"I have nothing to complain about"

by

Dr. M. Sathya Prasad 27 November 2012

Our eye is a fascinating creation. A wonderful sense organ. The sense of our skin is just – well, skin deep. The sense of our tongue is due to direct contact with the object of taste. Nose senses fragrances that pass by. Ears can only hear those things within earshot! But the reach of our eyes is light-years. Our tiny little eyes could see stars far, far away at unfathomable distances. Stars and galaxies light-years away are but an image – inverted – on our retina. Eyes could scan the farthest frontiers of the cosmos. Eyes are our doorways to imagination and fantasies. Eyes are glorified. A precocious little child becomes an apple to one’s eyes. Anything precious is as dear to us as our eyes. Our eyes outlast us and hence could be transplanted. While other sense organs have some power of perception, these lack the power of expression. Even the tongue is just an organ of taste and a speech enabler, while the actual sounds emanate from the vocal cords. But eyes have the power to directly express, to express in silence, to convey depth to the most powerful conversations that happen deep within. Where silence is golden, most of the communications happen through the eyes. 

There are varieties of expressions transmitted by eyes: sleepy, disinterested, angry, melancholic, devious, longing, scheming, threatening, hollow, cold,  warm, twinkling, meditative, naughty, contemplating, dreamy, salacious, scared, bright, dull, languid, contemptuous, rolling, sanpaku… so many types, well complimented by fluttering eyelids of a lovestruck lassie out of pretentious modesty, raised eyebrows to convey surprise, crowded eyebrows for intense curiosity, contemptuous rolling eyeballs – so many emotions and feelings could be delivered through our eyes. Eye contact or lack thereof could be an indicator of affection, approval or otherwise, or even indifference. Weren’t we warned by our grandmother, “Be careful with that aunt, for she would cast an evil eye on you”. The definition for revenge is, “An eye for an eye”. To be in the center of a mess is to be in the “eye of the storm”. Delayed realization is hindsight. Premonition is foresight. A typical villain’s eyes are bloodshot.

Today I saw a pair of eyes that conveyed emotions far more than any of the above. I was in a large corporate hospital. I had to rush my mother there a few days ago to get her treated for advanced ovarian cancer. My mind was completely preoccupied with her health condition and after a few days of stay in the hospital, she was ready to get discharged – not cured, but discharged, only to get admitted a few more days later.

I had just settled her medical bills and got into the elevator to get to the ward where she was, which was on the fourth floor of the hospital. I was on the ground floor and the lift operator, at my behest, pressed button number four. Just then, a young man, with anxiety writ large all over his face rushed into the elevator and held the door from closing. He was clutching onto a brand-new oxygen tube and mask. He turned to us and asked – rather demanded, “I need to go to the basement immediately.” I wouldn’t say he sounded impolite, but certainly, his flustered demeanor spared no diplomacy either.

I: Sir, this elevator is going up. The fastest way to go to the basement would be to take the stairs.

He: But I have a patient with me and it is urgent.

Only then did I realize that he was not alone. I requested the lift operator to cancel the fourth floor and oblige this young man instead, by going to the basement first. At this moment, a nurse and a ward boy rushed inside the elevator, pushing a stretcher on wheels. A young lady was also alongside. I surmised that the young lady accompanying the stretcher should be the young man’s wife.

I forgot to mention that this young man must have been around thirty-two years of age and his wife a few years younger.

On the stretcher was a little child, barely five years of age, most likely even less than that. The child was covered with a bedsheet up to the neck. His face was larger than usual for a child of his age.

The elevator door shut and naturally, this little child, with an oxygen mask covering his large chubby face started searching with his eyes. The young father bent towards his child and said in Tamil, “My darling, my dear sweetie, I am standing right beside you, my child.” The searching eyes of the child continued and the young dad again said in the kindest voice, “Darling, mummy is also near you my dearest. We won’t leave you alone baby.” The little child tilted his head a bit to glance at his mother and locked his eyes with hers. It was a lock tighter than the fists could grasp. An invisible, but indelible bond. A tether of assurance. An unbreakable anchor for security. An invisible amalgamation of love between a helpless mother and her loving little sick one. Words fail me here!

I was watching all these with stunned silence. A lovely little child supposed to be frolicking is under an oxygen mask with an ailment that I couldn’t guess. His head was hairless and as mentioned above, a bit larger than usual. I did not know what was wrong with the child. I was helpless and yet wanted to do something. 

Let us take a brief pause here and slightly digress.

I have a senior colleague at work called Mr. C Prakash, lovingly addressed as CP-sir. He was also my senior in Guindy Engineering College by almost sixteen years and also a M. Tech from IIT Madras. An athlete of the highest order he was a university champion in running. He is one of the most loving souls I have come across. He was not only an accomplished diesel engine expert but also an outstanding engineer. Whenever I used to go to his room to see him (which was quite often) he would unfailingly offer me something to eat. Never had there been a trip to his room without an offering of snacks. He would insist with such a love that makes it impossible to refuse. His is a hand that gives and gives. No wonder almost half the engineers in the company, especially the younger ones, are still his diehard fans. He is our friend, philosopher, guide, counselor, teacher – all bundled into one. Even the workers in the department had a special affection for CP-sir. Love simply froths out of CP-sir in copious abundance. People open up to him without any inhibitions and with him your secrets are safe.

When I met him for the first time in his room way back in 2004, he said so lovingly, “I don’t know why Prasad, but I like you very much.” Not too often have I been complimented thus in my life. He was more than a mother in ensuring that I never went out of his room hungry. He would lovingly thrust a packet of peanut brittle on my palm and say, “Take it to your room man. You may get hungry in the evening.” Of course, there were also many occasions where he had scolded me like an older brother. CP-sir is one full package; nothing more and nothing less.

CP-sir is an ardent devotee of Lord Ganesa. From all the wedding invitations that he would receive, he would carefully cut out the picture of the Lord for his safekeeping. When people go to him with problems or simply to dump on him anything that bothers them (and there were quite a few of them including yours truly), he would give them one of these pictures and say, “Pray”. Simple! No fancy philosophies or sermons out there!

Quite a few times I had also received his little cut-outs of Lord Ganesa – all stamp-sized. I would always carry one in my wallet for two reasons: (1) It was the Lord’s picture and (2) it came from CP-sir and bore his blessings.

Let us come back to our original story.

I was stunned and speechless seeing this kid. All I could do was take out my wallet and give the little picture of Lord Ganesa (given to me long ago by CP-sir) to the forlorn father. “This picture was given to me by my guru seven years ago with the words, “When in distress, take this picture out and pray.” Now it is yours. I pray your child gets completely healed.” 

The young father took it from me with a lot of gratitude.

The elevator door opened and the young patient left with his entourage in a flurry.

I could only hope that the child’s ailment was curable and that he is fine now and at his mischievous best. I don’t know. I only hope.

But how could I ever forget the searching eyes of that little child and how the eyes of the mother locked with the child! All in just a few seconds it took for the elevator to move from the first floor to the basement! The child’s lovely little tender four-year-old eyes conveyed helplessness, anguish, anxiety, and confusion, and sought security in his only refuge – his parents. The child was in no position to reach out and touch his mother. The best he could do was lock his eyes with hers.

I then went up to the fourth floor and relegated myself to an isolated corner. Tears rolled down my cheeks. No! I was not crying. Not at all. It was just the natural response of my eyes to those of the child's.

I called CP-sir and told everything including the picture I gave to the child’s father.  He replied, “Prasad, you have simply passed on the grace. You have done well.”

That was the least I could have done in such a situation – pass on the grace.

There are forces mightier than us!

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Ps.:

Most of this article was written on 27 November 2012 but I cleaned it up a bit and uploaded it only on 4 November 2021 (Deepavali). For nine full years, it was on my shelf with myself until my “self” felt that it should be published on my website. Therefore in a few places, I have intentionally veered off the original date of writing. My mother passed away after two years of gracefully and gallantly fighting a losing battle with advanced ovarian cancer. CP-sir superannuated, but was retained as a teacher in the company for almost the next ten years until the COVID pandemic struck. I don’t know what happened to the little child. I only hope he is fully cured now and has turned into a fine young lad of around eleven or twelve years of age, healthily growing into his teens. Let me continue to stick to that faith for in it I find solace.