Only recently, I was hit by some kind of viral infection that knocked me out of action for a few days. One day in particular, I was suffering from a high fever and spent the entire day sleeping. I couldn’t bring myself to wake up or do anything. I felt so powerless that I couldn’t even move. I took leave from the office that day and wondered whether a mere message saying I had “fever and a bad cough” meant anything in the corporate world. I think, at some point, “taking sick leave” must have lost its meaning; people stopped caring about how bad something truly is, or in our line of work, barely pause to think about it. It reminds me of how saying something over and over again slowly erodes the intensity of what you actually feel.
As I lay in my scorching misery, my mum tried to ease my pain with every household remedy she could think of. I was secretly distraught by the fact that she had a flight to catch two days later, and I had to drive her all the way to Ahmedabad for it. My whole body shook like a shrivelled leaf as I prayed silently to God, asking for just enough strength to make it through two days—Sunday and Monday. Sunday, to drive two hours straight to Ahmedabad, and then the next day, another 60 kilometres back and forth to return safely home.
My brother, as usual, was reluctant to partake in anything related to us and believed celebrating Maha Shivratri was of far greater consequence than helping his own family out of the dilemma we were in. Our problems have always remained ours alone in his tiny dictionary. At first, my mom rejected the idea of leaving, but deep down she wanted to attend the function in her village. She suggested taking a cab to Ahmedabad as a last resort, which somehow made me even more worried. With whatever strength I could gather, I decided I would get better. I took a cold shower to bring down the fever and made up my mind to see a doctor.
The doctor prescribed such strong medication that it immediately brought the fever down. But my mom caught the viral infection from me, and we had no choice but to share the same medicines. These meds didn’t just try to fix you; they also drained you. You barely had the strength to lift your hands or legs without pain. I was grateful, however, that I had just enough clarity and stamina to drive to Ahmedabad. To add to the trial, our neighbour tagged along, which made me even more wary, as if I were being silently tested on how well I could manage the drive in my condition.
Well, Lord Shiva listened to my prayers, and we somehow managed to reach Ahmedabad, but not without intense pain in my calves from constantly pressing and releasing the throttle, brakes, and clutch. It felt unreal for days, as if I had gone through an extreme leg day and overworked my calves beyond reason. The next day, I drove my mom to the airport as well, like a dutiful son, enduring sudden pangs of pain with no one to tend to them. When I returned, I slept like a baby. It felt as though a great weight had been lifted, yet the powerlessness in my bones lingered, courtesy of the strong medication.
It was no different for my mom. When Dad picked her up in Patna, she barely had the strength to lift her bags and felt like lying down on any bench she could find. It was terrible. Two days later, we spoke on the phone and decided to stop the medication that seemed to be doing more harm than good. I felt slightly better and chose to stay a little longer in Ahmedabad to regain my footing, but the virus wasn’t done with me. It struck intermittently, leaving me feeble with every movement and dropping my blood pressure to 70–80, which was alarming. I could feel it in my body; any sudden motion would make my head spin.
For my mom, it was even harsher. She couldn’t get out of bed for days. Her blood pressure spiked, and she experienced breathlessness. The persistent coughing caused pain in her ribs, which only worsened her mood. I had no choice but to call my parents back early so I could look after them here.
Tears often well up in my eyes when I see my parents at this tender age, vulnerable to the smallest inconvenience, unable to cope as easily as they once did. I have seen enough in life already to feel as though much of the joy I deserved has been quietly siphoned away. If anything were to happen to them, I sometimes imagine it would instantly break me. I am not cut out for that kind of loss.
It’s strange how the universe renders us helpless with a single move on this vast chessboard of life. When I see myself unable to move, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, I feel that recurring emptiness rise within me, immense and relentless, as if inviting me to surrender. I have no answers to the questions, to the challenges, the universe places before me. I have nothing left in me to respond except to stare and hope that this too, shall pass.