Warning: It’s a gratitude post. This may get boring for some of you, so feel free to skim or skip.
But as promised earlier, this series pays tribute to the people around me. The most important of them all being my parents.
My parents raised me to be tough. Unlike most Indian homes in the 80s, they didn’t make any distinction between a daughter and a son in terms of the things they expected us to. If Abhishek had to be financially independent, I had to be too. If he was expected to take his big life decisions on his own, I was expected too.
Someone recently asked me: what has been the toughest part about getting this injury? And the only thing that instantly came to my mind was: witnessing my parents see my pain and immobility in helpless despair.
But don’t get me wrong, they have not, for a second, lost hope. It’s just hard on them. I am not a parent, so I can only imagine as much.Two months ago, they watched me deliver a TEDx talk, and then, all of a sudden, they found themselves watching me struggle to get up from the bed. One day, you are thanking God for your daughter’s leaps in her career, another day, you are praying she learns to walk again.
And yet, and this is way harder, they have not allowed me to see their tears ever so often. They have cried in the hallways of the hospital, or at my bedside while I slept peacefully, or alone in the kitchen or inside the closed doors of their bedroom. They have stayed strong.
In family prayers, my father has thanked God for my smallest successes in this painful journey. Thank you God today she is looking better; thank you God now she eats at the dining table with us; thank you God she can now sit outside in the sun; she is not in Pain anymore; she is eating well everyday.
Taking care of a 42-year-old daughter like a baby
This is about my ever so resilient mother. How did I not see her work her magic silently over the years? How did I not appreciate her mere presence in the house that brought such calm? How did I skip meals so many times when she cooked something healthier but not up to my tastes? I found myself appreciating my mom for nearly every meal she cooked in the last 40 days.
My mom sprained her ankle around July last week of this year. Ever since, she has been in pain. We got the X-ray done, there was no fracture but she is almost 70, so it took longer to recover. She had barely recovered when I broke my ankle in mid September, and she soon forgot her own injury.
She has fed me, bathed me, emptied the urine catheter, and helped me with things I am so embarrassed to write here. All this without ever making me feel uncomfortable for a second. She had a who-else-will-do-it attitude, like it was the most natural thing to do for her. Ofcourse I am going to do this for you, she has said it numerous times, while hiding her own ankle pain.
Back in 2007, I was living as a paying guest in an apartment in Pune – my first time living away from home. It was mid October, and all my roommates had gone home for Diwali. Mom hadn’t traveled alone in a long time, but she took the 15-hour overnight bus to Pune. She lived with me for the entire week, and I showed her around the city. She cooked for me, we chatted away in the wee hours of the night, and had chai in the porch. I cried so hard when I returned to that empty apartment after dropping her off the last day. I am sure she was crying too while lying down on the bus seat that night.
We have traveled together so many times, but the one trip that makes me MOST proud of her was back in 2015 when we took a trip to Sikkim (North-east India). At 63, she did an almost 10-km hike with me one day. We explored villages, fields, found viewpoints to watch the sunset, and ate all kinds of food.
Mom has taught me to enjoy the smaller insignificant things in life. She gets excited over the blooming of a flower in our front yard, or a bird chirping on one of our trees; or a shirt I may be wearing on a given day. She forgives (some undeserving) people so instantly and heartily, it has made me angry at times. Like Christ, she doesn’t check qualifications before forgiveness.
Teaching me to live with the pain
My father is all too familiar with aches and pains. Living with polio since he was four years old, he has endured numerous surgeries, accidents, and falls. At 72 years of age, he lives with a persistent pain in his limbs on a daily basis. This pain is the outcome of many years of diabetes, and the resulting medications.
When he was first pre-diabetic in his late 40s, due to the many stresses of his bank job, the Indian medical fraternity believed in suppression rather than healing. “You want to live, eat your pills.” Back then, there wasn’t much research on prevention of diabetes through healthier diets, and preventative care.
He soon lost weight, got into a healthier diet, began walking for 40 minutes every day without fail. But he had to take his pills.
In his 70s, the outcome is a pain in his feet that he must endure every single day, and quite sharply each time his sugar goes up.
“How do you manage with all this pain Dad?” I asked him recently.
“You learn to live with it, you learn to ignore it, and treat it like it is part of your body.”
He leaves for his village ministry this Saturday. While driving the car all through 120 kms, he will be in pain. But he will still get there, and meet the community, and serve them through his encouraging words, and Biblical wisdom.
Since the fracture, he has endured this pain while fetching us groceries, fixing electronic devices, pulling my wheelchair, keeping me company in the morning, done hospital paperwork on the last day, took me to the hospital for a check-up, and prayed the most fervent prayers each day.
Honest about their weakness, but resilient in their strength
I learnt that my parents burst into tears when they saw my X-ray; and lost control of their emotions on the day of my surgery, and rooted for me every waking hour for the last 40 days.
But like Job from the Bible, they continue to tell me,
“Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” [Job 2:10]
