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.
