Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Bekarar Karke Humein: Of Cancer, Medical college and Love.

The story started few months ago, few years ago perhaps. The lesion was in her lungs but now it has disseminated to all her organs, including her brains. Bones viciously affected. She's on radiotherapy by linear acceleration.
Yesterday, when I knocked on her door, just the sight of her peeping through the window brought back a flood of memories of our medical college days. She smiled and greeted me with carrot juice and fried makhana as we reminisced  Darbhanga Medical College days.
 The topper of our batch. Admission number 050, Paromita Sarkar 052 Rajesh Bhardwaj 075 Sarita Kumar. 050 and 075 talked graciously in english and I was flooded with jealousy. She strummed her guitar as she flashed a gracious smile at anyone who looked at her. Soon the feeling of "J" was replaced with a sense of glorification. She was our batch mate.
Twenty years ago my wife suffered serious brain injury. Paromita contacted her friends Sarita Kumar, who is now setteled in UK. After five years of constant effort that they put in, my wife had an unbelievable recovery. I owe her life to Paromita.
I ask her about her husband, her daughters. A ghost of smile  apparates on her face from a distant land. "They are fine" she says. She scans her contact list. T.N Jaiswal, Mini Sharma. She makes a few calls, divulges very little of her condition and asks more about them. She is leaving for Germany this weekend. Her daughter stays there, married to a famous radiologist. "We should plan a get together" she cracks a loud smile as she talks to Jaiswal and Sharma, but it is soon lost in her long drawn palpitation. If only I could learn from her the zeal of life. She excuses herself  after a while. She says she is tired. She had undergone the radiation last evening.
As I get up to greet her goodbye, I notice her floating in an ocean of thoughts, staring at the rain drops lashing against the window. A calm look prevails on her face. It brings home a deja senti. The pista color bed sheet neatly covered her legs. I rebuke the tears seeking permission to flood down my eyes.
"Take care, Paro" I mumble. She disposes of a faint smile. The dark patches under her bird shaped eyes terrify me to the point where I can hardly breath.
As I wave her goodbye, leaving behind a scrawny frame, I have a flash of memory.
A jam packed auditorium. I occupied the corner seat and looked at her with appreciation and then without realising, with love. A bright yellow  long skirt fluttered due to the table fan fixed at the corner of the stage, her pin straight waist length hair swinged to the tune of the guitar that she strummed, dressed in a white turtle neck top, the words that lost their way somewhere between my heart and her's .
"Bekaraar karke humein yun na jayien. Aapko hamari kasam laut ayien..."

1 comment:

  1. Superb ... loved the serene beauty in the story, but y sad sad? :-(