“Sir, my mother is no more.”
I woke up to find this text on my phone sent by a team member at the start of this week.
My colleague’s mother had been suffering for the last few months. The cancer had spread from where it was first found to multiple parts of her body. The intensity of pain had risen in the last couple of months.
“I can’t bear to see her like this,” he told me a few weeks ago.
I spent nearly an hour listening to him. I knew he needed to speak. It was all bottled up inside. He could not share it with his family.
“I have been waking up every night to check on her. I open the door partially and watch her from a distance. I see her chest moving, induced by her breathing. I close the door and try to go back to sleep.”
In February 2023, her doctor told Jagdiswar Mohapatra that his mother had three months to live.
“He says she can’t survive chemotherapy; told me to take her home,” Jagdiswar had texted me then.
“As difficult as it may sound, try to create a positive atmosphere at home when you are with her. Make every moment with her count. Give her all the love you can,” I had replied then.
I knew it was easier said than done. But it needed to be said.
When Tragedy Strikes, One After the Other
He was near the breakpoint. He had lost his elder brother Rudra Mohapatra to Covid in Sept 2020. They were very close. Neither would do a thing without asking the other. His brother’s demise had shattered the family. They were struggling to cope.
Just over a year later, a soft tissue of 1.5 cm was found developing in his mother’s lower abdomen, which was removed on her doctor’s advice.
He had messaged me then, “The second biopsy report is negative, and as per the doctor, she is out of danger now, but he has told me to get her blood tested every month and to continue medicines for at least six months. If, in the interim, any abdominal pain surfaces or her food intake reduces, then a PET Scan will be required.”
A Brief Spell of Cheer
After a long time, the Mohapatra family had a BIG reason to cheer. Jagdiswar and his wife Chinmayee were blessed with a daughter, their second child.
“Thank you, sir. Now my family is complete,” he had replied to my congratulatory message.
There was a dinner to celebrate the arrival of Khushi, the newborn, aptly named given the situation. I went to bless the little one and congratulate the family in person. Khushi was lying on her grandmother’s lap. I sat next to Jagdiswar’s mother and chatted with her. It was a delightful conversation.
In less than three months, she was wheeled into the ICU when it was found that the cancer had metastasized.
“Something bad is happening to me, and I don’t know what to do,” Jagdiswar had told me then.
“We must accept what we can’t change,” I had told him then. It was a line I borrowed from the great APJ Abdul Kalam.
All these exchanges flooded me as I drove to the cremation site to pay my last respects to his mother.
From Hope to Grief
The month of May has brought with it news I wish were not true.
A dear friend’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer a few years ago. Like Jagdiswar’s mother, she had been operated on and, after further treatment, declared free of cancer.
On December 31, 2022, I received a text from him.
“I am glad I read your piece today. It helped me out. My mother’s Cancer is back, and we have temporarily relocated to Chennai for treatment. Your writings will inspire me, no doubt.”
I experienced mixed feelings after reading his message. I was upset to hear about Aunty and glad that my writing had helped my friend in his difficult phase.
After that, things got better with Aunty, and she seemed to respond well to treatment. She was back home a month later.
Last month, I texted my friend Girja Vohra to ask if he was free for a game of badminton. He didn’t reply. It was unusual. I assumed he may have been busy, so I didn’t follow up.
A fortnight later, I invited him again for a game — this time, he replied:
“My mom’s health has dramatically declined. The cancer is back and aggressive. I am with her in Dehradun.”
“Have doctors advised any next steps,” I inquired.
“They said nothing can be done,” he wrote back.
Confronting Life’s Injustices
While driving to the office that day, I worried about aunty, Girja, and his family.
I thought about Jagdiswar and his mother. And I wondered about all those I may not know who are in the same boat. How tough it would be to hear this from a doctor.
Suddenly, I was jolted by a car that sped past me, nearly brushing against mine in his crazy zeal to drive like a maniac. What I felt is not uncommon. Those driving in Delhi would have such experiences weekly, if not daily.
“Why would anyone drive like that, endangering not just their lives but the lives of those around them,” I thought.
Fighting cancer may or may not be in our control, but how we drive surely is. What’s the point of indulging in such rash behaviour? What purpose does it serve besides triggering an adrenaline rush in the driver?
At times, the world seems so unfair. There are those who, for no fault of theirs, lose their life due to the folly of another. Just as it is for those whose family’s doctor says nothing more can be done. While those, who indulge in reckless driving and rash behaviour, get away more often than not.
You and I have heard that Karma catches up with such people sooner or later. But does it?
Your guess is as good as mine.
