pappa

One day in the hospital…

… is enough to give you a wake up call. It’s enough to make you realise that you take your body for granted and that it needs more love and care. It’s enough to make you realise that you love your loved ones more than you think you love them. It’s enough to give you an insight on the kinds of people that visit the hospital.

It’s enough to make you realise that a hospital is nothing but a workshop where we go to service our parts. A day is all it takes to realise that not all doctors work as per their Hippocratic Oath and that the medical frat has some worms which work only for money. That a hospital will sometimes make it sound like you are more sick than you actually are, so that it can earn some more money. That it will intentionally make you wait longer so they can charge you more.

One day is enough to make you realise you have more physical strength and less emotional strength than you thought you actually had. It can make you weak in the knees seeing your loved one lying helpless and it can make you stay awake for nights, without getting tired. One day is enough to let you know the variety of emotions you can go through in just a matter of minutes – when you go to meet the doctor incharge. There’s not just fear and worry, there’s anger, anxiety, relief, empathy, sympathy, helplessness, guilty, hatred, irritation, nervousness and annoyance.

That one day, you are on the phone every minute giving updates to your worried family members who stay far away. You are on the phone calling your family doctor and relative doctor, taking a second or third opinion, asking and confirming if the hospital is doing the right thing. That one day, you are more or less a call center.

One day in the hospital will make you realise how long a minute can be and how long a wait for the test result can be.

One day in the hospital is enough to make you realise how important it is to have manpower with you, behind you. That one day, you will know who really cares for you

One day in the hospital….

 

Advertisements

Diwali special.

I wait the whole year for Diwali and before you know it, it’s come and gone leaving me blue.
This year I made some special sweets — Kaju burfi. My maid, taught me how to do it. Thanks P! Everyone who bit into the burfis were all in awe for it. And I told all of them that you taught me and helped me how to do it.

Here’s what we did

  • Soaked 500 gms cashews in water for about 5-6 hours

 

Ground it to a fine paste with minimum water. I used a couple of tsp water just to get the blender running. But even then, you will find that its not extremely fine. Maybe if you added more water, it would be a paste, but lesser the water you add, the easier it gets to cook later.

Put the paste in a heavy pan/wok, with 500 gms sugar (cashew and sugar should be same weight). Start to stir the mix on a medium flame.

Keep stirring, dont let go for even a minute. (it tends to get burnt). Keep stirring till the mix begins to leave the sides.

Grease the platform well with ghee and plop the mix on to the platform. Pat it down quickly to desired thickness. Alternatively, you could grease large plates and pat the mix on the plates. After a while cut into desired shapes.

SERVE! EAT! ENJOY!

HAPPY DIWALI

Inspite of all this fervour, I had no mood to celebrate Diwali. I missed my dad too much. It’s been 9 months already since he passed away, and i haven’t missed him so much in all these days. If he can hear me I want to tell him…

– you made the best Diwali lanterns ever. It had the most intrecrate hand cut patterns on them, that couldn’t be found anywhere
– your little grandson still remembers you (i’m surprised because he was very young when you went)
– he remembers your car, how you wore your cap (backwards) and the games that you played with him
– I missed you too much.
– I love you and will always do so….

Dear GOD: Pls keep him happy where ever he is.

Dear Pappa,

I finally decided to sit down and write this letter to you. I’ve been meaning to do it ever since you left us abruptly, but I could never bring myself to do it.

To begin with, I really have no idea what to begin with. In my entire 32 years of life you have been a pillar of support and strenght. I remember being your pet when I was little to crying in front of you recently when something had bothered me. You always told me to be strong and count my blessings.

There have been times when I hated you for shouting at me because I had a haircut. Or for telling me that I could do better in my studies. I never saw that you only meant for me to shine better as a person.

There were MANY times when I felt proud that you were my father — because you were always there for everyone around you. Be it your own brother and sisters and their families or your inlaws and their families. Every time anyone needed help or advice they always turned to you.

Even as May (my sis) called to tell me that she and mom were taking you to the hospital because you were feeling a little breathless, I continued watching television, for I knew it would just be a routine checkup and the doctor would send you back home saying it was due to strain.

Little did I, or for that matter anyone else at home know that you had had a ‘silent massive heart attack’ (as the doctor called it). And that the attack had caused a hole bang in the middle of your heart, which is a very rare thing and happens to one in a million. You were that one.

We hung on to hope that you’d soon come back with a certificate saying ‘fit to go home’. But no, the doctor said you had to be operated on. I will never forget the evening before the operation when you saw me, May and mom one after another. The scene is still fresh in my mind. Before I entered the ICU, mom told me that you were emotional and that I should control my self. I came in and saw you were behind an oxygen mask, trying to tell me that you were ok. Then, you began to weep. I tried hard to fight my tears. You told me to take care of the others if something went wrong. I told you I would and that you should not worry. And that you would walk out of the hospital fine. You nodded. I guess you felt a little relieved after hearing me say that I would take care of everything.

I wanted to wipe your tears and hold your hand, but I could’nt as we had been advised not to touch you due to fear of spreading infection. I regret not wiping your tears. 😦

After the surgery, you were under heavy sedation of the medecines and we could not talk to you, ever again. After 4 days of ups and downs, we lost you on 14th February. I remember mama called me into the ICU and told me you were gone. I held on to him and wept like a baby, loudly and for long. In the ICU I saw you lay still, eyes closed, the same eyes had spoken to me with a few days back.

Its been two weeks already.Life has been tough after you went. But we are trying to cope. I promise you I will always be there for mom and May. I will never let go no matter what.

I thank GOD for giving you as my dad. I learnt so many lessons from you, which have always helped me one way or another. I thank GOD that he did not let you suffer physically when you were in the hospital. I thank GOD that he gave you a good life.

I know you are somewhere happy and will read this somehow. Just want you to know that I LOVE YOU, will always cherish your memories in my heart and will always strive to make you proud.

Yours,

Mimi’s mommy.