A friend of mine…

She’s bright, vivacious, an ever-charged battery in a small, compact frame.  Her frequent in-your-face, foot-in-mouth moments are charged with an honesty that is refreshing and what some would consider the crassness of youth, I consider enviable. There is no subtle veneer that shows you one face to your face, and another behind your back. You know where you stand with her and to be ‘liked’ is a privilege.

She is that odd mixture of old fashioned wisdom and naivety; she will immediately grasp the fundamentals that govern the serious, but will fail to catch a meaty joke. She challenges, opinionates, likes and dislikes strongly and, most importantly, she is herself. She has the vulnerability that is typical of her youth but will still take risks that are very obvious (to others!); sometimes she comes off without a scratch and sometimes the price is heavy. But she takes all that in her stride. The lesson is learnt.

She has a heart that cares for the less fortunate and she is ready to pitch in and be an agent of transformation – she radiates the joy that she creates! And she leaves behind unforgettable memories; the kind that bring a smile – sometimes rueful - to the face.

Though she can make you spin on your head (even if unwilling), and throw a whirling dervish out of whirl, she is not a problem to be solved like ‘Maria’. She belongs to the tribe that will change the world for the better, provided the world does not change her.  We have this habit, which is understandable, of being protective of our children and conformity keeps them away from harm. Little do we realise that we might be quenching a fire - one that lights and warms but does not destroy. I would like to think that that is impossible in the case of my young friend. 

From another realm, one day, I would love to be able to look down on the woman she is and say, ‘age did not wither her, nor custom fade.’ And the Lord will endorse that with a thunderclap!!

A Hospital Pause

Youth is arrogant about its health, flaunting the body perfect: candles can be burnt at both ends and still not run out. But, as encroaching age gathers momentum, we become more conscious of the candle’s dimming flame and are affronted by our failing bodies. Sometimes, the problem is simple and the cure is effected, but sometimes the problem does not have a solution and one is faced constantly by that unpalatable question, ‘Where do we go from here?” The most common and likely answer is, ‘The Hospital!’

The hospital room that hubby and I inhabited, as patient and caregiver, was shared strangely enough by both youth and age. Youth was impatient, eager to up and go, while age was resigned. After all, this was an expected pause in the journey.

S was 26 and from Bengal. A karigar (artisan), he was employed at Jhaveri Bazaar (the local version of a gold souk), to realise in gold the designs dreamed up and demanded by his boss’ clientele. He kept pacing up and down the ward, untethered by drip or tube, in a convalescent state which was not ‘dischargeable’. He missed his work and his companions. But most of all he missed his native food. And as he regaled us with tales of his village, heavily embellished with comparisons with Mumbai, his homesickness was very apparent. His greatest enemy? The mosquito that was responsible for landing him in this inhospitable place. The day he was discharged, he was incandescent with happiness. I was mightily surprised, therefore, to find him visiting the ward two days later. I teased him about the risk of running into Sister and her ‘bloodsucking syringe’, but he laughed and explained how he had sidled past her and hopped into the ward to visit his ‘new friends’. He spent the better part of the visiting hours with us, chatting about his hopes and plans and the world in general. He was one of the good news stories.

R was 24. He had to spend 12 days confined to his hospital bed because of a blocked nerve in his left leg. It had swollen to elephantine proportions. Daily injections in the stomach brought tears to his eyes, but apart from those twice a day teeth clenching sessions, he was a happy companion. We got to know him and his parents as his story unfolded. A commerce graduate with a penchant for Event Management, he was itching to get back to his social round. A native Maharashtrian, pleasant and articulate, he enjoyed the assurance of a well-loved first born son. Both parents came either together or in turn and fussed over him. The mother was shy and reticent, but the father was jovial and outgoing – genes obviously inherited by his son. R has since been discharged with a clean bill of health, a hefty hospital tab, and a list of precautions. The blood thinners he needs to take will require some circumspection. Still, youth is buoyant and his release was a matter of celebration – he distributed KitKat to his fellow patients! He was the other good news story.

Age was represented by hubby, of course, and a very dignified ex-military gentleman, who came in for an eye operation. He surveyed us out of his one good eye and offered us pertinent advice on how to go about our lives. Solemn and sincere, he delivered his homilies with the aplomb of a bishop. With great concern, he looked me over, enquired after the origin of my grey hair and gently advised me about various treatments. I thought it quite legitimate to be ‘salt and pepper’ at sixty. He thought I was much younger. I do love people who are temporarily afflicted with limited vision!

As for hubby, he was brought in because his condition had taken a turn for the worse and he has kept us engaged from predicament to predicament – a learning curve if ever there was one. At one point, he was so out of it that I panicked and so did the Ward Sister. The RMO visited, hummed and hawed, checked the pulse and promptly suggested an echo-cardiogram. Hubby was heaved off his bed and wheeled to the ‘Echo and Stress Test’ Room, comatose for the most part. When the procedure was over, we rode the elevator back to the ward and, all of a sudden, hubby woke up quite cheerfully to his surroundings.

Apparently, the journey on the gurney had a reviving effect!

Cool and clueless

Funny isn’t it? Yesterday, I blogged about American teenagers who are clueless about the past and are cool about the fact. Today’s paper carried the results of a poll of their Indian counterparts on a very current Indian situation – the decision on the Ayodhya title deed. And, yes, our supposedly brightest and best (remember they needed over 90% to get into college in the first place!) are equally clueless.

The report says, and I quote, ‘How does Babri Masjid and its destruction resonate with the post ’90 India? Sobiya Moghul asked those 18-years old and below their thoughts on this seminal event. Their response was simultaneously disconcerting and encouraging and, if you have a funny bone, entertaining too.’ (Mumbai Mirror, September 28, 2010)

Being confused about Beethoven, man and dog, is a far cry from being indifferent about the political climate in one’s own country. After all, these are young adults who either already have, or will soon have, the vote. Most of the responses ranged between ‘don’t know’ (or don’t care?) to personal anxiety about examinations! Talk about living in the moment!

It is expected that education will beget a more informed and responsible generation. The newspaper report indicates exactly the opposite. This generation may not be condemned to repeat the history they choose to forget, but they certainly need to be sensitive to the happenings in their own country. Why? Because, to quote John Kennedy, ‘If we cannot end our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity. For in the last analysis our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this small planet.’ For world and planet, read country. If we remain deliberately unaware to the causes of dissent, how will we ever be able to work toward harmony? And surely these young adults look forward to living in a harmonious tomorrow?

Are they deliberately uncaring, ignorant, indifferent? Or do they feel that the past is a baggage that is easily jettisoned?

Yesterday, I chuckled. Today, I do not know whether to be exasperated or amused! Funny can be entertaining, but funny can also be strange and there are times when being clueless is definitely uncool.