence. Has she left? Did the doctor send her away? I don’t want her to leave. ‘Please don’t leave, please, please.’ I tried to shout, tried to move, tried everything possible to attract their attention.

I don’t know if I succeeded. But I heard the doctor saying, ‘Wait, Mrs Verma, just a second.’

Again sound of footsteps approaching. The doctor’s touch, on my face, on my hand, and then the cold metal touch everywhere. Must be the stethoscope.

After a few seconds I heard his voice again, ‘Mrs Verma, he is conscious now. 

But I don’t know if he can see you, or hear you, or talk to you. If you want to spend some more time with him, you may do so, but remember, don’t tax his brain too much.’

A few seconds later, she was once again beside me taking my hand in hers. This time I could also feel her warmth on my face. She must be caressing my face. 

Or is she kissing me? So soothing, so loving.

She whispered, ‘Sushil, I don’t know if you can hear me. But please come back. Please don’t leave me alone. I won’t be able to live without you. Sushil, I love you. Please stay with me. Please don’t go away. Please, please.’

Her touch, the caressing, the love, the affection, the vibration, spread all over my body. My pain seemed to melt away. I felt weightless. I was floating like a feather. Even a light breeze could blow me away. I hoped she would stay with me forever. And ever. And ever.

I don’t know how long she stayed with me.

Why am I suddenly feeling hotter, and hotter, and hotter? Why has it become more difficult to breathe? Oh! God! What is happening to me? Am I already put on the funeral pyre? I wanted to shout, ‘I am alive’. Or am I drowning in the ocean? Why can’t I breathe? Somebody, please, please help me.

Where is my wife? Where is the doctor?

I tried to run away from the pyre, but my legs wouldn’t move. I wanted to get out of water, but I could not swim. I tried to get some air which was not coming from anywhere. I struggled as if my life depended on it. But I could not escape from the fire which wanted to consume me or the water which wanted to drown me.

I heard a feeble sound in panic, ‘Doctor, doctor.’

That must be my wife. But why is she shouting from so far away? Wasn’t she sitting near me? And why is her voice so feeble? I could still feel her hand in mine. Why is she not pulling me out of the water? Or from the pyre?

I heard some frantic movements. Maybe they are coming to help me. To take me out of the deep water so that I can breathe once again. Maybe they will take me out of the pyre, too, so I won’t burn. Suddenly the pain, that had subsided when my wife was with me, returned more and more furiously. All over the body. I frantically tried to get some air, which was not coming at all.

The pain...

The heat...

The breathlessness...

The agony...

I could sense frantic movements of several people. Why are they not doing anything? They are touching me ... my hands ... chest ... eyes ... But why are they not pulling me out of the water? Why don’t they pull me out of the pyre?

Where is my wife?

Please stay with me...

Please pull me out of the water…

Please don’t go away...

Please pull me out of the pyre…

Please don’t go...

Please don’t...

Please...

Pl…

My first experiences

[Published in The TERI Times, October 1998]

I joined TERI on 8 March 1983. There was nothing to be ‘impressed’ about TERI when I first joined, except Dr Pachauri’s pleasing personality and Dr Dilip Ahuja’s simplicity. (Many people tried to emulate Dr Pachauri’s style of beard, thinking that his personality rested on it, like Samson, the legendary Bible character, whose strength was contained in his hair.)

The accommodation: Our office was a total of two rooms, a corridor and a TTO (toilet-turned office – something like an actor-turned politician!) at the India International Centre. There were 12 employees in all, including myself – The director, one Consultant, two Fellows, four RAs, one stenographer, a clerk, a driver, and I. The director (you know who), Dr Leena Srivastava, Dr Ranjan Bose and Prabhakar Thomas are still proud employees of TERI. While one room was used by the director as his office, the attached TTO was used by his secretary, Ms Anupam Chopra. Mr K.S. Subramanian, Consultant, and Dr Dilip Ahuja and Dr D Bhattacharya, Fellows, occupied the second room. The rest – the RAs and I – were accommodated in the corridor.

My first assignment: Typing out six copies of four reports (about 150–200 typed pages each) on a hired faulty typewriter was my first assignment! I had to struggle with the hard and unfriendly keys of the typewriter for those six copies. In the previous office, my job profile was to independently handle the subscription and distribution of two international journals, and here I was typing out reports throughout the day! I felt bad and wanted to return to my previous office.

The dream machine: One day Dr Dilip Ahuja (he is now at the GEF Secretariat, Washington, D.C.) told me that there was some kind of a machine called the Word Processor that had a keyboard and a screen and you could actually watch the alphabets as you typed. You could make corrections on the screen itself before taking the printouts and could also store the comments in the memory. Incredible, it seemed! “Is it true that there is a machine of that kind?” I asked him. “Yes, and you will get one of the same kind in the future”, he replied.

The first electric typewriter: The first electric typewriter that TERI bought was the Facit Electric Typewriter that had the facilities to use options like bold and centre and was imported from Sweden. The cost was an astonishing figure of Rs 51,000!

The first computer system: The first time I saw a computer was when TERI bought the Pragati system. With the availability of six monitors, only six people could work on it at one time.

This was after we moved from IIC to 90, Jor Bagh in August 1983. A few more people had joied TERI by then. Dr Ashok Gadgil was one of them. An expert on computers, Dr Gadgil was the one who negotiated the deal with the company, recommended the configuration, etc. And it was he who taught us how to log in, how to insert a diskette (the 8” ones), Wordstar and other applications. I still remember the day he told, “You can do anything to the computer and it will not break down. You can hit hard on the keyboard, you can give wrong commands, anything. So just don’t worry! But if you insert the diskette upside down in the drive, it may collapse.”

Confidential: Opportunity to view intimate affairs of couples visiting Lodi Gardens!

The farthest end of the IIC merged with the backside of Lodi Gardens. A secret rendezvous for couples who were unaware that their behind-the-bushes activities were no secret to us. IIC guards also had a nice time viewing the romatic scenes. One day Dr Pachauri opined, “Oh! You have got nice scenes to watch whenever you get bored!”  

A four-act play

[Published in The TERI Times, December 2001 and January 2002 in two parts]

Act one:

I was studying in 7th standard. Our drawing master wanted one of his plays to be staged during the school annual day functions. After an initial screening he selected a few students to act in the play. I was one of them. The play had six acts in all. I had two appearances, one in the first act and the other in the last. In the first act I was a student. I fail in the examinations and run away from home after being scolded by my father.  I return in the last act (supposed to be many years later). I still remember that I was wearing the same shirt that I had worn while running away from home! While delivering the dialogue, I found that all the empty places where I could look during the first act (so that I didn’t have to look at anybody’s face in the audience!) were all filled up and I got so scared!

I enquired of my sister about father, and was told that he had expired. Unable to bear the shock, I become unconscious and fall on a chair. My sister, acted by a boy of my class, immediately ran to the green room, brought a glass of water and splashed on my face. It was a cold night, and I could not bear the sudden shock (this was for real) and I giggled. During all the rehearsals (s)he was using an empty glass and this time (s)he wanted to make it real! The audience must have really enjoyed the unconscious man laughing, minutes after hearing that his father had expired! In the next school working day, I heard that our producer-director-playwright master fumed in the other section and said that he would like to kick me so hard that I would reach my home, which was in another village, flying! (A more detailed of the account can be read here)

Act two:

I was, however, not disappointed with my performance. When I reached the high school (this was another school), I was again involved with the annual day functions and another play. This time, however, nothing extraordinarily happened. The hero of the play was a 60 year old school teacher and I was the ‘leading lady’, his 55 year old wife! We were later invited to stage the same play in a nearby school. The only memorable thing at this second instant was that being a privileged lot (specially invited artistes, you see) we had free and unlimited access to hot black coffee and vadas and none of us missed the rare golden chance.

Act three:

The third time I acted in a play was after my school days. We have a small temple in our village and the managing committee decided to celebrate the temple festival for the first time in a grand way. The easiest and cheapest way was to stage a play enacted by locals. So some of us got together, selected a play and started rehearsals in the large courtyard of a nearby house. I acted (again!) as the 55 year-old mother of two grown-up boys, who quarreled regularly. This was also staged for a second time, in another nearby temple.

Act four:

The fourth time I acted was a few years later. I had already secured a job in Delhi and had once gone home on leave. The festival in the temple in which we had first staged a play was falling the next day. A couple of hours after I reached home, my old acting friends came home to invite me to watch the rehearsal of the play they were staging during the festival. I was thrilled. They had come home to personally invite me! Suddenly I was the most important person around! I was on top of the world! I proudly accompanied them.

On reaching the venue, the trap was revealed. The lady who had promised to act as Kunti (they were staging Karna), suddenly had some problem and had informed that she would not be able to do the play. Who could they think of replacing that lady with, other than me, the eternal mother! We had time only for one rehearsal before the staging of the play. They were very kind and specially rehearsed my scenes once more!

There was some commotion among the audience while I was on the stage, and (fortunately!) most of them were watching the spontaneous drama being enacted by a drunken hooligan, rather than concentrating on the arranged play on the stage. Later on, I was told that I had been lucky, because I had not only missed part of the dialogue, delivered wrong ones, but also snatched a few sentences from Karna, thus confusing him as well!

And that was the end of my glorious acting career!

Caught at the red light

[Published in The TERI Times, February 2002]

One day a few years ago, while returning home I was waiting at a red light. A lady approached me and pleaded that her daughter was about to give birth to a child and they did not have money to take her to hospital. Please, could I give them some money? Or better still, could I take her to hospital in my car? I looked at her daughter who was half-sitting and half-lying on the road divider. She had a huge belly and looked really under labour-pain.  The lady continued, ‘Please, take her to a hospital, or she will give birth to her child on the road side.’ I felt pity on the hapless ladies and gave them fifty rupees and asked her to take her daughter to a hospital immediately. She thanked me profusely and rushed to the lady. I heaved a sigh of relief. I really did a marvelous deed, indeed!

When I reached home Jayasree, my wife, ridiculed me telling that the women made me a fool. She was quite convinced that the women were bogus. I argued with her and insisted that both looked genuine. And I believed they were, until …

A couple of days later I had to travel the same way and I caught the same red light. I remembered my benevolent act only a couple of days ago and the very same spot. ‘Could she have reached the hospital safely in time to deliver the baby? Was the money I gave her enough to reach Safdarjung hospital, which was the nearest? Was she …’

‘Sir, please, look at my elder sister there. She is about to give birth to a child. And we don’t have money to take her to a hospital. Please, sir, take her to a hospital, or she will give birth here in the middle of the road.’ The pleading of the young lady woke me up from my thoughts. I looked at her. Have I seen her somewhere? She continued to implore. I looked at her elder sister who was writhing in pain on the road divider. Hey! That was the lady I gave fifty rupees to take her daughter to … Wait, wait. This lady who was praying today was her daughter a couple of days back! And she was writhing in pain that day. They have just exchanged their roles (and the belly)!

I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. The light would turn green soon. I asked her, ‘Can your sister walk up to this car? I shall take her to a hospital.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘No, sir, she may not be able to walk this long (this was about 20 feet). You give us some money, we will take an auto and go.’ I said, ‘No, that is not advisable, and who knows you will get an auto now?’ Telling this, I got down from the car and told her, ‘Come on, help your sister to the car.’ The ‘sister’ looked at us as we approached. The recognition was instantaneous! She suddenly got up and started running in the opposite direction! Her belly was shaking wildly. What a sight it was! The lady with a huge belly (she would have been carrying triplets!) running like mad across the road as if to escape from a charging animal!

I was suddenly aware of the honking of vehicles since the light had turned green. I suddenly rushed to my car. While driving my thought was, ‘Should I tell this to Jayasree?’ I could see her mischievous smile in my mind!