Posted in Past

Bed No. 7

It was the time when Simr got ill in Delhi and when gone through tests, diagnosed with Dengue. So it was a tough decision to get admitted to the hospital in Delhi or go back to home where he will get more care amidst his family. He chose later. In the morning he was at home. The platelets were going down at an alarming rate and at last the doctor suggested him to get admitted. The other problem erupted when ECG was done, the heart beat got slower, around 45Beats/min. So, was admitted to ICU.

The ICU of this big hospital was terrifying. In that ICU only two patients were conscious, one person in Bed No. 14 and other one Simr. Other people were not having any know how of the outside world. There was a lady on right side bed of Simr’s bed and on the left was the small toilet which served as horrible smelling place. So, things were worst. This person on Bed No. 14 lying on the bed opposite to Simr’s bed looked mysterious. He use to go toilet¬† frequently. Simr had a doubt may be he is a drug addict. Apart from that nurses were there who were taking care of patients.There was only two times in the day when family could meet you. The clock was hanging on the opposite wall. So most of the time was spent watching it and waiting it to strike 1 PM in the noon and 7PM in the evening. Those three days were horrible and to move out from there appeared to be¬† his million dollar dream that time.

On Simr’s last day in ICU before moving to private ward the lady on the right side bed died. Came to know when the nurses wrapped her tight in the white cloth.

That time also has funny part in the sense, being the rarest cases of dengue in the hometown, it caught media attention. Media person came to the private ward with a Senior doctor who asked Simr’s well being not out of caring nature but out of formality in front of newspaper’s cameraman. The next day someone in the hospital brought Hindustan newspaper to show Simr his photograph in the front page. It was a nice picture. He really looked lost and ill as the newspaper intended.

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Posted in Grandfather

Sunday Morning

Last week I saw my grandfather more often in my dreams. Don’t know if his soul wants to tell me something. But yes it reminded me some of the times we spent together. These dreams reminded me of going with him to Ambiwala Gurudwara in our town when I was little. Sunday morning we use to walk by the streets where people from their small houses use to look at us. And why not? he had a great personality, a spiritual outlook. He use to wear ethnic clothing which included white bright kurta and pajama, and royal blue turban. He was a baptized sikh so he wore kirpan (small dagger). He was so old but was so energetic and engaged himself in some work at all time like reading religious books, meeting people he knew, walking and telling stories. He was a storyteller. He had some or the other story from the past to tell, perfect for the present moment.

In his last time, I was not around. I was in my second semester of my engineering at Delhi. It was very hard. Being emotionally attached to him. The moments we lived together came to my mind spontaneously and it brought tears to my eyes. It was all along my walk to the nearest Tilak Nagar metro station and then in metro train to Kashmiri Gate metro station, I was sobbing. In the evening, I met him but he was not there to extend his arms to give me a hug as he usually did when I came home but lying motionless on the ground with beautiful white new clothes and perfectly tied white turban. His face was glowing despite of the fact that he was dead. That was the last time I saw him physically.

Today I remember those times when he was around to tell me stories of his native Kashmiri village or stories from our Sikh Gurus’ life or some stories with some wits and message in it. Those were the best days!