The Complete Misfit.

Last night’s dinner party at home had gone on till 1 in the morning, which was pretty late by the standards in place at home. I was hoping the miserable cold I had would have decided to subside by morning, but I woke up with a nose so badly blocked that had I awoken 2 minutes later, I would have died on choking on my own phlegm. ((How many times has that happened? Ugh.)

Anyway, my head was throbbing pretty badly, felt like those times when my sister would involuntarily start to sing. I seriously didn’t feel like sitting on that ancient scooty of mine and going to college, it was quite hot and I was quite cold, so um... if that conveyed any logic, thats the reason I decided to sit back home. Mom had other plans for me though, it’s a universal problem with all mothers, you sit down and immediately some or the other errand crops up. She told me she wanted to go for her mammography scan, so I immediately agreed (if she would have sent me to buy veggies I would run head first into my bedroom wall).

Anyway, we headed towards Yashoda hospital, where Mom has her chemotherapies. The place is depressing to say the least, people from everywhere are crammed inside, patients are lying around on beds in the open and the amount of noise is deafening. Add to that the repulsive smell of hospitals... the medicines, the disinfectants, bleaching powder... I hated it. Fortunately, the nurse told us we’d have to wait for 2 hours, so we decided to go to the Secunderabad Diagnostic centre, which also conducted the aforesaid scan.

As I parked my scooty, I noticed that this place wasn’t exactly a hospital, but more like a clinic. Dainty little place hidden in a lane, but it stood out in terms of being posh. We walked in, I thanked God for the blast of chilly AC air that iced my sunburnt skin. Having an allergy to the sun which NEVER goes away is no less than a curse, but I guess enduring it for 14 years has taught me to be extremely patient. Anyway coming back to the topic, we took our seats in a corner, I took my headphones and started listening to the new songs I’d downloaded, while mom took out her IPHONE and played Angry Birds. Gosh... talk about calling parents the outdated generation.

As I joined Mom in playing the game, I saw an old lady from my side walk up to the both of us. She held a wad of 10, 50 and 100 rupee notes in her right hand, along with a receipt of some kind. She folded her hands, looked at us and said something in Telugu, something I couldn’t comprehend at all... I mean, sometimes, even an alien language makes sense... body language, expressions, gestures are universally spoken languages. I told her that we couldn’t understand Telugu, she told us in broken Hindi that she had cancer, but not enough money for treatment. She pointed to her hip, something that made me almost jump up in my chair. An unmistakeable lump was protruding out, ugly but unmistakeable. No chance that she was feigning it. She folded her hands and asked again.

It’s at times like these I feel torn. Humanity resides in everyone, undoubtedly. But in some people it lies dormant, unstirred and unmotivated by their own experiences. I felt an instant urge to help, but I knew me and my Mom were both helpless, Mom had borrowed just about enough money for her scan  from me, I was sure she had nothing to spare. My Mom shook her head, I knew it was easier for her considering she was a cancer patient too, but I felt terribly out of place. I looked around me, there were 6 different families sitting in the same room. I wondered how many of them too were facing an equally tough battle?

It’s at times like these that you realise that God can make you feel so small. You can talk to 50 people a day, text 100 people and have a few 1000 odd friends on Facebook but all that pales in comparision when you feel so painstakingly isolated from the people immediately around you. I looked at the security guy walk up to the lady, telling her “Not here Aunty.” and escorting her out of the clinic. The slow hesitating ambling of her footsteps faded into the distance, I felt gutted for being rendered helpless by something I didn’t have.

A 5 year old kid in an orange shirt sat right across me. He was looking straight into my eyes, I looked at him and smiled, but got a stoic expression in return. A cruel but realistic thought that hit me was that he might be a patient too, God forbid... It was after a few minutes I realised that I was looking as blankly at him as he was at me. God knows how many other people outside this clinic lost themselves trying to find a way out of the abyss of problems that cancer pulls them into. How many had lost their lives? How many more were going to? The numbers and statistics I’d read here and there, but reality has a habit of striking when you ignore the gravity of a situation. There were millions of people suffering right now, out of those the 6 in this room were causing my head to spin.

Being sensitive and empathetic is one thing, actually doing something about it is a whole different scenario. I knew how hard it is, knowing one of your most prized possessions is plagued by cancer, I also knew that the lady’s family, would feel no different than what I felt now.

Mom came back from the scan after 45 minutes, and I was not surprisingly, more than relieved to leave the place. I winked and then smiled at the kid in the orange shirt one last time, but his eyes immediately tore away from mine. All I could do was wonder why.

God forbid.

Meeting Shadows

I wrote this one when me and a few friends decided to visit orphanages, old age homes and homes for the desolate and dying, to try and spread a little festive cheer. It was one of those experiences which makes sure you keep your feet on the ground, one which shows you how stupid your own little problems are before the ones which these people go through everyday.

Night had started to overpower the day, the light was losing its sheen,

I got out of the car and stretched my legs, where a guitar had lain in between.

We’d all traversed a fair few miles, covering everything from far and near,

Singing in orphanages, old age homes, spreading some good old Christmas cheer.

Guitar strings tweaked a final time, a few coughed to keep voices steady,

A few minutes later everyone was convinced, that the final act was ready.

Hushed whispers went up a few notches, as guitar strums broke the calm,

I could see heads turn at the window, some of them were visibly alarmed.

We stepped into a narrow corridor, what I saw shattered my heart to pieces.

I saw people like you and me, rendered desolate by different diseases.

Faces destroyed beyond recognition... Still beautiful in a terrible way,

Desperate souls lay all around, waiting for the dawn of a different day.

Eyes blinded by fate and faith alike, bodies physically punctured at so many points,

Some were unable to move their limbs, made utterly lifeless by failing joints.

For the very first time in my whole life, I felt so many eyes upon me resting,

I saw half of the audience expecting rare joy, half of them looked at me detesting.

How could an 18 year old boy like me, understand the devilish schemes that hampered,

Each one of those people everyday, when I in comparison was so heavily pampered?

We kept on going right down the middle, the centre of attention of a sea of gazing,

Being one who was never expected to perform, the impetus that I felt was amazing.

Blank expressions and beaming faces greeted me, as I folded my hands and smiled,

Hoping to bring the happiness, with which, they’d struggled an eternity to reconcile.

I tried to keep up the cheerful demeanour, as we continued walking to the other part,

But I sensed with every step that I took, something inside me was breaking apart.

Harsh reality was staring straight at my face, then how could I just let it be?

When I know the man on one of those benches, in another life could’ve been me?

Shocked and humbled we all had agreed, that the world had nothing worse to show,

Then we saw more faces and I slowed down...this was somewhere I didn’t want to go.

I’d seen enough of life’s forgotten books, now I couldn’t bring myself to turn a page,

The scene in front was one I’d seen before, just this time they were younger in age.

The childlike innocence was undiminished, their eyes shone so bright and eager,

Even when all that the world could offer, was way below the definition of meagre.

But as the first notes of music touched the air, for a moment they forgot their pain.

The pure ecstasy so clear in their laughs, like a little girl caught in the years first rains

They danced without a care in the world, free from all that held them shackled,

Forgetting the past’s infinite horrors, the future’s unknowns yet to be tackled

I struggled to hold my emotions back, a barrage of tears was blurring my vision,

I knew if I ever wrote a poem on this, all my other work would pale in comparison.

To me all of them were absolute legends, the finest proponents of teaching,

Of how to live and lead by example, to inspire even without even preaching.