The weight of this Friday feels different as I sit amidst the rhythmic hum of the infusion pump—a sound that usually signals a personal battle, but today feels like a quiet backdrop to the echoes of the world. I am suspended in that rare, raw space where exhaustion meets clarity, where the lack of sleep doesn’t cloud my mind, but rather strips away the trivial, leaving only the bone-deep truths of a mother, a daughter, and a healer.
I haven’t slept in two days. My brother who is in the UAE, is stuck because of the ongoing war between Iran, Israel and the US.
The social media is full of news of innocent civilians dying , of kids going to school and never returning.
This morning , while getting my daughter ready for school , I was wondering how privileged she is that her only worry is if her PE class will happen today.
And this privilege comes just from the fact that she was born at a place which is not war struck. Sheer geographical luck.
It makes me think of the mothers who have had to hold dead bodies of their children .
Neither the infusion pump, nor the needles nor the pain, nothing seems relevant.
As I start eating the lunch served here, my mind goes back to the second wave of COVID .Both my parents were admitted under my care . To date I blame myself to have probably carried the infection back home .
I can almost see him now: my father, a man whose dedication to medicine was surpassed only by his grace as a parent. Even behind my PPE, he saw not a doctor, but his daughter.
“Don’t waste time feeding me, you have patients to see,” he had said, his physician’s heart beating for the strangers in the next ward even as his own strength waned.
I tell him I will make you eat first . He laughs and says the food is horrible anyway . So I promised him that I’ll get something better for you for dinner .
I finished my rounds , took off my PPE and placed an order for some good food.
Half an hour later I get a call that papa’s BP has shot , he has had a vomitting and is complaining of chest pain .
We checked his troponin levels which were very high .
So I rushed back in , rushed him to the cath lab for an angiography urgently .
His kidneys were compromised and the dye that was to be given could hurt them further . So what do I save ? The kidneys or the heart ?
I decide to go with the heart , people live on dialysis after all .
His angiography was done and stents placed and he was shifted to the ICU for further care .
The bed that I am on today, papa was on the one right in front of it . And boy does it bring back memories of a lifetime .
Anyway , after stabilising him in the ICU , i come back downstairs to see the food that I had ordered for him – lying untouched .
Papa got no better .Arrythmias , worsening pneumonia , kidney failure and then the ventilator . Before we put him on the vent, I remember my last words to him “ you have been the best father ever , thank you”.
I am not sure if he understood .
Post the ventilation,I kept him sedated. We tried but at the point that I knew that this is it , I just sat by his bedside , holding his hand .
I saw the pulse rate go down from 70 to 60 to 40 to a flat line .
The nurses rushed to do CPR .
I kissed his forehead and bid him good bye .
Papa had been my anchor , the wind beneath my wings . He made me confident enough to take on the world. Despite being raised in the small town, I never felt scared of going out and finding my way in a metropolitan city. And my father was the reason. Losing him made me lose myself . I never truly felt the same confidence ever again .Its been 5 years .
For my father , religion was all about being a good human being and not hurting anyone . That is how I was raised .
So when I see today , the world burning disguised as a fight for religion , I am amazed .
.My father moved through the world with a pocketful of small wonders. He had a genius for finding the infinite in the infinitesimal, and even now, I am a student of his stubborn, beautiful hope—the kind that clings to the light long after the sun has set.
This Friday , I am not praying for myself .
Today , I pray for everyone who is sick and does not have an access to healthcare .
I pray for those who get bombed while in a hospital.
I pray for parents who send their children to school, never to receive them back again.
I pray for those trapped within the relentless machinery of war—whose lives are measured in breaths between sirens.
I pray for the hungry whose bread is bitter with dust, the scared who find no sanctuary in the night, and the broken who carry the weight of collapsing walls.
I pray for a mercy that transcends borders and a peace that finally finds its way to their doors.
They are hungry , they are scared , they are broken . They have no way out , their hopes are lost in the smog of war .
My problems seem so miniscule if I look around.
So as of now, I am full of a deep sense of gratitude. I don’t know what the future holds but I am thankful for today.
As Meister Eckhart so poignantly noted, if “thank you” is the only prayer I ever say, it is enough. Today, my “thank you” is a bridge between my father’s memory, my daughter’s future, and a world in desperate need of grace.
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