“Switch off the lights when you walk out of the room. We have to save money for Papa’s treatment.” His nine year old daughter told the three year old one.
It was a juggle among thousands of crawling seconds. Heavy! Every minute fraction was adding to the anxiety and apprehension. Prayers kept swaying. We knew nothing bad could happen. We were not hoping, we were confident. Things could go a little off the way. But not much. This is what each one of us kept telling to ourselves. With fingers crossed, all portions of love and faith concatenated to God.
However, the worst nightmare came true. It was Pancreatic Cancer.
You know there are times when you try to step into the shoes of someone else so as to experience what he might have experienced. And you just cannot. But when it happens, you’re so overwhelmed with grief and angst that all of the jumbled pieces of doubts sprinkled and scattered in your mind, align in a portrayal of a clear and distinct picture. Needless to say, that was one moment.
The world indeed crushed down to crumbles of sorrow and misery and encompassed us within the thorny walls of unpleasing reality. If it was tough for us, it was much beyond for the man, much beyond the sweep of our thoughts which are filled with trivial and insignificant qualms. It was but inconceivable. It took only a few seconds for life to come to a halt, to a sudden halt and jolt us all with a rough hand to confront the unfathomable truth.
In the initial days of the long journey, believing that the worst nightmare came true was the hardest thing. Let alone gathering strength to begin the battle. I remember watching him on the day the news broke. He had lost quite a lot of weight and looked fragile. My eyes were wet. I smiled and he smiled back. There wasn’t much to say. There wasn’t anything to say.
More than four months have passed since that fateful day. Cancer is now a settled part. We have acquiesced to its presence. But the fight hasn't stopped becuase the man knows that he has to kick cancer’s ass. To say that he is positive or has a strong will, would definitely be an understatement. He has a zest for life. He always had, even before this whole thing came to light. He is one of the few persons in my life who ‘actually’ believes in relishing the present and not getting caught in the web of inane expectations. He is passionate. I see him battling the disease with commendable positive attitude filled with wondrous moments of laughter and glee and tied on a sturdy hook of an amalgamation, of unflinching faith and love.
And somewhere down the line we all are quite affirmative that things are going to be back on track. That this is just a bump on our way to a higher journey. That it wants us to hunt down the real meaning of life which usually lurks somewhere behind the loose notes of a facade. That when it is all over, he will rise up with much stronger wings, teaching us with his grandiosity, to add meaning to our lives.
Because no matter how hard this journey seems now, in the end it will be worth the fight.
P.S: 1. I am glad to have gathered strength to vent out the brimming respect which I have for this man, my cousin, my brother.
2. No pity please.
3. I missed Mirage's second birthday. Uhh..what a doofus I am. Ahem! C'mon people, wish it now.
4. And smile for heavens sake. :-)