he patient was not doing well. The doctor sang the same old song. Whenever I went to the ICU and saw the tubes going into her mouth, I felt like I would burst. I went mad seeing the machines take over a human. I used to touch her palm and kiss on it.
But it was less painful for me comparatively when she was on ventilator support. At least she was calm, not struggling for every breath. I stopped saying much. Now all our relatives, my parents, Poojadi – everyone was there. I was a bit relived physically, but the mental storm still kicked my nerves. I wondered how I would deal with these things that seemed like they could only happen in the movies. Helplessness and hopelessness started overcoming me. I was hoping for a happy ending like all those movies where everything gets resolved in the end.
Sometimes, I tried to negotiate with God like a businessman, presenting him with counter offers. And sometimes I begged like a beggar too. Every day, more relatives and well-wishers came and prayed in their own ways.
One of my relatives had given me auspicious ash from Shirdi. I had never believed in any of these things in my life. But now I believed in anything and everything that could bring Bhavna back. I applied that to her head myself. If someone had asked me to kill the Prime Minister of India to get my wife back, I would have done it without giving it a second thought. No matter what I was doing physically, internally I was begging to God to please save my wife.
On Saturday afternoon, I was alive but something had died inside me. A beautiful five-year-old kid had come up to me.
“Mausaji,” Nanhu said. I hugged him and kissed his cheeks. “Mausaji,” he inquired. “Where is Mausi?”
“Mausi is not well, she is sleeping,” I said. He looked innocently confused.
“What did you bring for her? Doremon, Ben 10 or Angry Birds?” I asked with great difficulty. “Mentos candy,” he said, handing me a small box. I remained silent and looked at it.
“I want to give this to Mausi,” he insisted.
“Mausi is sleeping, Nanhu,” I sniffed. I couldn’t say anything else to him.
“Nanhu, come here.” Poojadi shouted. He started walking towards her and then he came back and said, “Mausaji, you keep the Mentos.”
❖
The same day, in the evening, the doctor called me. I requested Bhavna’s papa to attend to the doctor since I had a severe headache. I was fed up of listening to the same old tape record. I cried almost every hour. I used to sit and think of the past; it felt like she wanted to say something. My ears started receiving her voices and due to intense pressure, my head started troubling me. Bhavna’s papa came back and started explaining reports, which showed her platelet count and her blood pressure, but I wasn’t listening.
“Is she improving?” I asked, “Is there any hope left?”
“The situation is getting worse. Now it’s not in their control,” he said. I closed my eyes and started thinking about Bhavna and talking to her.
❖
My father came to me and started discussing about going to better centres. Someone suggested Medanta Hospital and someone else suggested AIIMS. My father also wanted to discuss the same with me, but I refused as I had lost all my abilities to talk and think.
My father and father-in-law started talking about what to do, and now my father started looking for ways to shift Bhavna to AIIMS. Getting an admission into AIIMS, especially for a patient in such a critical state, was almost impossible.
The next day, my father found a connection to Salman Khurshid, the then foreign minister, but was unable to reach him. The minister’s secretary gave us a letter requesting for Bhavna to be hospitalized at AIIMS. But the hospital management at AIIMS was used to receiving such kind of letters. They refused on the ground of unavailability of beds in the ICU. My father didn’t admit defeat; he tried to reach the top management of AIIMS via the Prime Minister’s office. My father was not very resourceful; it was the people who wanted to help us. After herculean efforts, my father managed to get a bed at the AIIMS ICU.
On Monday morning, I received a call from Jaipal Singh, my reporting manager. “Ajay, how is your wife?”
“Not well, sir. We’re planning to shift her to AIIMS.”
“That would be a better choice. Listen, I had a word with the HCL HR; they’re going to talk to you soon. Please tell them about whatever funds are required and, listen, don’t worry about how to return them. You just focus on her recovery.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No need, dear. If you don’t receive the funds soon, just give me a call. All the very best. We are all with you.” I thanked him from my heart and murmured, “You are a real boss.”
Bhavna’s boss Reema also came to the hospital to see Bhavna and assured us of financial help. My father called me to shift Bhavna to AIIMS. After turning this impossible thing into possible, we were all very hopeful. I mentally pleaded, “Bhavna, the world is so beautiful and people are so kind. Please come back. Please come back, darling. I don’t want to live without you.”