A cut, a nip and a tuck

It is the 1980s, J has not conceived even after repeated tests she does not know the reason why. Morose she leads her life.

Her vision gets faulty suddenly and she goes to the Ophthalmologist, he suspects something awry and sends her for a brain X-Ray. His suspicions come true. She has pituitary adenoma. A malignant tumor on the pituitary gland. She goes to Calcutta where a neurosurgeon cuts open her skull, the brain is lifted up and the tumor is removed.

The trauma is huge, the moment J comes out of the ‘why me’ stage, she is assaulted by her shaved head, the incision marks and the other effects.  Recovery is slow. It takes long to heal.

Though her eyesight becomes almost normal, she is never able to conceive. She discovers that she has trouble in remembering some things, sometimes she has difficulty to focus and her right hand is a bit… different than before. She has difficulty now to hold things with that hand.

Eventually she adopts a girl. Thankfully there is no recurrence of the tumor and she lives a satisfactory life with her daughter and husband.

 

 

Its 2004. R has not conceived and is undergoing some treatment to conceive when suddenly she has loss in vision in one eye. She is sent for an eye check up where in the Ophthalmologist suspects some thing and sends her for an MRI. The MRI reveals clearly that it is pituitary adenoma. She is advised to go to a neurosurgeon who specializes in endoscopic endonasal surgery. The traumas of opening up the skull and locating the tumor can be done with, with a small surgery even though the tumor is big.

 

And so she opts for it. She is admitted into the hospital the previous day for the pre-op check ups. The day of the operation she walks into the Operation Theater. She is given anesthesia. But as soon as the camera is inserted inside the surgeon discovers that there is a hemorrhage and there is heavy bleeding. He tries to arrest the bleeding and the operation is abandoned for that day. A CT scan is done which reveals that the tumor has grown further (from the day of the last scan) and has gone to another direction but the bleeding has stopped. And so the next day R is operated again and the tumor is removed bit by bit until there is not a trace left of the tumor.

R walks out of the hospital the third day.

She conceives later.

There is a recurrence five years on but because of repeated check ups the tumor is detected much earlier and it is thought better to opt for a surgery than radiation. This time the operation takes just 10 minutes-yes just a cut, a nip and  a tuck.

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As most of you must have guessed R is me and J was a neighbor in Bhilai I fail to even think of what would have happened if there were no MRI /CT scans and I shudder to think what if there were no endonasal surgeries. Thanks to modern science  what could have been a catastrophe was averted by breakthrough technology.

Written as a part of Indiblogger and Apollo Hospitals How does Modern Healthcare touch lives

 

Dark Secret

We all called her Aayi, she was a mother to all. Her children were away in the USA. Daughter had married a South African,  son a German. But Aayi never cribbed. 'They are happy, that is all I want', she said.

We worked for destitute women. Inspiring some, motivating others. Finding new opportunities, selling their produce.

And one day her life breath passed away. Her neighbor informed me. Her  possessions were all in a bag. Her worth was though some lakhs. She had bequeathed all to me, ‘for a child who is more than my own’, her will had said.

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Written for the prompt Dark secrets for

Today is Mother’s day, just combined the secrets of a mother with the prompt

Silent conversation

We were moving out of the mall when suddenly someone pulled my dupatta.

I turned angrily. It was a woman in a hijab, with only her eyes visible. She raised a hand to ask for alms.

I stared still angry at her.

I looked at her eyes, they were watery and she seemed to say,  ‘I am hungry’

A wealthy country and yet a woman in her hijab  has to beg. For satisfying  hunger or loneliness, who knew?

A hundred questions and no hope of any answers.

I hand over some fils and head out with a heavy heart.

___________________________________________

In response to Everyday Gyaan’s prompt Silent conversation/s

Happiness at a rupee

Way back in the nineties, telephone was still a novelty and obviously mobile phones were unheard of.

Call charges were high in the morning and there were reduced rates for the evenings and late nights. Which meant that we girls in the hostel of Maharani’s College Mysore rarely spoke to our family. The office was open in the mornings when we had college and even if someone was in her room, who could call her with the exorbitant morning rates. So we were practically dependent on the IPS, no not the police but the Indian Postal System. And without fail most of us would be writing a letter to our family each week and then waiting for a reply.

But then who does not like to speak to family/friends. There was a telephone booth just across the road but it was always crowded with the office-goers or ……boys. Then our warden had the genius idea of fixing a ‘coin wala dabba’ where in we could call our Local Guardians or our family could call us if we passed on the phone number of the dabba.

The day the phone was fixed was a day of festivity. The guy from the telecom department took a lot of time to fix it  obviously he loved the attention and the company.

 

The common area was always crowded henceforth. And there was never a moment of peace. Be it early morning or late night, someone was always at the phone.

But yours truly had another idea.

Late into the night when everyone was busy preparing for the next day, I crept down along with a roommate dialed my sister’s number in Mumbai. You may say what is strange about that there are public booth systems where in you can make STD/ISD calls BUT this was fixed for only local calls. ‘Is it Bombay?’, I asked.  ‘Illa amma, idu Mysuru’, a man boomed. ( No amma it is Mysore) Dejected I kept the phone down. But did I stop a t that. No, not at all. I kept on trying. Until one fine day I spoke to my sis. Yes, I did. What followed was pandemonium. I called my sis every other day. My parents at that time  did not have a phone connection, so-called them at a friend’s place who had a phone, spoke to them too. Slowly the other girls too came to know of our jackpot and we all had a merry time all at the cost of one rupee.

But do good times last, no, they don’t. The telecom department got a hint and they came to remove the faulty unit. there was an inquiry. All kept mum. For once, there was unity. Our brief period of bliss ended too soon.

But memories of that time, still bring on a smile.

‘Gift’

We came back with a gift. The meeting had been with a travel agency. They had some travel packages. Though we declined their offer, we were given a gift.

We came home, I had some chores to finish but the kids were anxious to know what was in that gift and so they opened it. ‘Dinner set, eeks’, Adya screamed. Aditya made a face and both went away. The better half looked at me and asked, ‘Do you need this?’

‘No’, I said. I already had two sets and didn’t want one more. ‘I will gift it to Trisha’, I said. He mumbled a yes.

Trisha my sister, younger to me by ten years was getting married after a long courtship of five years. Both she and Dilip had waited so long because they wanted to live in ‘their’ home. They had purchased their flat about a year back and were getting married in two months time.

Every waking moment I was spending planning for her wedding. Whatever caught my fancy was purchased for her.

And so the dinner set was carefully kept.

Only ten days were left for our trip to India. I kept all the things I had purchased for Trisha in the spare room. It would be easier that way to pack it up and nothing was forgotten.

‘Didi, how can I clean this room if you keep  everything scattered’, It was my maid Sudha.

‘Leave it like that Sudha or else I will miss something’, I told her.

‘This design is so nice she said looking at the cover of the dinner set. I want to get something like that for my Kirti’, she said. She sat down ogling at the box. After 5 minutes I asked her, ‘Now will you proceed with your other work’. She got up reluctantly.

Sudha belongs to an a family of farmers. But the drought has completely wrecked their lives. And so some 4 years back, she and her husband came down to the Gulf to earn some money. They had left their children back at home with his parents. The elder one is now of marriageable age. And Sudha dreams of getting her married to an educated man. Each spare fils is saved for their daughter’s marriage.

Our preparations are in full swing. Shopping is almost over, packing is on. The spare room is full of things to be packed. Sudha helps me in every single thing. Because of her I have managed my sanity. Balancing job, office, two boisterous kids and a wedding is no mean feat.

‘Didi why have you not packed the dinner set’, Sudha asks.

‘Because that will go in hand baggage’, I say.

‘Hmm’, she says fondling the pack as if it is a newborn baby.

We leave for the airport in ten minutes. I rush here and there to check if I have not missed anything. In the end I catch the dinner set and give it to Sudha, ‘This is for your daughter’, I say.

‘But…you kept this for your sister’, she said. ‘She can buy her own’, I say.

The aeroplane soars high. I soar higher than it. I will never forget the look of delight on the face of Sudha. Just a dinner set and yet it gave so much pleasure to her.

* fictitious

**Image courtesy Google images

‘

Of laukis and bhindis

‘Eeks lauki’, screamed Ajay.

I let out a sigh. I admit I am no master chef but I do try to cook a variety of cuisines err Indian, Chinese and Italian. I am appreciated by everyone except my family. And the worst of them is my teenage son Ajay. He has always been a fussy eater but more so since he stepped into teenage.

Where is the energy left to cook after housework, swimming classes of the kids, dance class, piano recitals of the kids. Still I try to do my best and yet…….

‘It is good for health’, I said

‘Ma, I can’t eat this, make me some pasta’, he said

“I won’t, didn’t you have it yesterday and day before too. That is enough maida (APF) to clog your intestines’, I said.

‘Pasta has semolina too’, he said

‘NO’, I said

He muttered some expletives under the breath. Sat down and ate, stuffed some food inside his mouth and before we had even gulped a mouthful, he was up and gone.

Me and Sujay looked at each other. Nidhi my 7-year-old started whining next, ‘this is not tasty’.

‘Eat or else you won’t get any ice cream’, I screamed. The rest of the meal was spent in peace.

Later Sujoy and me brainstormed over how to make Ajay eat. But how. How to make him understand that home food was good. It was not necessary to eat junk every day etc.

I just hoped for a miracle.

Some days later Ajay came with a long face. ‘What happened’, I asked.

‘Avi has appendicitis, Ma, what is that and why does it happen?’

‘I don’t know the exact reason but very often it is because of eating habits and….’

‘You need a reason to preach’, he said and left

I was left in shock.

‘Why didn’t you make bhindi?’, he asked at dinner time.

But we had bhindi yesterday’, I replied

‘So what’, he said. The only two vegetables Ajay eats is bhindi and aloo. And I was sick of both.

‘Alright. You know some basic cooking, so go ahead and make some bhindi sabji, we will wait till you prepare it’.

All three looked at me. Ajay grinned and said ‘OK now just watch Chef Ajay cook up a delightful bhindi’ and left.

I did not assist him, though I  watched from the dining place.

He chopped onions, he chopped tomatoes, he chopped bhindi. All was fine until he fried the bhindis a bit and then….added water to it to cook. Not just a little but  a lot more.

I knew what the result would be. But I kept mum.

‘Ahaa’, he said, ‘now who will like to taste it’, bringing the prepared dish to the table.

‘Me’, I said and took some.

Sujoy was about to refuse but I gave such a look that he took some too. Nidhi refused saying she was happy with karela.

Last Ajay took , had a spoonful and spat it out. Meanwhile I was eating with a blank expression.

‘How can you eat this?’, he asked.

‘I can because my son has cooked it. He has put in his love and effort into it, so….’

He lowered his eyes and took some karelas too.

Me and Sujoy smiled at each other. For some days there would be peace at least. After that…huh…some other measure would be taken.

* fictitious

** Lauki-bottlegourd

Karela-bittergourd

Aloo-potato

Bhindi-okra

Safety, what is that?

In an age where in parents have to work to sustain the family

kids stay indoors; for no one takes them out to play.

Standing, nose pressed to window grills

they watch the world pass by.

 

Some where else kids do play

in the belief that all is fine.

Parents do watch out for them

every now and then.

 

And some where a lurker moves

a lurker who has abandoned his moralities,

and let its demoniac qualities surface

and drowned all its goodness.

 

The lurker moves

and eyes the one at home

and the one out

And all peace is gone.

 

Safety, what is that?