On the 7th of March’2000 Rahul and Moksha made their first Trans-Atlantic journey. It was a long flight from Singapore to San Francisco; 18 hours to be exact. The jet lag which was inevitable was just sinking in which till this point of time had been kept at bay by the sheer excitement and feeling of being in a foreign land.
Deprived of smoking for those several hours Rahul went to the smoking lounge just outside the sliding doors of the waiting area. A long drag at the Wills Navy Cut cigarette, which Rahul specially brought from India, relaxed him; the urge for the nicotine pacifier was indeed required.
The chill outside made Rahul shiver a bit. It was drizzling and the gush of the cold wind hitting his face was making him a bit uncomfortable. He was about to stub the cigarette on the floor when he realized that a steel ashtray was right beside one of the cylindrical pillar that supported the massive structure under which he was standing.
As advised by his father Rahul very dutifully went to the phone booth to call his aunt from the airport. Till then everything was fine but the complication started when Rahul had to decide whether to make a collect call or spend the dime or was it a penny that he had to use. After a bit of deliberation he looked at the instruction on the big yellow phone and made his first call in the United States of America. Back in India he was quite familiar with the way trunk calls could be made, call the operator provide the number get a token, disconnect and just wait for the call, which at times would take hours. But never had he made a collect call. As per the instruction he dialed “1-800” then was a bit taken aback by the “COLLECT” part of it when he realized it was “265-5328”. When he was prompted for his aunt’s number slowly he punched the number looking at the small diary that his father had given him, which in fact had all the telephone numbers that his father ever had, followed by his name, which he pronounced loud and clear. After a brief pause the line came alive.
“Hello, Raju?” it was his aunt. His face lit up; it was comforting to know that somewhere in this faraway land, there was someone who he could call. All though she addressed him by his “Dak naam” or the name by which you are known by your close relatives, but never the less she remembered.
“Yes, Pishi” Rahul replied.
“When did you arrive?” His aunt asked.
“Just sometime back” Rahul promptly replied.
“Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?” She offered.
“No, that’s alright, we are taking a bus to Sunnyvale, you need not worry” Rahul assured her.
“OK, then let me know if you need any help” “I will…” Rahul continued.
After about a minute he placed the receiver back and walked back with an added sense of achievement to where Moksha sat carefully watching over their luggage. He had just successfully accomplished his first task.
Just to be sure that he was comfortable handling the currency of the land. He made his way slowly to a counter where a transparent glass case displayed a range of items. With a quick glance he decided to buy a packet of cigarette ; Marlboro, the red and white packet reminded him of those books that he voraciously read when he was in school. Harold Robbins was it? He couldn’t remember but in any case he walked up to the guy across the counter.
“A packet of Marlboro, please”
“That would be $5 ” the guy announced handing him the packet.
Rahul, didn’t have any change. The company that had sent him on a L1 visa had paid him about $200 and another $200 which his father had given him, saved from his only visit to Europe. He pulled out a $100 bill which was neatly stacked in his wallet and handed it over.
The guy looked back at Rahul and said “Very few people carry $100 bills around here” and asked “Just arrived?”
Rahul nodded and watched the guy turn the $100 bill few times as if he was making sure that it wasn’t counterfeit money. Finally he returned him the change. While counting the money did Rahul realize that he had just spent about Rs.225 for a packet of cigarette? Back in India he could buy 15 packets of Wills Navy Cut!!
Later he would learn, that never convert your money to Rupees and avoid carrying $100 bills. But in any case he felt good to have accomplished another task; spend money.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Prologue-ICU
It was 30th of August 2006 when the phone started ringing on a warm sunny afternoon in a busy area of Chennai. Moksha informed Rahul that his mother was in the ICU and they had put her on ventilation.
“When did it happen”? The urgency in Rahul’s voice was lacking. Maybe he was expecting something of that sort to happen.
“About 3:00 in the morning, they said they tried reaching us but no one picked up the phone” Moksha replied.
“I will be there in the hospital as soon as possible” Rahul said.
The screeching noise of a skidding motorbike and the loud noise that followed made him realize that he had forgotten to switch on the right blinkers before making that sharp U turn. An unsuspecting biker trying to over take Rahul’s car had banged into the right side and was thrown on the other side of the divider.
“Are you OK?” was what Rahul could manage to say.
The guy looked at him in disbelief; shaking his head he picked up his bike and kick started it. His faced carried a mixed expression of astonishment and anguish. No one was hurt and the guy on the bike seemed to be in a hurry, as he mumbled something and slowly drove away.
Rahul waited for a moment , his unfocused eyes still on the guy. The honking of the cars behind made him realize that he had to reach the hospital where his mother was admitted.
“Hi, my name is Rahul. My mother is in the Neuro ICU, I just got a call…" with a brief pause he continued "Anuradha Sengupta is her name” Rahul blurted at the reception.
“1st floor, show your pass they will let you in” Was a mechanical reply from one of the guys. “You have a visitor’s pass right?”
Rahul nodded without thinking while he made it to the flight of stairs.
What he saw was something that vaguely resembled his mother. A thick ribbed pastic tube ran from her mouth to the ventilator, the tube like a hydraulic machine synchronized with her breathing as if they had bonded. The pulse oxymeter’s screen on the right rack indicated that her oxygen concentration was about 90 and the pulse rate had soared to 140.
The light blue apron that she wore just didn't suit her; he had never seen his mother wearing anything but a Sari. For that matter his mother had never visited a hospital before but only for a brief period when he was born.
“She is my mother” Rahul suddenly announced to the nurse who was standing nearby.
“She was in a very critical state this morning, we tried calling you but no one picked up the phone” The nurse complained.
It was the first time tears rolled down his cheeks. He wasn't afraid of his mother dying but the though that he would never be able to communicate with her; never be able to call her ma again; never in his life again would he be able to share with her those little meaningless moments that assured the comforting feeling of existence.
He carefully navigated to her bedside; stood there motionless for a while then with his fingers touched the cot made of steel; cold and unwelcoming.
While going out he met the doctor who was attending her. Dr. R Dharan a man of very few words.
"Does she have a chance?" Rahul asked half heartedly.
"I don't think so" Dr. Dharan replied, which was almost inaudible.
By the time Rahul had come out of the ICU his tears had dried up. The acceptance was hard but permanent; he had just lost the most important person that had shaped his life. He knew that life wouldn’t be the same again but for some unknown reason he was at ease with himself.
“When did it happen”? The urgency in Rahul’s voice was lacking. Maybe he was expecting something of that sort to happen.
“About 3:00 in the morning, they said they tried reaching us but no one picked up the phone” Moksha replied.
“I will be there in the hospital as soon as possible” Rahul said.
The screeching noise of a skidding motorbike and the loud noise that followed made him realize that he had forgotten to switch on the right blinkers before making that sharp U turn. An unsuspecting biker trying to over take Rahul’s car had banged into the right side and was thrown on the other side of the divider.
“Are you OK?” was what Rahul could manage to say.
The guy looked at him in disbelief; shaking his head he picked up his bike and kick started it. His faced carried a mixed expression of astonishment and anguish. No one was hurt and the guy on the bike seemed to be in a hurry, as he mumbled something and slowly drove away.
Rahul waited for a moment , his unfocused eyes still on the guy. The honking of the cars behind made him realize that he had to reach the hospital where his mother was admitted.
“Hi, my name is Rahul. My mother is in the Neuro ICU, I just got a call…" with a brief pause he continued "Anuradha Sengupta is her name” Rahul blurted at the reception.
“1st floor, show your pass they will let you in” Was a mechanical reply from one of the guys. “You have a visitor’s pass right?”
Rahul nodded without thinking while he made it to the flight of stairs.
What he saw was something that vaguely resembled his mother. A thick ribbed pastic tube ran from her mouth to the ventilator, the tube like a hydraulic machine synchronized with her breathing as if they had bonded. The pulse oxymeter’s screen on the right rack indicated that her oxygen concentration was about 90 and the pulse rate had soared to 140.
The light blue apron that she wore just didn't suit her; he had never seen his mother wearing anything but a Sari. For that matter his mother had never visited a hospital before but only for a brief period when he was born.
“She is my mother” Rahul suddenly announced to the nurse who was standing nearby.
“She was in a very critical state this morning, we tried calling you but no one picked up the phone” The nurse complained.
It was the first time tears rolled down his cheeks. He wasn't afraid of his mother dying but the though that he would never be able to communicate with her; never be able to call her ma again; never in his life again would he be able to share with her those little meaningless moments that assured the comforting feeling of existence.
He carefully navigated to her bedside; stood there motionless for a while then with his fingers touched the cot made of steel; cold and unwelcoming.
While going out he met the doctor who was attending her. Dr. R Dharan a man of very few words.
"Does she have a chance?" Rahul asked half heartedly.
"I don't think so" Dr. Dharan replied, which was almost inaudible.
By the time Rahul had come out of the ICU his tears had dried up. The acceptance was hard but permanent; he had just lost the most important person that had shaped his life. He knew that life wouldn’t be the same again but for some unknown reason he was at ease with himself.
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