A Writer's Woes: On the Brink of Death...

A Writer's Woes:  On the Brink of Death...

I opened the door of my home, switched the lights on and immediately shut the door. Amma always says keep the door open for a while after switching the lights on - it allows Goddess Lakshmi to come in and bless you every evening. That evening though, I had more important things on my mind. 

There he was, lying on the couch, his breath shallow. Over a period of months his pulse had slowed down. His resolve had weakened. His eyes were blank and so was his mind. I sat next to him. With concern. I wished I'd shown the concern some months earlier. Before he reached the stage he was in. He looked at me and held a hand out, weakly. I grasped it tight. I didn't want to lose him either. Yet, something seemed imminent. 

His eyes looked into mine. The gaze was sharp and almost accusatory. I couldn't hold it for a long time and bent my head down in disappointment. In shame. Surely, I wasn't solely to blame for all that had transpired in the last six months? Life's monotony, the body's fatigue, the mind's weariness and the rigmarole of every day life could shatter the creativity of anyone into pieces. Why was I the only one to bear this burden? 

I mustered the courage to look into his eyes and share all these thoughts in a single gaze. "Then set me free!" his eyes pleaded. "I'll find someone who's more deserving!". But I was at my possessive best that evening. Even as his hand tried to wriggle free from my grip, I held on. More with determination than with force. This seemed to calm him down and he took a deep breath. A breath that seemed to infuse a little morsel of strength into a life fast approaching death. I held onto him with more poise. 

He smiled a weak smile. Laced with sarcasm. Even on his deathbed, he was keen to take a jibe at me. "Would you be able to help me recover - and get out of this couch? I don't see that happening anytime soon...."he spoke his first sentence in a long while. "You are way too distracted for me" his eyes added.

"I'm sitting with you here today, because I don't want to let you go. It's going to take effort - but I want to nurse you back to health" I noticed I was pleading. And then I asked "Is it just me who was responsible for your state? There were so many times you could've sat me down. Prodded me, guided me with something that would've made me take notice of your health. You could've told me that you were deteriorating. Yet you chose to remain silent. We owe each other a hard conversation at times"

For the first time that evening, he looked defensive. He realised that my intent was to see him hale and healthy all over again. That seemed to make him stronger. He gestured me to prop him against a pillow. "Can I get a glass of water?" he asked, in a tone that was more conciliatory. 

I went to the kitchen. I couldn't hold my tears. Here he was. After all these years, still craving for my attention. He'd always been in my corner for the last two decades, giving me plenty to cherish. The world had seemed different when we was with me. I knew that and recognised that for most part. And I'd always tried to nurture him to the best of my abilities. We were, in many ways, symbiotic. Yet in the last year or so, we stopped paying each other the attention we deserved. He started struggling. What I failed to realise in time, was that I had to nourish him consciously - give him the right amount of attention at the right times for him to thrive. I'd failed to do that and here he was. Fighting for survival. And while he fought his battles, I'd been oblivious. That evening though, I'd resolved to be on his side. 

I got him the glass of water. He gulped it in one go - not something I'd seen in a while. It was obviously a good sign. "Was there nothing you could get me in all these months?" he asked. "You know....from airports or travel or office? No happiness, anger, romance - or even misery? Any of these would've helped...."

We sat in silence for a while. I'd gone back to holding his hand. It seemed stronger now. The glass of water had even brought back a decent glow to his skin. My other hand involuntarily reached out to my phone. He made a violent gesture asking me to not check it. 

"This is the problem with you. The distraction. When was the last time you paused to take notice of me? Or notice others? When was it the last time you experienced silence? Observed yourself or others?" He started coughing. It was painful to watch him convulse as he coughed. For a fleeting moment I was ok to let him die. It was going to be a struggle for both of us to get him back on feet and start exploring the world with me all over again. I mean...there are so many people we let go. And time changes everything. Time heals. May be our journey together was supposed to end here and now...

"It was the water that choked me for a bit.....let's not be so eager to bid each other goodbye" he said, reading my thoughts as usual. "Can we spend some time together in silence, every day? It could be a minute or an hour - but it would be just us. I need that to get better." he commanded. I found myself nodding. I'd started that exercise already that afternoon - consciously counting the two minutes as a traffic signal changed from red to green. I took notice of the road, the people, the vehicles, the trees even. I narrated my experience to him. 

"That's a brave start. What about the consistency?" he asked. He was now getting greedy. For once I was feeling a sense of elation that he was getting back to his old self.

"We can hang out. I'll try to talk to you everyday. And let's sit together to brainstorm every week?" I brooded aloud, seeking his opinion. 

"Let's sit together in silence. You and I don't need a storm. That's for your boss in office. You and I need silence. And a quality conversation like this. Help me get up, will you?" I was thrilled at his last statement. We'd spent a couple of hours together and it had worked wonders on his health. I didn't realise if it was our hands held together or the glass of water or my promise or the conversation itself. He was feeling strong and that's all that mattered. I helped him get up and supported him as we walked around in our home. He looked at the couch he'd slept on with gratitude but also with an expression that said "It'll be a while before we meet again." A huge part of the responsibility was on me to ensure he didn't go back to the couch anytime soon. 

The Writer and I had lived through thick and thin for more than twenty years now. There were periods when either of us was unwell. We'd identified that and nursed each other back to health rather quickly. This episode, though, had been the worst. He was on the brink and a little more neglect would've meant losing him forever. As he took a tour around the home just looking at the paintings, the prayer flags and little things that made him smile - I resolved to be in his corner a lot more often. 

 The Writer in Me. I needed him more than he needed me. I needed him for me to appreciate the people around. To appreciate Nature. To appreciate the White, Black and Grey. To appreciate the silence outside when there's noise within. And to appreciate the silence within when there's noise outside. 

We looked at each other with meaning. Held onto each other tight. We looked out of the window. The moon had risen fully. The silence was complete. 

                                                                                          - 7th April 2024