I have a 70 year old man father to a diabetic who we recently amputated because his uncontrolled Diabetes had eaten half his Calcaneum away and the tarsal Osteomyelitis was causing him severe and repeated febrile episodes with nausea and vomiting . This man, a very humble old grampa is always folding his hands despite my repeated reprimands not to do it. You have to see him standing over his 45 year old son as he runs to and fro, sending investigations, receiving them, getting drugs, checking blood sugar, asking me for insulin. The son got the disease despite being educated and having a near respectable job in the State Sugar Mills of Haryana because his 5 daughters meant he had to do overtime and the Government declaring all free medications in the OPD regardless of the disease did not think it was important that his growing Diabetic foot needed some treatment. He was not allowed leave. The rest is the " All izz Well" phenomenon so rampantly bound to the Indian middle class whose only way to confront a tough situation is to reassure their hearts that nothing would go wrong. Well it did.
I never pressed them to go for the amputation. I cannot imagine how hard it must be for a man to decide to let go of one foot. I knew they were sensible enough not to take a LAMA and try desi dawai so eventually they had to come to this. Thats not the point. What is more important is how his father stood by him and worked for him when his temperature was soaring at 104, and he puked anything he took in. When he came around from the anaesthesia, and I was feeling guilty to walk upto them and reassure them that letting go of the foot was the best decision they took under the circumstances, thinking that they would somehow hold me responsible for making him a cripple, the father came with folded hands and started crying. I take some time to interpret emotions these days. I was puzzled whether he was going to accuse me of something but he bent down and was actually going to touch my feet. That made me guiltier than before. I caught him before he could and gave him a big hug. When I walked upto the man he was in his bed and he did the same. I still cannot see anybody cry without tears stinging my own eyes. I know I cannot afford to be this emotional but somehow this does not stop. And I do not know if its double standards because when I have my mood swing days of the month, I am unnecessarily short tempered and erupt like a volcano. In any case, leaving aside my doubtful credentials, I just want to say that I made it a point for the son to know he has such a father who works ceaselessly for him. I compare this to those Ultra VVIPS I sometimes go to treat and I am puzzled why they have to close their eyes and purse their lips before they give an answer to a question. I find nothing intelligent, sensible, wise or knowledgeable in that. More or less, I am trying to find weird idiosyncrasies that strike me as hilarious. Genuineness flows from the eyes of this man I now tease if he forgets to fold his hands before me. and he cringes each time I semi hug him because I am still certain its not a state where affection is interpreted sans gender bias. I remember each time I blast anyone who makes the unfortunate mistake of calling me sister...and I know I can never speak loud to this old man who is a father very few men can be. God be with him. I feel proud to know him.
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Revolutionary Road is just the book that tells you how and when things go wrong. I wonder if writers choose to go through this experience so that they can put it down. I hate writers with insight. They make you feel guilty of everything and make you want to turn back the clocks of time. Especially the ones who dont obsess about themselves. Its not the likes of Ayn Rand, whose only example I find in that scene in Dirty Dancing when the heroine stashes the book that her sister's boyfriend gives her when she talks to him about the girl he dumped to get her sister. Self deceit at its highest bizarre best. Richard Yates is brazenly truthful. And you have to have experienced life to know what he is talking about. The other is the dilemma the protagonist faces in My Name is Red. Awesome book. A mother having to choose between two men. She despises one for his weakness but he is a good soul, the other is a criminal but she forces to rethink because he has the resources to bring up her children well. Superbly traces the evolutionary ideas embedded in every woman's psyche. About her not feeling the guilt about calculating up two men and using her charms to match best the guy she thinks can take care of her kids. That every woman has a little bit of a gold digger in her. And worse, that she should have.
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