Will my son ever know my mom?

'Appa', my son 'K' had an exciting tone! He had just recognized me in a picture. It was one of those family pictures that most Indian families had at home. The parents sitting in a chair and the children standing behind them. 

"Who else is there in the picture, chellam", I asked my boy. He looked quizzical. He was still trying to comprehend my question. 'Appa', he said again! This time a little louder. Stressing on the 'pppaaahhh'. 'Who else?, who else? ', I asked again. 'Thatha', 'Gio thatha'; Bang came the reply. 'Chithapa', he continued, pointing to my younger brother. 

'Go on', who else? I asked him! He stopped. He could not identify the fourth person in the picture. Sadly, the fourth person in the picture is not in his life. 

It hit me hard. I had a lump in my throat. A sudden tear drop emerged. My heart felt heavy. My son will never know his grandmother. He will see her pictures and will eventually identify her in them. He may even hear stories about her greatness, but nothing can replace knowing the person in flesh and blood and sadly my son will never get to know her enough. 

One of my life's greatest regrets is not having my paternal grandparents around growing up and listening to their stories, cuddling in their laps, perhaps fighting and arguing economics with my economist grandfather or getting to know about what it meant to be among the first women medical doctors of the country from my grandmother. 

On one of those long nights when my mom and I went about chatting, like best friends do, she talked about having grandchildren. In her own inimitable way, she talked about how she would be inadequate to be a good grandmother.  Then once after she was diagnosed with that dreaded disease and again on one of those long-nighters, when she knew she had very little time, she threw in a passing comment saying she wished to have spent enough time on this side of life to have grandchildren. 

I truly hope that one day 'K' will search to know more about his late grandmom, search for stories on how she was almost worshipped in a small town in southern India, how people thronged to see her, to know how she touched the lives of many, to know that there are people on this earth named after her, to understand that her life was a legacy to not only admire but can even be emulated. 

I wish people were as kind to 'K' as they were to my mom and he could show the kindness and the grace which she radiated. I wish that every time someone calls his name, he knows he is named after one great lady! I wish he would possess that sheepish innocent smile she had. 

Wishes! Hopes! 

Well, what can I give to bring her back in flesh and blood for him to touch and know her? 

 

When an air-ambulance team went the extra mile!

Some stories are hard! Painful! The pain of the oppressed and the anger against the systemic flaws overshadows the heroism of the protagonist. 

More so, if it is not a story but reality. Life in blood and sweat and not what you watch in theatres for three hours, wipe your back, and walk out of. 

I heard one such story yesterday, rather a real-life incident, and it has been haunting me ever since. 

'V' is 15, and wants to pass himself off as a 17-year-old. Which 15-year-old doesn't? He even rode a motorcycle against the law of the land and crashed it. Survived the crash with major fractures. Sadly, his part of the world doesn't have good quality medical service. An air ambulance was called in. Perhaps he would have collapsed if there was no air ambulance service and they had to wheel him on the roads to the hospital which most of the time is at least a good five-hour drive away. 

'V' is not rich enough to afford air ambulances. Thankfully some good souls of the world subsidize air ambulances for people who could not afford them. 

Well, the story starts only now! 

The air ambulance team makes sure 'V' reaches the hospital on time and gets him admitted. 

A few days later, the air ambulance team again decides to visit 'V' in the hospital. After searching the hospital they found 'V' in a different ward, frail, more confused with the same filthy bandage, and possibly even more malnourished. The team asked the inevitable question "Why isn't he operated on yet?"; The answer came, "The doctor will only operate if there are 6 units of blood; we do not know what to do!". 

That answer hit me hard! What are doctors and nurses for, if they could not help a patient understand and get units of blood? Aren't there humble enough human beings in that hospital to ask and clarify simple questions and doubts of patients? Ah, the apathy of the learned! Wasn't education supposed to enrich lives with empathy and compassion or at least interest and enthusiasm? 

I told you, systemic flaws make us go mad! don't they? 

So the story continues...

The boy had to be operated on after the air ambulance team worked on arranging blood! Once operated on and settled down, by the time the team could visit again, 'V' was discharged, without leg support, with no assistance and an open wound. He would end up going back to his village and with no proper help in the village, the wound became worse and septic. 

By the time the air ambulance team decided to do a home visit, the legs had only enough strength to be saved from amputation. Another emergency admission and another long time in the hospital meant the legs got saved finally. 

Well, of course, the air ambulance team is a superhero. They could just have dropped the patient in the emergency and be gone doing their own lives. Their constant follow-up ensued the life, or at the least, the legs of a young 15-year-old got saved. Well, we perhaps need to celebrate real-life superheroes! 

But the story for me is about the apathy of the systems! the indifference of the upper class to the world around them. The detachment from reality. The languor of the privileged. The arrogance of the learned. 

If only the superheroes in the air ambulance team could be everywhere! If only, I could put my ears to the ground and listen to the heartbeat of reality? If only the privileged like me have enough empathy? If only I could take that extra step, just like that air ambulance team. If only! 

When the boy was dropped back home by the air ambulance team!

In dad's shoes!

Every time when someone says 'K' looks exactly like you my heart misses a beat. I gulp! That strange feeling of not wanting your child to be like you. Memories of your life run through the mind. You remember the timid, average, noisy, clumsy, rebellious, and lazy individual you were at various stages of life. Of course, you don't want your child to be that, right? 

Then you wish there will be that gene from the wifey, which perhaps might make him a different human being. Perhaps he will go on to become a successful, clear-headed, and loving human being like his grandmom. Surely there will be some remnant of her passed on right? I pacify the troubled heart.

Suddenly yesterday I saw 'K' doing something with his wrists. Almost like throwing a ball from the back of your hand. The wifey had a wry smile. "He is imitating you", she said; "You do that bowling action no, he is doing the same"! Well, apparently they even imitate your actions. Can't I now sit on my sofa with my legs on it? Can't I just be myself? Ah, the complicated world of parenting!

'K' today decided to play with my flip-flops. He had both of them on and tried walking. They were huge. It almost felt like his legs were an afterthought. The wifey made a sarcastic comment, "In Appa's shoes". There went the heart again. It missed yet another beat! I gulped again. I know it was just an analogy and he wasn't following exactly my path. Yet, the phrase had so much meaning. Ain't it? How will 'K's life be if he follows the same path? The one less trodden, filled with failures and insecurities all along. Of course, it had been one heck of a ride. Is it okay to warrant the same roller coaster for your child? Or should I wish a smooth, seamless life for him?  

The questions that throng my mind every day, I tell you.

For the longest time, my dad was my hero. The ultimate rockstar. When he drove the bullet, I awed at him. I proudly told the world that he is a doctor. At least till the teens, he remained the hero. Mom became a hero later on in life and remained so till the end. Did they know that I was following in their footsteps? Did they panic? Did their hearts flutter too? Or were they sure when they let their hands off me, that I might end up following them? Were they okay if I did follow them? Or didn't? 

Through all the loud white noise of the mind, in the innermost hearts, I know there is no running away from it. For now, there is a human, albeit a miniature version, a human nevertheless, who thinks it is fun to be in his dad's shoes. 

I better be careful! 

Surely following his dad! 

Perhaps his mom too! 

                                                                                                 The scary thought of following in the father's footsteps

Disappointment with God

 

I had just had a huge failure in life. The future looked bleak. I was confused. The phone call rang at that time. I remember the call like it was yesterday. It was my mom. It didn’t start with the usual “Sam di chellam” excitement. It started off with “Sam ma” and then she stopped. Her voice quivered. She stuttered. I’m diagnosed with cancer. Final stages. She said these words and cried. I was in faraway land. I was still a student then. The next few hours were hazy. I don’t remember any of them. Just have vague memories of a friend putting me to the airport and the long flight back home with tears rolling by. I remember the neighbour on the flight asking me whether I need help. There, on that long flight journey, started my inner struggle with God and disappointments with Him. 

God is not fair at all. Here is my mother, the greatest human being I have seen, my pillar of strength, my best friend, one of the best doctors this part of the world has seen, adored & loved by everyone around, having to go through this. I mean, people throng to see her to get healed. I have heard people say they come to see her smile. How many more could she have cured? If only God had been fair
The struggle within the heart of the young adult then was intense and the pain was real. 

As days went by, and with every passing day for the next ten months, I fought with God. He was not fair after all. I tried to reason out with him. ‘Perhaps He didn’t think through it well.’‘My mom would be a blessing to many more if God would heal her.’
Simple logic, ain’t it? But why didn’t God get it? I asked the question many times. The questions my heart had then had no answers. Life had no answers. 

In your early twenties, you are taught to be strong. To show the world outside that you are strong. Also, me being the elder in the family, warranted me to be strong. At least I thought so. I was to guide my younger brother, traumatized father and troubled mother through this phase, I told myself. I was broken inside, often fighting back tears, fighting depression and fighting God but on the outside, I showed myself to be strong. 

Did God fail me? 

Of course, He failed me! Those ten months He failed me every day. I clearly remember one day at the hospital; a fine woman of God came to pray for amma. She said, “Not a hair on your head will fall”, as a promise. I clutched onto it. In fact, I hung onto every small positive verse in the Bible and thought that was God trying to tell me something. Very soon chemotherapy started and not a single strand of hair on my mother’s head stood at the end of it all. In that sense, God failed me. He failed me big time! He failed me every time. 

As I look back now, nine years later, here are a few lessons I learnt through it all. 

 

1) God fails people: I’m sorry, I’m not going to sugar coat and say God never fails. He fails people, often. It’s not God’s job to make all our wishes come true; He’s not our personal genie or fairy godmother. God doesn’t work the way we expect. We can’t make plans for God and expect him to follow us. He is not, in the words of C. S. Lewis, a tame lion. God doesn’t always work the way we expect. Elijah expected God to be earthquake, wind, and fire. He expected God to turn the people back to HIm instantaneously. But God didn’t work the way Elijah thought HE would. God can also work through a whisper; He can (and does) use other things to bring people back to Him. From my perspective, I am pretty sure that my mom would have been a blessing to many more if only she had lived longer. He fails, because our understanding of God’s success and His understanding of the world are sometimes opposite. Does God mean good for me? He does, but His definition of what good means for His people is vastly different from what I define as good for me. Every time when God fail me now, after the struggle within through that year, I tell myself, perhaps there is something good which God sees through it. What is that good which God saw through my mom’s sickness? I don’t know. I don’t see. But He sees it, and that is the most important thing.

 

2) Master is always right: On the day my mom passed away, in the funeral service, my dad made a statement, which has stayed with me. “Master is always right”. He means good for me. In His sight it is good, even if I don’t see it. But the most important thing is, the master is always right. He decides what He wants to do with my life. I’m but to follow whatever he wants me to do with my life. 

 

3) Time heals: Does time heal? I have often asked myself this question. There have been days when I have missed amma, days when without amma life is very unpleasant, and I have wondered what a joy it would have been for her to be around; but to be really honest, those days are becoming fewer and fewer. As time goes by, the hurt has gone off. I do miss Mom. I still think my life would have been so much better if she had been there but time has healed me. We have all learnt to live without her and God has helped us to overcome the trauma of it all slowly but surely. 

 

 

4) Where else do I turn to? As frivolous as this may sound, every time when life has been very difficult, I have only turned to God, for the simple reason that I don’t have anywhere else to turn to. To cling on to the hope that God means good for me and only God can mean good for me through everything in life is the single biggest lesson I have learnt through it all. I cling onto God, for there is nowhere else to go to. 

 

I often think, if God conducts a wrestling match and wants to select people, I will be among the top choice, for I fight with God often. I lose hope and faith every other day. Failures have thronged my life and many times I have declared God dead in me. It has been many years of the fight, and I suppose it is going to be many more years of it. God has failed me, will fail me but I go back to him, coz where else will I go, if not to His Love that has meant good for me in His own world and in His time.

When we commit our way to the Lord, we can be sure that even through life’s disappointments, God is big enough and good enough to get us on the best path, even if it’s not quite what we hoped for.

How did it feel to be 20?

‘Sam Chithapa’ my nephew repeated the word for the umpteenth time. He was showing me around his university campus. I was following him, catching my breath often, trying to be his cool uncle, walking around his fancy university, and talking about stuff that I thought he would like. Oh, yes! The nephew is already 20. I feel old. 

What does it mean to be 20? oh, what a joyful time 20 is! My mind took me down memory lane.

I had joined college. Engineering college, which I hated with all my heart. I could have so easily been a doctor I suppose, but God had different plans. Anyways, looking back, life ain’t that bad then! How can life at 20 be bad? I mean, responsibilities are minimal and so life had to be fun right? Less responsibility, less worry.

I was very sure of myself then! So cocky sure. I knew the world was not run well. If only they had given me the chance to run it; Everywhere I go, I had a view of the world around me and its people. The college principal didn’t know a thing. The Head of the department, he is a moron. My mom was too naive, dad too erratic, Christianity is dying, or waiting for me to save it, Manmohan Singh the then prime minister doesn’t have a clue about running a country, and well the world was in fact waiting for my wisdom. I judged everyone and had an opinion on everything. Have I changed now? With all the grey hairs, I hope I'm no longer that anymore. The wifey will know better. 

As much as I thought knew the world, my tentacles often looked interested in newer things, perhaps looking for newer problems to solve. I remember the first time the caste system and reservation were discussed, it felt like the third eye was opened. I first read about LED lights and went awwww. When Steve Jobs announced the iPhone, oh what joy and thrill to read about it. It was joy undiminished to know the best friend is flying abroad and to learn newer things about that elusive ‘abroad'. I wish I get back that inquisitiveness. The joy of learning newer things. The tired and sad me now often gasps at newer things. How I wish I’m 20 again

The world out there always sounded green and blue. London and New York and Perth and Canberra were distant dreams, waiting only to be conquered. The serene, green IT industry was beckoning me. Very soon I will have lots of money, a beautiful house, fancy cars, and a dream job. I will be writing programs o save the world from disaster. There will not be any hunger and poverty. The naivety of the young adult world.  I can die to go back to that world of colors, rather than the somber, complaining, sad, and poverty-ridden world mine is now. 

There were days during college when the then best friend and I could pull off an all-nighter (Talked through the night), go to a full day of college, play a game in the evening, and still have energy for the next day. Now, the backache is a reality. One night of sleepless travel and the next morning life makes sure you remember the bed. If only I can go back to that body of my youth!

Does one fear anything at 20? I remember the time when I decided to climb down a mountain with a rope tied to the waist and a huge waterfall falling over. Phew, just thinking of that makes me faint now. Yesterday a friend helped me do something far less scary and oh, the nervousness of it all. 

If allowed to go back in life, I will go back to my 20 and live it all over again! Perhaps in a different college :) But in the same daring, cocky sure, dreamy, optimistic, and busy individual I was then. 

I look at my nephew now and wish he can remain the same! But can someone defeat father time? 

What does it mean to be in a PNG village?

It was a chance meeting. He had come to this small town in PNG for a week's health workers training and is ready to carry back his knowledge and some drugs, back to his small village. I was supposed to have landed in his village to listen to stories, but due to heavy cloud cover, we could not and instead landed in the nearest airstrip a few miles away from the village. 

"Can I ask you a few questions, sir", I asked him. I was intent on listening to him. "Of course, yes," he said. We both sat cross-legged on the runway. Yes, in the middle of the runway. We were both waiting for a plane to take us. Yes, you wait on the side of the runway and do not have fancy terminals to protect you from the sun. This is a different world. 

The sun was beating down and 'S' found it difficult to face the sun. My Indian skin is used to more violence from the sun I suppose. I sat down facing the sun. We started talking. 

'S' is a health worker. He lives in a very remote village in PNG and worked there as a health worker. He had come to a neighboring town for some professional training and to collect vaccines and immunization drugs. Being the only trained health worker in his community (around 7 villages, each with a population of 200-300 people) his role entails administering vaccines and referring patients who cannot be treated by him. 

I was there on a mission to listen to stories! I sat straight. He sat straight. we started talking. 

"The nearest city to our village is a seven-day walk", he said. Our work is to collect coffee and sometimes betel nuts and sell them in the nearest market, of course, the nearest market is in that city seven days' walk away. Most of that distance is dense forest, and you have to cross mountains too. He paused! Perhaps he realized I was a little lost. I was just trying to understand what it means to walk for seven days. 

Ha, isn't life difficult, I asked him? He just smiled. I think by now he understood even comprehending his life is very difficult for me. 

"But our lives have changed after MAF came in", he completed. 

Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF) is a Faith based NGO flying small planes to the remotest corners of the world. So, these pilots, who have given their lives to the service of society, fly in small planes and land in complex, remote airstrips. 

"MAF means so much to us. We never knew the outside world till MAF flew in", he continued. But then, it is really costly for everyone in the community to afford even that small fee that is being collected by MAF. So the people who could not afford, put all the cargo(coffee) onto the plane, walk the seven days, and collect the goods back in the city. MAF has them stored in their place. Sell the products in the city, buy goods(rice and food and other store goods) for the household and the village, put them back on a MAF plane, and walk back the distance.  

There was nonchalance in his speech. I sat there in a state of shock. We both continued. 

So how do you book a flight? Is there a flight every week? How do you know the flight schedule? My mind was getting curious. 

Our airstrip is surrounded by seven villages. Two of them across a river. So, every day the village leaders walk about to the airstrip to meet the MAF agent and ask about the flight. So, how long will that walk be? I asked. "Short distance only, maybe one or two hours; crossing the river may sometimes be difficult", the nonchalant act continued. Cell phones hardly work in our village. The MAF agent talks to the MAF base on a radio. Different world this! 

 "Sometimes the flight tries to land, but due to the bad weather conditions, it could not land, as the clouds may cover the runway. In such cases, we wait longer; Till MAF comes in to help". He abruptly stopped. Perhaps he realized it was becoming a little too heavy for me to take it in. 

The sun was beating down on my face. I started to imagine what will life mean to me had I been born in that village? I'm sure he would have seen the reflected glint from the small teardrop peeping out of my eye. My privileges! My blessings! I'm grateful! 

Suddenly we heard the sound of the plane. It was coming down to pick us up. The plan was to pick us up, go to his village, drop him and then go to the base where I lived. The pilot got down and said, "Sam, we can't go to the village where 'S' lived today, the cloud cover is intense and quite low"; 

I turned to look at him. That smile was no longer there. His wait to go back to his village continued. To see his wife. Administer vaccines and drugs to his people. Perhaps a week more or even two. Till MAF could take him back.  If MAF is not there, he had to walk. For a few days perhaps. But he preferred to wait, for walking through the jungles could sometimes be dangerous. 

As I hugged him goodbye, I could see the despair on his face. I boarded the flight and flew away. To my world of abundance. 

'S' with the vaccines & Drugs for his village

Some store goods ready to be carried to the village

Getting ready for take-off

The run-way where we had our conversation

The walking path

Sometimes through a mountain

                                            

Sometimes through dense forests

Can you see the runway?

Flying past the mountains, to the world of the needy!

 "Kaakurus"," Kaakurus", yelled the pilot from the flight looking out of his window. I looked around as the children standing near me started to run behind the cocks standing on the runway. Yes, you read it right, there were cocks running on the runway. 

Children running behind the kaakurus

Well, if you have seen the video, you are wondering where is the runway! Well, the green grass is what it is. An airstrip in a remote village called Sendeni, Papua New Guinea(PNG). 

"Can you see the smoke from afar", the pilot told me. I turned left to look into the mountains. We were flying 10000 feet above and the earth looked like a green blanket. "Yes, I can see some smoke", I replied. "Yea, there it is, the airstrip, that is where we are landing" the pilot told me. 

The pilot looking for the runway

Can you see the smoke & the runway?

The pilot is on a mission, to reach the unreached. With rice bags and household goods and with teachers and doctors and health care and education materials to those who are not as privileged. Every other week he flies into this village. Every other day into multiple villages. Difficult terrain, bad climate, rains, and hills do not stop him from flying in. On those days when extreme fog indeed stops him, he tries again tomorrow. Till he reaches them. The poor and the underprivileged. 

The village hadn't seen electricity! 7 villages surrounding this airstrip hadn't. They know no roads either. They can walk through the forest for days to reach the nearest town. Rains do come often here and then walking is difficult as well. 

They showed me the school. But for the children playing rugby, I would not have identified the school. For there were a few huts and nothing else. They were the classrooms apparently. I even saw a small boy cooking and it was heartbreaking. 

The school

Children playing Rugby

The home in a village

The pilot loads in a few cargoes and a few men got into the flight. It is a small 9-seater aircraft and had a few seats removed to accommodate more cargo as the villagers sell coffee in this part of the world, and the ground coffee powder had to be taken back to the towns to bring in some money. 

The kaakurus were cleared and the pilot took off again, through the bumpy runway, and off he went. He took a steep right turn to avoid the mighty mountains standing right in front of the runway and flew away.

 

Can you see the bird flying past the mountains?

As he left me, I stood there looking at the mountains, thinking about the pilot. What if he had decided to take life easy, rather than fly into this god-forsaken place? 

Perhaps, he is flying here, coz God indeed remembered the place! and someone decided