Weekend Stories

Love and Forgiveness - Part II

The link to Part I of this story is here

I sat besides Amma the entire night reading her a book called "The Map of Heaven". I thought it will make Amma's final journey an easier one.  Amma had a fetish for books and she had rubbed it on Sam who in turn rubbed it on me. I held her little finger throughout and my mind raced back to the good old days when Sam and Amma formed the centre of my existence.

Few months after Amma had taken over my upbringing she politely informed my parents that I could speak well. Obviously they didn’t believe her. So she had to prove it by talking to me in front of them. Assuming that my parents will be pleased our conversation went for about 5 minutes at a stretch. But my parents yelled at her because I spoke Malayalam instead of Hindi or English. She could never muster the courage to answer them back. I could speak Malayalam well because Amma was the only one who bothered to speak to me. The others only pretended. They never really had the patience to deal with a child who according to the norms of the world was "delayed and stupid". It was Amma who first noticed that I liked books and that I wasn’t half as bad as my teachers projected me to be. She encouraged my parents to send me to a normal school with normal children. Sometimes your own parents don’t understand you but an outsider does. My schooling began in a convent school and that is where I encountered my love for Physics and its laws.

Sam was Amma’s only child but after I had walked in to her life she often mentioned that she was blessed to have two lovely sons. I now understand her tragedy. Sam was a paraplegic and chair bound whereas I was autistic and mostly home bound. When Sam died Amma didn't cry much. She had become numb, somewhat like me. I was just 14 and couldn’t really understand the depth of death. I couldn’t even understand pain or love or longing. But Sam’s death was particularly tragic and for few days I felt a part of my chair bound.

It was my 14^th birthday and as always there was no celebration. I was not very social and kids hated me including my younger sibling, Mahesh. To top it all, that year was special. I had ashamed my parents in front of the other relatives during a family gathering. A cousin of mine had placed a dead lizard in my pants. I was so angry that I had beaten him up. Immediately I was locked in my room and discussions of sending me to “special place” began under the carpet. Hence, it was only normal for my parents to forget my birthday. But Amma had taken the trouble to request my parents to get a cake for me. I hated cakes but Sam loved them. Hence, every year on my birthday a cake was ordered for me to cut it and for Sam to relish them to his heart's content. As soon as the cake arrived Amma finished her customary prayer, kissed my forehead and Sam's too. She then held my hand as I cut the cake neatly in small pieces. She then took a piece and turned towards Sam however I had already shoved a piece in Sam's mouth. Sam licked the chocolate and gulped it down. He looked delighted. Then suddenly something happened. Before he could take a second bite he turned blue. He fell from his chair and started gasping for breath. Within seconds he was motionless. Amma screamed for help and Sam was rushed to the hospital.

“Sorry, he is dead. The poison spread too fast”, the doctor with fat glasses and a big belly whispered to Amma and my parents. It happened so fast that I could barely comprehend the series of events.

Mahesh later told me that I killed my best friend. I could never explain to him that I didn’t. I just shared my cake. I felt pain for the first time at Sam’s funeral. When I placed the books next to him in the coffin, I felt he was talking to me, as if revealing a secret. I wanted to say sorry but I was pulled away. The coffin was then taken away. Amma held my hand throughout Sam’s last journey. I thought she was angry with me but she didn’t say a word.

"Amma why did Sam die?" I asked Amma.

"Because God wanted him to be free from his pain." Amma answered, her eyes wet.

A week later Amma was fired from her job which she anticipated anyway. I still don’t know why? A new nanny was hired. She was huge and looked like a snob. It didn’t matter to me because I had grown up by then and didn’t need anyone.

"Write letters to me and I will write you back", Amma told me as she packed her bag. 

"Okay. But will you respond?" I asked

"Yes, I will. Always." She assured

"What if you don’t?" I asked sensing that soon I will be alone, again.

"Then you must understand that I am dying." She smiled.

"Okay, then I will come and meet you. Wait till I come. Don’t die before that. I will place you in your coffin." I expressed my desire.

"Sure. After all a son has to do it for his mother", she said and I felt tears fall on my hands as she kissed them, the last time.

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"Her heart beats have stopped", the nurse exclaimed.

"Oh! That means she is dead. Don’t worry she was waiting for me." I explained.

She ran and called the doctor who made me sign some papers mechanically. They see death and dead bodies so often that it becomes a routine for them. I brought Amma back to her humble home in Kerala. The funeral was a simple one. Not many people had gathered. A shrunken Amma had been placed in the coffin and buried. Father Agnes completed the prayer and after few minutes people left. I stayed there longing for her. Perhaps longing and pain felt the same. Except that pain was felt on the right side of the chest and longing on the left side.

I stayed there till night. I was wondering if Amma had forgiven me for what I did to Sam. I didn’t get a chance to beg for her forgiveness. Whenever I wrote about it in the letter she responded with a verse from bible. I tried recalling all the verses and if any of them hinted towards my question but I couldn’t. I stood up and walked to the nearby church. My eyes turned wet. I had never cried before. That could be because I never felt what a loss felt like. It pained and hurt. So I cried that night in the church and requested Amma’s God to take care of her.

The next day when Father Agnes came home where I was expected to finish some rituals and leave, he handed me a paper. It is a letter for you. God bless you. You must learn to forgive and let go. His pearls of wisdom were too much for my little brain to comprehend. I kept the letter safe in the pocket of my shirt. As the rituals concluded and people spoke kind words for Amma I felt the pain getting stronger. I was missing Sam as well. The fact that I had been a part of his death sometimes drove me nuts. I packed my bag and decided to leave immediately. The house was handed over to Father Agnes who planned to start an old age home there. It was Amma’s wish after all. I was happy for her and Sam.

The train for Bombay was on time. I preferred trains. Flights were just too fast and I didn’t want to reach Mumbai so soon, anyway. I boarded the train and found my seat amidst smell of coconut oil and a sea of human sweat. I looked outside as the train took speed. The trees, green hill tops, all washed off from my eyes by a strong breeze within seconds. That is when I remembered the letter and decided to read it.

Dear Rajat,

By the time you read this I must have begun my journey to meet God. As I write this my hands tremble and my heart pounds. This is perhaps my last letter to you. Cancer has claimed all of my energy. It has spread too fast though I feel it’s good in a way. I will die and meet Sam. At least I will be closer to one of my sons.

All throughout the past decade your your letters you have asked me if I forgave you for Sam’s death. No I didn’t and it is because it wasn’t needed. You didn’t kill Sam. He died because I wanted him to die. I had seen him suffer in pain and I wanted his suffering to end. I had to do it Kanna. I am glad Sam died next to his best friend. I don't know if  what I did was right or wrong. I just know that Sam deserved some peace. I hope you will forgive me and if you can’t I will understand.

When I first met you I was told that you don’t understand Love and other emotions. But if you are reading this then you have understood all of it, better than anyone else. After all who comes to see a dying Nanny?

I have loved you my child and when I meet God I will ask him to bless you abundantly.

Place your hand on my heart, do you feel my love? Thank you for being my son. I am dying peacefully.

God Bless!

Amma.

I held the letter in my hand and felt a wave of emotions run through me. Anger, vengeance, pity, hatred, love. All of it at once. For the first time in my life I found myself standing on the crossroads. I had to choose between - Love and Forgiveness.

Weekend Stories

Love and Forgiveness - Part I

A usual Saturday morning for me would mean staying at home and doing my laundry, completing projects, loitering around the city with Sanjeevani. Universities in US have holidays on Saturdays and Sundays which gives students enough time to cater to their personal needs. My parents felt a sense of pride that I was doing my PhD or perhaps that I was finally doing something meaningful. They often boast about it to their relatives. In all the letters that my mother writes to me she mentions how she has been missing me. But I don't miss my family at all. I felt happy away from home – happiness? you feel when an electric current runs in your body and takes a pause at your lips. Then your lips stretch themselves and you end up smiling. 

Life in US is different and peaceful. You do everything on your own including cursing yourself. But it is different here in India. You outsource everything to domestic help including attending to the emotional needs of your child. Nonetheless, sometimes domestic helps can be a boon especially when your child is Autistic and it is too much of a hassle to deal with him. In my case it was. Amma had been kind to me in spite of the fact that I was nuts. So here I was in a small town of Kerala to meet Amma, to pay off her debts, to fulfill my promise, and above all to beg for her forgiveness. I had last seen her when I was 14. Today after a decade I was to meet her again.

Ironically I had first met her in a hospital. I was just 7 then. They said I had hit my head against a wall and that I was hurt. Hence, I was admitted to the hospital. But that was a blatant lie. My nanny who would often vent out her frustration on me had hit me with a stick so hard that my skull almosy broke open. I was stubborn I think or mad as my nanny called me. So first aid was administered and may parents were advised to be kind and nice to me till my wounds healed. I couldn’t speak clearly then hence nobody could know that my nanny was the culprit. And by the time my parents could understand what I was saying my nanny had managed to escape the cruel clutches of my parents. That is when my father’s uncle referred Shirley Amma to take care of me. She came to meet my parents in the hospital itself. I think the emergency was on both sides. Amma wanted a job desperately and my parents wanted some respite. It was then that my journey with Amma began.

"St.Philomena’s Hospital" the board read with a cross sign next to it. I instantly recognized the cross. Amma wore a similar cross around her neck. Her God was crucified on it, she often told me. Strange how the cross was always next to the names of all the hospitals we have ever seen. Amma thought it was because God's presence was required in hospitals to help patients and their families. But Sam had a different take on it. He whispered in my ears that it is because all doctors crucify little children on this cross with their injections. Of course he chuckled every time he cracked that joke. Sam was my best friend, rather my only friend. He was the only boy who never called me “Mad”, or “Crazy”, or “idiot”.  But he taught me a word called “Rascal”. According to him it meant, “Good boy”. So he was the only rascal I met in my life. The other boys were bad. They would pinch me, pull my pants down, and sometimes even locked me in the toilet. But Sam was different. He laughed loudly, always and read books. Sam wasn’t particularly healthy. He was lean, his eyes were buried in little sockets, he hardly walked, most of the times Amma carried him or he was on his wheel chair. But he had a particular liking for reading. When he was placed in his coffin which was on the whole small, I neatly placed two of his favorite books next to him. I had promised to buy these books for him but before I could even gift it to him that rascal died. He was in a hurry to go to Jesus I think. He didn’t even wait for me to say sorry.

I entered the hospital building which appeared to be very depressing. The building stood still with the same numb look. Perhaps the hospital buildings are also autistic. They never show any enthusiasm. The dull green and off white paint, jaded curtains and creamiest spartac tiles only added to its misery. Just like the doctors across have a protocol to scowl; hospitals have a protocol to look uninteresting. The odor of the antiseptic was so strong that my nose was filled with it. I think they do it deliberately to make the atmosphere gloomy. Have they not seen those deodorants ads? They can just spray it across the corridor and people will instantly cheer up. Perhaps they don’t want people to cheer up. The whole idea of hospitals will be diluted if people felt happy at hospitals.

The lift seemed full and the queue outside looked disappointing. I decided to take the stairs instead. I walked past the Childrens ward, NICU, then the general ward and I finally reached the private ward.

"Amma? Shirley Amma?" I asked the older nurse sitting at the counter on the 2^nd floor.

She looked at me and spoke in heavy accented English. "Room No. 202. Take a left from the end of the corridor, the second room. Visiting hours end at 7. Just one hour, wokay?" She lacked expression on her face and that made her look more autistic than me.

"Okay", I took the pink slip and walked towards 202.

I peeped inside and found a nurse attending to Amma.

"May I?" I asked

"Yes please." She answered

I walked inside the room. Amma lay on the bed, motionless. Once upon a time a plump woman, now she had reduced to a narrow frame of with a single layer of flesh covering the bare bones. Her ears particularly looked large. Her eyes now looked just like Sam’s, buried in the socket yet full of life.

"Can she hear me?" I asked the nurse.

She responded in positive and stood cleaning the table. I think she was curious to see who has come to meet the almost orphaned Shirley Amma.

“Amma, I am here. Nurse told me that you are listening. I am fine. I didn’t get your letter so I realized that you must be dying. I am glad you didn’t die. I wanted to place you in the coffin. I had promised you, remember? Now if this life is painful then you may die, please. I will hold you through death just like I held Sam. It is only when you die that I will let go. I have also got a letter for Sam. Please give it to him. I wanted to ask for forgiveness but he left before I could even say sorry." I spoke almost breathless.

"I couldn't even say sorry to you. Have you forgiven me Amma? You know it wasn't my mistake, right?"

I saw a clear line of tears oozing from Amma’s shrunken eyes. She couldn’t speak. She just cried.

"Don’t cry Amma. I am better now. I have a girlfriend too. She is nice. Only that she is plump like you. And she speaks Malayalam too." I wiped Amma’s tears with cotton balls kept next to her bed.

The nurse looked rather stunned at my words. She thought I was insane. Who in a sane mind would ask people to die? From the look on her face I could read that she could not appreciate the depth of my words. Normal people could never understand that Amma and I were different. That what we nurtured within our hearts was an emotion which is not understood by many. It is called Love – Love? you feel it when you place your hand on your heart.

The link to Part II of this story is here