The Story So Far - Sairah

It was a chilly morning in end January when Diya & I sat in the porch of a guest room in Sukna (Siliguri). She was a whopping 78 kgs & you could now start to see the baby feet on her bump occasionally. As the morning fog started to clear, we sat remembering the journey that got us here.

Till about a year ago the doctors had ruled out having another baby. She suffered from acute thyroid & neurocysticercosis. While the thyroid wouldn’t let her conceive, the fits kept reminding us that the pregnancy wouldn’t sustain. Numerous second opinions, visits to Dargahs, Mandirs & Gurudwaras, special aahuti from shrines,water from lakes were undertaken & finally everything miraculously stabilised. The thyroid from being super high stabilised itself. The fits stopped. We couldn’t believe it & waited for a year before seeking a go ahead for a child.

The obstacles didn’t cease here. Being posted in Bagrakote (about one and a half hours from Siliguri) and with no doctor (forget hospital) around, monthly trips to the Hospital in Siliguri were preceded with ample prayers to both – God & the car, to help carry us through the broken road for an hours journey to the hospital & back. Through all this, He kept holding our hand & as an angel sent a boss who gave me a months leave to shift Diya to Siliguri for the ninth month.

So we sat, patiently biding our time. The pregnancy had progressed fine. The baby and mother were doing well. It was any day now said the doctor. The guest room was bliss – totally isolated. Next to a forest, we would only need to sit in the porch of the room (the only building there) and watch wild elephants pass by or see the wild boar family stutter around in the evening. It was perfect “us” time.

As we slept one night, I was woken at around 3:50 in the morning by Diya’s movements. I hoped as hell that everything was fine as I switched on the lights. There lay her trembling body in the throes of a neurocysticercosis attack. I watched helplessly as her body thrashed around. The doctor had warned us that a fit at this stage could be fatal for the baby. The bed was wet – could it be the water bag? Hundreds of scenarios of the worst possible nature rushed through my head. Suddenly the seizure attack stopped and I tried to rouse her. In a semi-conscious stage we managed to reach the car parked outside. I forewarned the doctor as I sped towards the hospital. Meanwhile the seizures started again. The short journey to the hospital was probably the longest I ever undertook.

As I pulled into the emergency entrance, I realised that the seizures had stopped, she was unconscious and the body had gone rigid. I screamed for the nurse & we struggled to get her out of the car. Meanwhile the doctor alongwith the surgeon had already started preparing for the operation.

Within a few minutes of her being wheeled in, I received a statutory form from the operation theater asking for consent to operate which read, “patient in comatose. Chances of survival minimal. Operation necessary to save baby.” As I signed, the thoroughly professional nurse asked me arrange for blood & apologised for “my loss”. “My Loss”?? Tears streamed out. This couldn’t be happening. A few hours ago we were laughing at the antics of the baby boar and the elephant rumbling by. Life couldn’t turn upside down so fast. God couldn’t take so many tests! If they were asking for blood, meant that chances of her survival though less, were still there! It was 4:40 and no one would attend my call. The battery started to dip. My frustration & helplessness didn’t help. Finally I got a call through to my angel – my boss who told me to pray – everything would be fine & to leave the rest to him. As I sat praying to Sai Baba & Guru Nanak, I got the confirmation from one regiment that some boys of the required blood group were on their way. In the meanwhile, another friend who would have seen the missed call, called back to check & promised help asap.

In a matter of minutes, a burly khalsa in uniform was running in the corridor towards me. I was shocked when I met him as he was the same driver who was driving Diya & me around 14 years ago in Leh trying to find a place of worship to get us married. Neither did he know that it was me who needed help. As we struggled with our astonishment, he rushed to the blood bank to donate blood – he was the same blood group as Diya.

The pediatrician meanwhile walked out with a small bundle nicely wrapped up. It was a girl & she was healthy as per the doctor. The doctor asked me if I’d thought of a name for the miracle baby & I said “Sairah” – split into Sai – rah (she who would walk on the path of Sai) for this wouldn’t have been possible without the divine intervention.

Before I could ask her about Diya, she rushed to place Sairah into the incubator in the Neonatal ICU. Meanwhile the gynecologist came out of the operation theater with a grim face. Three concurrent operations had been performed on Diya. The baby delivered, a blockage in her throat due to some liquid getting stuck there which caused her to stop breathing & lapse into coma had been cleared by the ENT specialist & her tongue which had been bitten during the seizures had been scraped & stitched up by the surgical specialist along with the ENT specialist. However, she was still in coma & nothing could be said as of now.

It was the 13^th of February. Today my son also turned 9!. Our daughter had been born on the same day as our son. As he came to the hospital, he innocently asked for his birthday cake & quietly asked me friends coming to his birthday next year would get different gifts for them or a combined gift. Since we couldn’t celebrate his birthday, I took him to the coffee shop nearby & made him cut a slice. Diya would have wanted him to be happy. Soon he left with his grandparents for our home in Bagrakote & I sat outside the ICU praying for her to revive. The next day, the matron asked about the baby & I realised that I hadn’t even seen her. I rushed to the ICU & held Sairah – my little Diya – our miracle baby – for the first time. For the next four to five days I would come every two hours to the Neonatal ICU, don the cape & slippers & with a bowl & spoon feed my darling & make her burp. Many a times I wouldn’t be able to control my tears as I held her & the nurses sobbing away wouldn’t help at all.

On 15^th February, as I stood next to Diyas bed, her hand gripped mine & she whispered “Happy Birthday” before losing consciousness again. We were thrilled! The doctors & staff upbeat. She gained full consciousness on 16^th. I distributed sweets throughout the hospital. Diya & the baby were united with each other on the 21^st – eight days after her birth! By the 27^th we were out of the hospital with our miracle baby – our gift from Sai Baba – our Sairah! A little sister with her elder brother!

The Wonder Years ......

As a kid Tripta aunty, as I would fondly call her (all the others were “ma’am”) introduced me to religion. She taught me the “Panj Pauris” & I grew up listening to stories of Guru Nanak, of faith & brotherhood, of how it was mandated that as a Sikh you were to stand up for the weak & downtrodden – which got me beaten up really bad once but that’s a different story. So I firmly believed that if would pray & talk to god with complete sincerity, he would listen to me & never disappoint me – which he never did.

I started the wonder years eclipsed by the pressures of being born in a middle class Indian family where you thought you were expected to match up to a genius elder brother (& you saw no logic in doing so). His fantastic performance needed to be supported by finances which were difficult to come by on a fauji salary. So mom taught in schools, dad toiled in fauj & I pondered on the sense in doing so well!

At some point of time, before I left the rat race & was still trying to match up to the benchmarks set by my brother, isolation, loneliness & desperation at not being able to adapt to the Indian education system of mugging up, got to me. It started with attempts at social recognition, of a sardar trying to blend in with Biharis – of trying to look cool. Very  soon it graduated to the usual experiments with beer, smoke, fights & brawls. I would desperately pray for someone with whom I could share my fears, apprehensions & aspirations – someone who could lead me away from all this. My brother was too far away. Parents were desperately trying to support his education & balance it out with building a house while in a fauji environment. The experiments with Dads plastic bottle of Peter Scot or cigerettes or attempts at slashing my wrists didnt help. With no one to share myself with, I turned to God & would desperately pray for someone with whom I could talk, laugh, love, be myself without fears of prejudice or judgements.

Thankfully, he listened to my prayers & sent a lovely girl in my life – Sona, my first love (the story in my blog above). Life was bliss! Self motivated & willing to take life head-on, I toiled away trying to balance out the by now warped, contorted heady mix of books, babe & bhaigiri! Everything was still in fine balance till one day she left me. No explanations, no good byes, no reasons. She just left. It had by then become long distance love – perhaps too difficult for her to handle. I realised that day what pain was. No physical hurt could compare to this.

The fear of getting dumped took hold so strongly that as a teenager, I could never commit to a girl for fear of going through the pain again. Did meet a lovely, smart & intelligent girl then - Pam. We’d meet up in DSOI Dhaulakuan, sit on the diving board of the pool holding hands and chat. However, when the relation started to get mushy & serious, I bailed out. Couldn’t risk going through the pain again. Kept in touch for years after that. We’d often share notes on our kids & parenthood. Maybe someday we will sit together & laugh about those days while watching our grandchildren play.

Meanwhile, the dismal academic performance in school didnt help. My long hair would constantly bother me with truck loads of dandruff on my scalp acompanied by itchiness. Dad would help out by shearing off some hair from the middle so that I could still tie them in a bun on my head. One day as it was at its irritating peak & Dad was out of station, i thought I’d shear them myself. Couldn’t dream of asking my mom to help out – she would not just baulk at it but beat the hell out of me. Never realised when I’d cut them too short in my attempt to don the role of a barber. All hell broke loose when I got out of the washroom. I got the beating of my life. Between my sobs I asked my mother if she loved me or my hair. I don’t think that helped too much because she asked me to get out of the house. By now I was so hurt that i walked to the neighbourhood barber & got my head shaved. When I came back home, another thrashing followed & i was asked to leave the house. With seven rupees in my pocket, I left home. Took a bus ride to the railway station, bought a platform ticket & sat and cried on the platform till I saw Dadar Amritsar Mail standing on my platform. Having grown up for many years in Bombay, I boarded the train as it left Delhi. Whatever money I had, had already been spent on the bus ticket & the platform ticket. Penniless, I started the journey hiding in the toilet of the general compartment, under the seats and travelling between bogeys. By the second day I was starved. Had been surviving on water for the last almost two days. The core of the apple eaten by a co-passenger was yelling at me to pick it up. It looked so juicy & delicious. There was so much of it still that could be eaten. I realised that day what hunger was.

Never got a chance to pick up that apple core because the Ticket Examiner caught me before that. The next half an hour was spent in begging him to let me go. I dont know what impressed him but he took pity on me & left me. I realised that day what helplessness was – what begging was.

The rest of the journey was eventless. Three days without food led me to think of God & why I was going through what I was. Was keeping hair so important to God? He carried me through, loved me & made sure I got back home. Friends acted as messengers who guided me well all through. A nice thrashing was again in store when I got back – this time it was Dads turn. The stash of mens magazines (some of which were dads) hidden in my cupboard added fuel to fire. I guess, they gave up on me doing anything meaningful with my life thereafter.

By now bhai was settled in whatever he wanted to do – pursuing an MBA at IIM Ahmedabad, life was set for him. And here I was – pursuing a B Com in Khalsa College, Amritsar – a cultural shock from the open society of The Army Public School, Dhaulakuan. God helped here too & sent me a friend, Nike, who’d help keep my sanity alive in a place where I was considered an exotic alien specimen. We’d watch movies together, explore eating joints & go for rides on her moped. I never realised when the relationship took a serious turn for her.

Meanwhile relatives also helped out. Would spend hours discussing life with Munna. She’d cry about her problems & me about mine. She introduced me to blind faith. I saw her struggle with her apprehensions, cry her heart out but never let herself stray from the path of righteousness. Her faith in God was unwavering. She’d religiously go to the Golden Temple & pray. I woud often accompany her & it was here itself that she later met her life partner. She never let the doubts of her own parents  about our relationship – funnily, conveyed to mine, affect her or us. She taught me to stand by my beliefs & convictions & not let anything in the world affect me. Maybe my turn towards religion & faith saw me through this phase & I cleared my National Defence Academy written exam & the interview.

By now Nike wanted  a serious & immediate commitment which was virtually impossible with a four year training ahead of me. We parted ways only to meet years later. I guess life has a predefined path chalked out for us all. She’s doing fantastically well with two angels & a wonderful husband. We often catch up on life.

The news of my clearing NDA was perhaps when I saw Dad the happiest. We went shopping for bathing robes, trunks & other items for my training on his Bajaj Chetak. He& his friends even taught me front rolling on the drawing room carpet – I didn’t know whether to feel shocked at what was in store in the training or happy at how happy he was. Could never gather the courage to tell him that this was the last thing that I wanted to do in life. Inspite of the gruelling schedule, physical abuse & mental torture that followed for the next four years, I never had the courage to take a stand & say that this is not what I wanted to do. When I did do so at one point of time, the cost of training was so prohibitively high that even though Dad was willing to stand by me, I couldn’t bear the thought of making him go through it all.

Meanwhile I met the one girl that I really really wanted to spend the rest of my life with. However, perhaps because of the hearts that I’d broken, God decided it was payback time. Her sister gave me a sob story of how I was ruining her life. How, instead of helping her, I was styming her growth & potential. Finally I gave her a word that I would step away from her so that she could grow & achieve whatever she wanted in life. Perhaps my pain was recognised by God who made me bump into my furture wife soon who stood by me in hail & storm. The journey so far would have been miserable had it not been for her. Would have probably quit ages ago had it not been for her.

Twenty one years of my life – my prime youth, my best years went doing what I never wanted to do and there are still three more to go..... These were the best days of my life – my wonder years!