My Senior Friend Hospitalized (Names changed)

Before you ask me “Uncle, did he test Covid positive; and in which block of SFV does he stay?” (uppermost in everyone’s mind), let me assure you it is neither. My friend is in hospital for a fall in bathroom; and he stays in Bannerghatta Road.

 

Mr Rajashekar and I worked in the same Office in Delhi, nay the same Department. He is senior in age, service and intelligence. He hails me affectionately either as “Beautifullam” (his way of translating my name) or just VV. He is very eloquent in his praise of Bangalore as a retiree’s paradise – one of the reasons why I am here. That said, his heart is still in Mysore, his hometown, and drives from Bangalore with Nalini whenever he feels nostalgic. Yes, extensive travel is his passion. He was one of the first buyers of Maruti Van when out in the market, and used to drive to Mussoorie and Dehra Dun on weekends.

 

That was his lifestyle till he was 85. In the last four years his driving is limited to a radius of, say, ten kilometers. Not on his own volition. That is the maximum his hand or leg will cooperate to shift gear or meddle with clutch and brake.

 

To liberate himself from stiff-joints in order to pursue his passion, he tried everything, from grandma’s home remedies, village apothecary, modern medicine, Ayurveda, Sidda Vaidya, Unani, to touch-therapy. Name any system of medicine, chances are he might have tried it.

 

A happy-go-lucky man, he has never allowed this impediment to interfere with his annual trips to Virginia and California in USA, and Calgary in Canada, to be with his children. He undertakes that as religiously as would an Ayyappa devotee to Sabarimala.

 

Very jovial and good sense of humour, Rajashekar was active in the Karnataka cultural circle in Delhi, having acted in dramas. An ardent fan of Raj Kumar, he passes muster as a singer too.

 

And that last talent precisely makes me suspect he might have been singing in the bathroom and, in an ecstatic mood might have tried to shake his legs as well, resulting in a fall on the bathroom floor with a thud.

 

Another colleague, an insurance-entitlement expert, also in his 80s, lost no time to arrange for surgery in a well-known hospital on cashless basis.

 

Meanwhile I got a call from the senior-most in our group, Harcharan Singh from Detroit, USA. He is 92 with failing eyesight. He takes the help of his grandchildren to read and get messages across to us through WhatsApp and email. “Sundaram, Rajashekar ka kya haal hai? Pata karke batao.” I spoke to Rajashekar and updated my Detroit colleague. Half an hour later I got a call from him again, “Mein ne bhi Rajashekar se baat kar liya.”

 

After the required post-operative hospitalization, Rajashekar moved to a hospital, which is more a physical rehabilitation centre. “They take very good care of us, starting from the morning coffee to a hot cup of milk before going to bed,” beams Nalini, relieved of her daily chores.  “Practically we are now on medical tourism, but within the city.” I felt glad the made-for-each-other couple knew how to take things lightly.

 

Because of the Lockdown there are no visitors to the hospital. “In a way it is good,” confides Rajashekar. “Otherwise, with poor bedside manners some of them would begin narrating similar incidents rather than enquire about mine.”

 

The famous Malayalam poet Ulloor Parameswara Iyer’s poem, Veena Poovu (the Fallen Flower), comes to my mind. The flowers that are still on the branches laugh at the flower that has just fallen on the ground. The latter reminds them, “Innu naan, naale nee,” - today me, tomorrow you.

 

But that statement is out and out philosophical or fundamental in nature. Given the physical fall of our friend Rajashekar, the lesson to learn is: Sundaram, better check if your bathroom floor tiles are really anit-skid as claimed, or need to be replaced. After all, you can skip your shower for a day or two, not everyday.