Obituary

“Now let us play hide-and-seek. Should you hide in my heart it would not be difficult to find you. But should you hide behind your own shell, then it would be useless for anyone to seek you.” (Kahlil Gibran)

No pun intented. No hidden meaning. No ulterior motive. No vested interest. This IS an obituary. On 27th January 2010, I had slept with a resolution to chose a hard hitting subject for my next post. On 28th January, I woke up to more than that when I woke up to seven missed calls from Sangeeta. I returned her call to receive the apprehended news. Sonu was dead. My apprehension had its source not only in Sonu’s doctor’s prediction made just two days before, but also in my painful knowledge of the state and fate of thalassemics in India. Yes, my friend Sonu was suffering from thalassemia. Thalassemia is a genetic blood disorder which renders the patient’s bone marrow incapable of producing healthy red blood cells. Patients suffering from thalassemia have to rely on fortnightly/ monthly blood transfusions for their entire lives. That is not all though. Due to repeated blood transfusions, iron gets overloaded on their vital organs, including heart and liver. Highly expensive and mostly painful medicines called chelators are recommended to extract extra iron out of the patient’s body. Additionally, whether on chelation or not, thalassemics are required to undergo regular tests ranging from a simple CBC to T2* MRI. Obviously enough, not everyone is able to afford these chelators and tests. As a matter of fact, there are patients who find it hard to spare money for travelling to their closest blood transfusion centres. For those who did not know about thalassemia, please take out some of your precious time to express your heartfelt gratitude to the Government of India for your blissful ignorance and let that feeling of gratitude be based on the knowledge of the fact that the government has been far more inclined towards painting and repainting DTC buses, spending millions on giving lessons in civilized behaviour towards foreigners through hoardings and mascots, and carrying forward the legacy of inertia in practice and the art of rhetoric in speeches. It is interesting to note that our government does not even consider thalassemia worthy of consideration! Patients get blood transfusions in wards populated by critically ill patients with contagious diseases; doctors prick these patients mechanically and without using gloves and any consideration that thalassemics are regularly pricked and therefore need more care while cannulation; authorities doze off while thalassemics shiver and wreathe with pain due to unavailability of filters that prevent blood transfusion related reactions; patients die because of poor treatment, lack of knowledge and unavailability of medicines in government hospitals; and new thalassemics are born due to no provision of mandatory pregnancy tests.

I know that your mind and my heart will never agree until your mind ceases to live in numbers and my heart in the mist.  Honestly, I will not be able to give you impressive figures to convince you about the the magnitude of this problem. All I can tell you is that Sonu’s cremation was the third  I attended in a year, that Sonu was barely 25 years old, that he is survived by two unmarried sisters and old parents, that his family was not able to administer the recommeded dose to him, that due to uncontrolled iron overload his heart and lungs had developed complications and his whole body was swollen, and that…WE LOST HIM!

Sonu was someone who could not stop gushing about photography, which was his passion. One could not have known him and not known his secret plans for his sisters and their futures. Playing pranks on doctors and fellow patients was Sonu’s favourite passtime during transfusions. His words “Didi, didi, didi…aap aa gaye?” still reverberate in my mind. It is surprising how I heard the news of Sonu’s sad demise with a composed mind. There was no display of emotion whatsoever. I disconnected the call and immediately applied myself to selecting the appropriate dress for the occasion. I dressed in a speckless white kurta, wore my regular make up, summoned my driver, and left for the cremation ground. I did all those jobs while my other self stood in indignation and amazement. I reached the cremation ground and was able to maintain my cool even after seeing Sonu’s face through a tiny space in the flawless white sheet he was sporting. Cheapster…prankster…he was fooling people…his face was serene like never before. Of course, he would get up and start chuckling. But he did not. Sonu did not get up. I maintained my composure though, more so for my parents who get very concerned with my state of mind on such occasions. I came home and it started sinking in. My heart was becoming heavier by the moment. I did not wish to speak to anyone. I found myself completely by myself, alone in my grief. I was suddenly hit by the fact that a thalassemic’s life span depends on how much his family is able to squeeze out of its private coffers. Just as my head touched the pillow, I realized that I am the real prankster, not Sonu. Hypocrites like me blow their trumpets and tell the world how much they are doing for peope like Sonu just by facilitating a handful of donations while so much more needs to be done. Sleep evaded me and tears started flowing uncontrollably from an unknown source. There must be something stragely sacred in salt. It is in our tears and in the sea!

“When you long for blessings that you may not name, and when you grieve knowing not the cause, then indeed you are growing with all things that grow, and rising toward your greater self.” (Kahlil Gibran)

I experienced the sanctity of tears and an actualization of Gibran’s philosophy articulated in the above lines when rediscovered that I arrived in this world for a far larger purpose than donating a few medicines once in a year or two, travelling to Europe for conferences that give me recognition based on my eloquent talks, and writing obituaries for patients I have not been able to help. 

They say that if you do not understand your friend under all conditions you will never understand him. I don’t know whether I understood Sonu while he was alive but I certainly understood him in his death. I understood the message in the smile that froze on his cold face. That smile mocked life without purpose…without action. His smile urged me to take a pledge that every thought I have imprisoned in expression I must free by my deeds.

You, wayfarer in the universe who go through life like a meteor,

 make sure your fall into the void is not in vain

do not go straight from nothing to nothing

but give a meaning to your fleeting presence

in this fleeting reality

cultivating the most sublime of achievements

and the highest goal of Consciousness

which makes Matter great:

love through non-attachment.

A buddha is inside you: make him grow until you become

Another of his incarnations.

In the eternal flow from nothing to nothing

Make sure that between one nothing and the other

Consciousness and Love

Take their place in the evolution

Of this Universe.

(Giulio Cesare Giacobbe)

Sonu and his message shall always be remembered by me. All of us will miss this prankster in the ward. May he rest in peace…forever.