Bombay Diaries...

Is a week too short a time to introspect?

As the car pulled out of the street, there was an overpowering sense of gloom. I've always had people to take care of me. And here I was, heading out into the unknown, responsible for my actions and those of others, I felt alone, I felt lost. It was then that I learnt of attachments, and seclusion.

As the train slowly pulled out of the station, people followed it, waving goodbye. "Kheyal rekho, ar chinta koro na. Shob theek hoye jabe." Was that assurance? The eyes didn't show it. Maybe it was just a hope, a prayer. As the station lights dimmed behind us, engulfed in the mist of a cold January evening, I learnt of care, and worry.

As I sat by the open window, the cold free air blowing strongly against my face, staring into openness as the lights and sounds of a familiar town passed us by, the chugging of wheels beneath us, the gentle sway of the carriage as we rushed onwards and away, further and further, I felt a release. I learnt of freedom, and detachment.

As I lay there in the dark of the night, watching intently at the dim glow of the mobile screen, the joy of each new message,  the annoyance as the network bars retract wondering when the next one would come, the delight as it ascends once more, the abandon in each reply, taking my mind off the impending gloom. I learnt of affection, and uncertainty.

As I watched a father call up thrice in a day to check if his family were really coming, a wife hurrying us along to be reunited with her ailing husband, a daughter hug her father, a son whose weary eyes light up at the sight of his mother, hardship and pain, temporarily lift off his shoulders. I learnt about family, and the fear of separation.

As we roamed the unfamiliar streets of Bombay, looking for an accommodation near the hospital, turned back at each turn, by circumstances, inconvenience or unreasonable demands. A six foot by six foot room with plywood walls, that has just about enough space to cram in a dusty bed. A room that boasts of the princely comforts of an attached bath, slightly bigger than the previous one, slunk away in the corner of a dreary slum, comes at Rs.1200 a night. The missions and trusts crammed to the brim, and finally after a day of ceaseless roaming, settling on a place in faraway Vashi that came at a "reasonable" price. I learnt of perseverance, and failure.

Travelling the length of the town, from Colaba to Vashi, the hospital and back, asking around for bus numbers, haggling over taxi fares, keeping a keen eye for station names as we travel on the local trains, hoping not to miss them. The people, helpful and aloof, kind and haughty, so far away from home, and yet not far enough to be any different. We were alone amongst our own. I learnt of oneness , and loneliness.

Six people staying in a small room, around fifteen people sharing a bathroom. Cooking on a small stove with the little that we had, hoping for the rare ray of sunshine peeping in through the grilled windows, to light up the room. Fiddling away throughout the day, the occasional trip outside to fill up water, or get tea from the adjoining shops, breaking the monotony of existence. The nights of ceaseless pain and discomfort for the ailing person, keeping him up and yet, despite all that, the camaraderie keeping things together, helping him overcome the difficulties and make the best of what we had. I learnt of companionship, and hardship.

While we walked along the sea, the breeze flowing through, the setting sun glistening brightly upon the waters surface reflecting upon The Gateway of India. People thronging the streets, little flags pinned to their chest, happy, cheerful, oblivious of all their cares and worries, stripped of all their fears, as they discover new sights an sounds, gaze at its glory, revel in it. Then as we head back, the walls close in once more,  and the cares, and worries that had slunk into the dark recesses of the mind, come flooding back in. Fleeting joy, nothing more. I learnt of new discoveries, and illusions.

Waking up early in the morning, travelling in a bus filled with cancer patients, all sitting silently, hope and surrender in their listless eyes, a silent prayer on their lips. The 16 year old boy, who'd been misdiagnosed. The pain in his eyes, the silent tear, as he sat there head bowed, waiting his turn, waiting for a life. The pretty girl with stomach cancer, lying with her head rested on her mother's shaking shoulders. They carry on with a brave face, cherish each day and hope for a new tomorrow. I learnt about survival, and death.

As I sat by the open door of the train, the cold free air blowing strongly against my face, staring into openness as the lights and sounds of an unfamiliar town passed me by, the chugging of wheels beneath, the gentle sway of the carriage as we rushed onwards and away, back towards the little haven I call home,I think about the joy and comforts, the love and affection, the warmth and familiarity that comes with it. But yet my heart yearns for the the pain and suffering, and hardships and  worry that I leave behind. I learnt of hope, and despair.

So, is a week too little a time to introspect? We're all privileged in a way that we enjoy the luxury of having a week to spare. For those who count seconds, a week can be made to last a lifetime. I learnt of life, and nothing.