The Diagnosis

She was a fighting fit forty-nine when she had to have a hysterectomy. Hysterectomy cannot be considered an illness. Like menarche and menopause, it has become an accepted happening. Not so much now as it was in the eighties and nineties. The year was 1983 and the operation was scheduled for the month of May. The best gynaecologist in the City was consulted and he, assisted by a close family friend was to operate on her. The patient was not the bravest of women, but what helped was her implicit faith in the medical profession. She belonged to that category of humans who believed that a doctor can never go wrong.

The surgery went off without a hitch, however, there were a few post-operative glitches that had to be looked into. Once all of that settled down and her life became near normal and she started moving around, the family began to take note that her left hand was involuntarily held in a different way. Soon she started to complain of pain in her hand. A visit to the family physician demanded that she see a specialist. Again, the best in the specialty was chosen for a consultation. When the regular medication did not give any result, the said specialist asked for an injection which was then not available in India. The same had to be imported from Singapore and a full course was injected. The pain remained, but that did not deter her from her routine. Her girls had grown, one had left the nest, one was soon to become a medical professional and the third was doing her under graduation. But then she had taken the responsibility of her nephew who was then in middle school. She continued to run the kitchen with utmost efficiency. In the meantime, a full-time help was employed to ease the workload from her. Days progressed and 1984 dawned. The hand pain persisted and along with it on close examination there seemed to be a slight difference in her gait. We couldn’t find a reason and just assumed that the nerves were weakening. She was just fifty. By the end of 1984, there was a slight tremor in the left hand, it didn’t go unnoticed, and a neurologist was consulted. A course of Neurobion injection was prescribed and the same was taken.

1985, was a year of excitement, she was moving to a new house and was busy getting things done for the house. In fact, she was so involved in the construction and doing of the interiors of the house that all her ailments took a back seat. There was no one who could beat her when it came to dedication and hard work. She was indeed the epitome of beauty and intelligence among other fabulous qualities. The excitement of moving into the new house really worked as an antidote to her prevailing health conditions. In 1985, her youngest had finished college and her nephew was in high school. The live-in help was God sent. She had time on her hands and would indulge in watching television and movies. The physical conditions took a back seat and life seemed good to her.

In 1986, she made a trip to Kerala to be with her mother-in-law who was ailing. While there, her cousin brother seeing her mild but persistent health conditions, took her for a consultation with a physician of high repute. When the diagnosis was made on just examination and the same was conveyed to the family by phone, it did not mean anything. Nobody had ever heard of the condition and there was no Google/Wikipedia to enlighten. Even doctors in other specialties could not give a picture. Although the right diagnosis was made, it did not have any relevance to the patient or her kith and kin.

A medicine was prescribed and the same was not available in Kerala. On coming to Madras, it was available only at Narayanappah Pharmacy (a pharmacy that has a wide stock of imported medicines). Thus began her tryst with tablet Sinemet (a combination of carbidopa and levodopa). Yes, she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, a brain disorder that causes unintended or uncontrollable movements, such as shaking, stiffness, and difficulty with balance and coordination.

Did the diagnosis set in any alarms? Definitely not. As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss.

As the years progressed, life moved on for her with the help of Tablet Sinemet. It helped that one of the daughters was able to source the same for her from abroad. The end of the eighties saw the marriage of her second daughter. She actively participated in the same, planning and executing the wedding. The early nineties saw the wedding of her third daughter. By then there was a marked deterioration in her health, however, she stood her ground. With the three girls having left India and her nephew moving out after completion of his college, it was just her, her husband, and the faithful help from 1983. The girls were not informed of every setback as the husband being strong mentally and physically took it all on himself. Her health followed a definite pattern. It would move in a plateau and then suddenly take a deep dive for the worst. Apart from the physical disabilities which were visible, her mental faculty was deteriorating at an even faster pace. Hallucinations were the norm and incoherent conversations were common. Her near and dear ones, although they loved and cared for her immensely, found this very hard to comprehend. There was no education/support available to the caregivers. Although it bothered the caregivers, there was nothing much that they could do.

Towards the beginning of the new century, when everything was Y2K, there was an intelligent lady who had lost out on everything. Since her agitation was mostly limited to her physical inabilities, really wonder how she coped internally. Did she miss her reading, did she miss her intelligent conversation, or even her ability to converse, did she miss her morning and evening prayers, did she miss going to the temples, did she miss meeting with her friends, did she miss writing in her beautiful handwriting, did she miss her passion for cooking, did she know of her family’s love, did she miss her occasional visits to the cinema hall, did she miss the way she called her husband, did she miss her love for the flora, did she miss the world around??

The diagnosis which did not have the desired gravity when it was announced, surely rang the death knell for her family as the years progressed. Wonder how her mind worked!! Without uttering a word for over six months, she breathed her last on March 5^th 2005 at the age of seventy-one. It was then just over twenty years since she had had the condition and less than that since she was diagnosed. When in 1989, a doctor mentioned to the family that the physical condition and the mental faculty of the patient would be beyond belief, nobody gauged the extent.

Its eighteen years since the loss, and still hard to cope. She was my dear Amma.

 

The Age Meter.

As we approach the 375^th birthday of our beloved city, I am left with a lot of doubt. I know for sure that my city is time immemorial having been a part of the rich history of the Cholas and the Pallavas and all the other war lords and chieftains who fought to lord over it. I know that it was always a great trading centre from where the brave sea farers went far and wide both for trade and for conquest. I know that it is home to some very ancient structures, bronzes and literature which could well go into the Before Christ Era. So when we are the proud owners of such a rich history, why do we want to call ourselves a young city which hasn’t even touched the magical 500 years? As a nation we are only over sixty years of age calculating from the time we got our freedom from the British. This is something that cannot be changed for it was only in 1950 that we became a Sovereign Democratic Republic. But then coming back to our beloved City, can’t we trace its origin to when modern habitation began? By this I mean, the time when the cave man ceased to exist. I am sure our archeologists given the right motivation can find the age of our city, the age when its people started living in communities and followed a way of life on the lines of a developed society. Who knows what surprises awaits us? What if we precede the Mohenjo-Daro civilization? Ever since I visited Lothal in Gujarat, it has bothered me that we have not gone deep enough into our past to fix an age to our beloved city.

Now coming to Madras’s 375^th Birthday, the date chosen is 22^nd August 1639; the day when Andrew Cogan and Francis Day with the help of Dubash Beri Thimappa signed a contract for a lease for a strip of land with the Raja of Chandragiri. On this strip rose the first fortified community of the British in the Coromandel Coast which they named after their patron saint as Fort St. George. It could very well be that it was the British who gave the settlement the name of Madras. Does giving a name alone qualify for fixing its age? I am sure that the said strip of land which was handed over to the British must have had a name earlier. In fact history says that that land was called Chennapatna after the rulers of the time. It saddens me to think that we feel it fine to ignore the past history of the fishing villages that constituted the Madras of yore and instead willingly accepted the date when we began the process of submission to a foreign power as the starting point of our city. Foreign powers have had a free ride in our land prior to the British but with over 300 years of submission, we cannot think in any other way than that of the Britannica. If proof is what matters, then there is abundant proof of settlements by the Western Powers in Mylapore, a place just less than 5kms south from the present Fort St. George. The Portuguese came there in the early 16^th Century and built the edifice which they called as Nossa Senhora da Luz. The said edifice also happens to be one of the oldest European Monuments in India. The façade of the building proudly displays the year 1516 and the serene atmosphere and the tomb stones it holds sure take you to an intriguing past. I make sure that as much as possible I take the quaint street which leads to this monument and I am being totally honest when I say that I am left with goose bumps each time I pass that way. For the truth is that, I am an hundred percent History Buff.  The way in which the edifice got to be built is indeed so dramatic that I never miss out on an opportunity to retell the same.

And so here goes the (or is it my) story: The year could be 1513 or may be 1514 and the place, the shores of the settlement of Mylapore which is now as we all know an integral part of the mega polis that is Chennai and the people in question a group of Portuguese soldiers in a sailing vessel. Caught in bad weather and totally lost with only a sliver of hope, the sailors were resigned to death. The only thing they could ask for was divine intervention. Their prayers were answered for a divine light guided them and brought them to the shore and led them through dense groves to an alcove where they felt safe. Thus in honour of the Divine Mother who guided them, they built a church in Mylapore, which is none other than the Church of Our Lady of Light commonly called as LUZ CHURCH, for luz in Portuguese means light.

Mylapore was a flourishing harbor of that period and was in all account superior to the useless land that was given to the British. Had the Portuguese been our rulers, maybe we would have called our Mega polis as Mylapore and we would have then been celebrating our 500^th birthday. Also had the Portuguese as the first Western Powers not come to Mylapore/Madras/Chennai, the course of our history would have been entirely different. Having preceded the British by over a 120 years, I am sure that it is the story of our wealth as related by the Portuguese soldiers that caught the fancy of the British. I know fully well that whatever dissection done on this topic cannot bring about any change in the course of history.

I cannot but end this note without wondering as to how long it will take before we start the birthday celebrations of our beloved Chennai which as of today is only 18 years and 25 days old for it was christened thus on the 17^th of July 1996.

Every year I enjoy Madras Day and make sure that I participate as much as I can. This year too I have earmarked certain events for which I will definitely go. This is a view I have been holding on to for a very long time and just thought this was the best time to air it.

The Survivor

I am hanging on to dear life with all the strength that I possess. The last few years have been filled with total uncertainity, a day survived is a day added to my life which if my memory serves me right will be touching 29 shortly. Most of you would think that I am young, in the prime of youth and ready to face any challenge and overcome it with panache. Well things are not like that in my case for I do not belong to the human race where longevity now touches 90 without much effort.

The first 10 years of my life was a total cake walk. I just stood still like a sentinel but for the occasional touch from a visitor. Those days even getting to move me was difficult for not many outsiders knew the secret of handling me. It served me well for I had to only answer to Narayani’s or Dominic’s command and both of them being my pals it was always a pleasure. Then came the year 1995 and with that things started taking a mega turn. I began being handled by more people all of whom were experts when it came to getting me to move. Till then my movements were always inward but now I had to do both the in and outward moves and this at times was not in the best of my interest. But then who am I to complain for I know where I stand in the priority list.

My sedentary life was shaken when a decision was taken to alter my looks. It was decided that I need to look more regal and thus some enhancements were made to me. I have earlier had makeovers with colour and brush but that was always comforting and I used to like the way I smelled immediately after that. But getting into an operation mode was not my idea of beautification. But then as I said earlier, do I have a voice?? And thus men came with equipments and I was fixed with some attachments which I totally loathed. As a result of a brainwave, it was decided that a bit of gold would add to my beauty. Here I am a simpleton and gold was a colour I detested, but there was nothing I could do. Luckily for me, God heard my prayers and the gold was taken away almost immediately. How I heaved a sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to look was like a Christmas tree. Things moved on quietly, until plans were made to shift me. At this point I thought it was sure death, for this was something totally unheard off. But then I survived and though it was an Herculean task, I was moved a couple of feet forward to make more room for newer and bigger objects.  Although this bothered me a lot, the saving grace was that I was given a roof over my head. Until then I was exposed to the elements and rain or shine made no difference to me.

Life went on in my new surroundings for some time before new changes were thought off.  I could hear talks about how immodest  I was and that it was time to rectify that problem. This I thought was going to be the end of me but luckily it was not to be for I was only covered with enough material and this time they made sure that the colour suited me well. After this mega makeover,  I had begun to think that things would be fine and that I had a permanent place in the scheme of things. But then that was not to be and I realised this when measuring tapes were brought out and the length and breadth of various spaces and objects measured. Within me the panic button was pressed. I thought to myself, here they go again and I wonder what plans they have for me? The moment I lay my eyes on Mr. Sampath, I always wonder if I will be his victim, for he has a terrible weakness for me and is so concerned about my appearance. This time the modifications took the longest but somehow  I wouldn’t call it beautification for whatever was done added to my utitlity value. The end result has made me so unique that I am sure that I am one of a kind. My value has appreciated and I have been the object of demonstration with regard to my uses. The good thing about this is that I have become complicated  and handling me is an art which only a hand full have mastered. This definitely suits me fine.

Now I am sure most of you will understand my concerns. Who wouldn’t feel petrified in my situation? My worry is two pronged, one is ofcourse all the changes that have happened to me and the other is the constant modifications to Sowparnika which have resulted in tons of debris being thrown out. When precious marble and granite have seen the dump, here am I just made of iron.

I am grateful to still be around and I consider myself a great survivor. I can’t take any credit for if I am around, I owe it all to Kumar. With the years my look has changed from being sleek, I have a girth which I must say I am not proud off.

So another precious day is coming to an end and in couple of hours I am off to sleep with the same Yale lock that has guarded me for the last 29 years. Tomorrow is another day and as always it should start at 5.20a.m. with Dominic bringing the milk.

An Unsung Gem

 Madras Medical College was her Alma Mater, Harrington Road, Chetpet her playground and the whole of India and South East Asia her stage. Born in 1914 to affluent parents, one of whom was an eminent freedom fighter, it was but inevitable that she grew up holding aloft the twin virtues of freedom and independence. This could be the reason why she endeared herself to the Indian National Army of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. She was made a Minister in the Azad Hind Government and was asked to form and head the Rani of Jhansi Regiment. Thus in 1943 at the height of the Second World War, with aplomb she led from Singapore a group of over 1000 women into battle against the British Army. She was captured near Imphal and put under arrest in Burma. As a woman of modern India, the prerogative to lead a regiment into battle has been hers and hers alone. How can it be otherwise, for it is said that she was Christened Lakshmi, after the valiant Rani Lakshmi Bai.

As a medical practitioner, Captain Lakshmi must have felt the pulse of thousands of her patients; however what is equally important is that she was there to feel the pulse and do her best during all the upheavals and catastrophes that befell India - Be it the partition, the Bangladesh War, the anti-Sikh riots, Bhopal Tragedy or the Gujarat Earthquake. She truly believed that women are the strength of any society and worked relentlessly for their empowerment. An Egalitarian society being her dream, she was easily approachable to the poorest of the poor and it is said that she had the ability to instill a sense of joy and possibility in all who met her. Being selfless, she never believed in accolades, nevertheless it was with utmost humility that she received The Padma Vibushan. Her brush with Politics saw her as a member of theRajya Sabha and as a Presidential Candidate. This Kohinoor is not in our midst having breathed her last in July this year.  Even in death she had the last word for she had donated her eyes and given her body for medical research.

Endowed with immense beauty and intelligence and passionately driven by social causes, Dr. Lakshmi Sehgal is indeed the Ratna that Bharat especially Chennai can eternally be proud off.

Liquor's Paradise

Today is the Malayalam star of Atham and the countdown to Onam has begun. Ten days from today will be the Onam festival which falls on the Malayalam star of Thiruonam in the month of Chingam. This festival is the highlight of life in Kerala as it is celebrated by all irrespective of class and creed. The flower carpet that greets one at the doorstep of all homes is laid out from this morning and reaches a crescendo as far as size and intricacy go by the tenth day. The preparation for Onam including the flower carpet, new clothes, kaikottikalli and the cuisine for all the days is something that has to be worked out in advance and gives so much of joy to all concerned. However the intention of this article is not to point out the highlights of the festival but to bring to attention of the reader another aspect of Onam, which is not so pleasant to read or to hear especially if you are a Malayali and a Marunaadan (someone who does not live in Kerala) Malayali at that.
To add to the already vibrant mood of the Malayali male during this festival is the intake of alcohol. It is but common all over the world to toast any celebration with alcohol; however to a Malayali the consumption of the same seems to be the main focus. I am forced to say this because records how shown thus. How can we otherwise justify the sales of alcohol during the Onam season in the year 2010? It is said that the sales reached a whopping 235 crores of rupees in that single week. Thus securing the first place as a revenue earner and surpassing the revenue from petrol and diesel!! Well one way of looking at it could be that alcohol is to the Malayali male what petrol and diesel are to the motor vehicles. Both in a way provide fuel, except that one can easily be done without. I wonder as to what records are going to be broken this coming season??
As a child when we used to travel by car from Chennai to Calicut, just on crossing the border at Walayar, there would be a vivid change in the landscape and in the midst of the lush green would stand out little huts which had large handwritten boards pronouncing Toddy/Arrack. The board would be both in Malayalam and Tamil. Since Tamilnadu was a dry state where there was prohibition, it was common for people to cross over and either become tipplers or turn bootleggers. I cannot remember the IMFL shops, but I am sure there must have been more than one in every hamlet. It is indeed upsetting to note that nothing has changed in the intervening decades. Instead there has been a progressive degradation with every passing year.
A stage has reached when the word SHOP or SHAAP has only one meaning. If Communism flourishes in Kerala, it can be seen in its true form outside a Liquor Shop. Here the rich and the poor and the old and the young are all equal and are ready to stand in a perfect queue and wait their turn. There is no chaos like what prevails in a bus stop or a train station or a movie theatre. The camaraderie is so perfect that if someone is in a hurry, he is allowed to cut the queue and make his purchase. It is said that on the day before a hartal or bandh the queue at the Liquor shop is so serpentine that it can easily be more than a 500 metres long. I wonder if the State provides as part of their Onam markets which cater to clothes and provisions, a separate market for Liquor. Otherwise how on earth can it be possible for liquor of this amount to be sold from the existing shops? It is mind boggling that a state with a population of 31 million of which anywhere between 5-10 million may form the targeted group can consume this quantity of alcohol.
Wonder as to what forms the basis of this trend. I think one of the main reasons could be the availability of easy money. With lack of industries, thanks to the prevalent policies, most of the youth are without any commendable jobs. At the same time most of the families have bread winners in the Gulf States who remit diligently substantial amounts to their families in the State. With peer pressure mounting, mothers are forced to hand out the hard earned money to their sons, who think nothing about squandering the same at the SHAAP. Depending on the financial position the visit can be to a Toddy or Arrack parlour (the modern parlance for a shop) or to an IMFL bar or can just be a purchase from the shop to be had at home. Liquor has taken such a centre stage when it comes to the social fabric that any small happening calls for the opening of a bottle. This is so truly reflected in the Malayalam Films where it is hard to come across a movie which does not involve at least a couple of scenes without the bottle. How can it be otherwise, for in the recent past the film industry has lost to the bottle so many talented actors, musicians and lyricists who had in them so many more years of genius left. The scene is so sad and I wonder as to what the remedy if there is one could be.
The shady offshoot of the liquor industry is the illegal brewing which is ever so rampant. In connivance with corrupt tax officials this industry thrives. It is only when there is a hooch tragedy that the Government opens its eyes to close them again in no time. Alcohol seems to be a curse which has permeated into all strata of society. As long as the treasury is filling, I wonder if the State would ever bother to curb the menace. It is after all Liquor that is spinning Kerala its Gold.
I wonder as to what the figures would be at the end of this Onam season. I am sure it will break the ceiling set last year and set yet another unbelievable record. If Kerala is GOD’S OWN COUNTRY, then it has also sadly earned the sobriquet as LIQUOR’S PARADISE

Reduce, Reuse and Recycle

The following is an article I wrote for a Newsletter on Plastic Free India.

Plastic is derived from the Greek word plastos which means something that can be shaped or molded into any form as is deemed necessary. Possessing such a great property, Plastic has certainly been put to use in far too many industries and to list them in itself would be time and space consuming. The way in which plastic has permeated and percolated into our daily lives, it would indeed be extremely difficult to shake ourselves away from it. This being the case, the possibility of a Plastic Free India is just a Utopian thought, something which is soothing to hear and to dream about but absolutely impossible to achieve. My understanding of a Plastic Free India would be an India where we try our best to stop the use of those plastics which are disposed off after a single use. Having said that, it would be indeed difficult to use a disposable syringe over and over again and the same would hold true for all the single use plastic products that are used in an operation theatre.
As a lay person I can think of two products that we can cease to use. By doing so we would indeed be helping our environment and making our city a better place to live in. These are the widely used ultra thin plastic shopping bags and the even more widely used packaged drinking water bottles. Coming to think of it, the use of these two products in India began around thirty years ago. The bags were considered the in thing and right from the big departmental stores to the small corner shop to the street vendors took to it like fish to water. It was considered chic and easy to carry and thus the age old cloth shopping bags were relegated to the back or totally forgotten. The fall out of this idiocy combined with the poor literacy rate helped create a catastrophe. Thus we used the thin bags and threw them into our trash which was then collected and thrown into dumps were they have been lying for the last thirty years. Had the plastic been biodegradable, with the help of the sun, most of it may have broken down and mixed with the soil. The same holds true for the packaged water bottle, which when it was first introduced was considered fashionable. I guess we have ourselves to blame, for if we had taken care to see that our water bodies were safe and if we were able to provide good drinking water to the masses, the question of a packaged water industry would never ever have risen. Now to make matters worse, the poor disposal of plastic has led to the clogging of most of the smaller streams and canals. Thus we can take a pledge that we would go back to our cloth bags and glass/steel water bottles.
A Plastic Free India would be one in which we are bereft of most things that we are used to and take for granted. Having reached the second decade of the 21st Century, are we ready to go back to that era of the 19th Century when plastic was not discovered?? As I mentioned earlier, let us be practical and let us do everything to lessen its usage and to learn to make do without it wherever possible. As citizens of this country, let our mantra be to REDUCE, REUSE AND RECYCLE.

Guardian Angel

Kristina Roxanne D’Costa: Born on 23rd Sept 1991 and Died on 13th July 2011.
The above information is definitely hard to believe for anyone who has had an opportunity to meet Roxanne in the 19 plus years that she had inhabited planet Earth. Tall and lissome with no handicap of any sort, who would think that death would steal this wonderful creation so early.
I have known Roxanne from the time of her birth. For that matter I have known the family including her parents, grandparents and great grandparents for a very long time. As far as the D’Costas go, longevity is something they possess. I have seen Roxanne take her first steps and I have seen Roxanne go to school. I have seen her graduate from her nursery school uniform to her elementary and middle school uniform and finally to her high school uniform. I have seen her grow up to be a fine girl, well mannered, respectful and possessing all those bygone qualities which the youth of today seem to have otherwise forgotten. Roxanne’s long hair was the envy of all and as for her height; it was something most girls would crave for her. I remember having mentioned to her grand dad as to what a fine model she would make.
Although Roxanne did not live nearby, by virtue of her grandparents being my neighbours, it was but inevitable that I would see her off and on. There were periods of her life when she stayed with her grandparents as going to school was much easier from here. Being the eldest grandchild, she was the apple of their eye and they doted on her more than what any grandparent would do. Her grand dad being a regular visitor to my house, I was always in the knowhow of all the major events in her life. When we heard that she had graduated from school and had joined Stella Maris College for her under graduation, we were elated. Here was a girl who had overcome her Dyslexia and had found her moorings and was getting ready to enter the real world. By virtue of being involved with an institute that promotes aviation related non technical courses, I visit colleges to promote the institute. Thus I have had the opportunity to go to Roxanne’s college and department on more than one occasion and was indeed happy to note that the shy girl had blossomed into a fine young lady. The warmth with which she greeted me on those occasions is ever so vivid in my mind and the hospitality that she extended was unforgettable. To her it seemed as if I was a guest to her college and that I should be looked after well. I was happy to note that she had evolved to become a leader among her friends and she seemed to be in control of things. I remember mentioning these anecdotes to her grand dad, who I am sure, must have been extremely happy to hear the same.
Thus on the 12th of July 2011, when Uncle Bobby (Roxanne’s Granddad) came home almost a lost man, the last thing that crossed our mind was Roxanne. Being a very emotional person, we thought that something minor was bothering him and that he had come over for some encouraging words from my Dad who is a GURU to him. When he mentioned the graveness of the situation, we found it so hard to believe. How can Roxanne be so ill? I had seen her just the previous Friday when she was visiting her grandparents. She looked fine to me although she had lost some weight due to the jaundice that she had contracted in May. Uncle Bobby mentioned that she was in the ICU and that the doctors had pronounced her condition to be extremely serious. We kept tab of the situation and heard at different intervals that her condition was caused by different illnesses. What started off as meningitis-the dreaded brain fever, soon became leptospirosis an equally if not more lethal condition. Thus we prayed for her well being and hoped that a miracle would occur. By Wednesday morning, the doctors at the hospital had washed their hands off. The parents were told that Roxanne could be taken home as there was only so much that can be done. Anyway, when the doors were shut at one of the hospitals, Roxanne was rushed to another for further treatment. Anyway to cut a long story short, Roxanne had a massive cardiac arrest and was declared dead around 7.30pm on Wednesday.
We rushed across to console the grandparents, who were shattered. Young Peter her only sibling had not got the impact of the situation. The next day when I went to meet her Mom, she was speechless but at the same time I felt that the truth had not sunk in. This morning was the funeral and the body was brought to the grandparents place. All efforts were made by the family to give her a grand funeral. But the atmosphere was so very sombre. There was not a single soul with dry eyes. How can anyone reconcile to this untimely death? My heart bled for the family and for her friends some of whom were so uncontrollable in their sorrow. Although the religious service served as a balm to the congregation, the reality was something totally different. I stood by and watched with sadness the whole scene. When the casket was lowered and nailed a chapter had ended. It was not easy for me to sprinkle dust on the casket, but I did so like those around me.
On my drive back home and ever since I returned, I had a hundred questions for which I fervently needed an answer. I grew up imbibing the fact that everything in life has a purpose. If that be the case what was the purpose of Roxanne’s life. Nineteen is an age when you get to know your responsibilities and when you start planning for the future. To take away a life at that age is definitely so unthinkable. The instant reply to this question would be that God takes away those whom he loves the most. I guess, I am not so practical in my thinking and hence to accept this as an answer would be far too difficult for me. Being devout Christians, Roxanne’s family may on the face of it accept this situation. However how can a mother or father forget their teenage daughter who just disappeared from their midst without any rhyme or reason. I would also like to pose the question to the medical fraternity that treated her. Do they have an answer for her demise? I am sure they are as much in the dark as the rest of us. Of one thing I am sure and that is that my mind will continue to search for a convincing answer.
In the meantime I pray to the Almighty to give the D’Costas all the strength to cope with this bereavement. In a family where every death in the past has been a celebration of a life well lived, this may indeed be hard. I would like to believe that Roxanne would always be their Guardian Angel.