"Goodbye Maya. Till next time."
Maya Ganguly has always felt a sense of loneliness in her heart since the time her elder brother had run away from home. Fourteen years ago. But things were finally looking up when she was able to convince her parents...
Late in the afternoon, we found our way to the second ICU room on the second floor of the hospital where Grandpa was resting. Dad was walking about frantically in circles in the corridor and tightly hugged us when he saw us approaching.
"How is he?," Mom asked, her face clearly revealing the ongoing storm inside.
He looked at us and shook his head slowly.
"The doctors conducted a PET scan," he said, taking a deep breath, "They say that he has stage 4 prostate cancer."
"Oh my God!," Mom exclaimed, slapping her forehead in dismay.
Dad took another deep breath to calm his nerves.
"The cancer has spread, Arunima. His cancer has spread to the bones."
"How long does he have?," I asked.
"The doctors said that he has about a week or two if his medication doesn't hold."
Everything began to swirl in front of my eyes on hearing him. The doctors, the nurses, the hospital beds and the white-washed walls all seemed to become fuzzy as I quietly dropped down on an empty chair.
Mom had told me Grandpa was complaining about feeling ill for the last few days. I had thought maybe it was just a mild fever or a body ache. I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams that it could have been so serious. I chided myself now for not visiting him more often, for not taking out enough time to talk with him every day. For the first time, I realised how lonely he must have felt in his house with Grandma gone and with no other companion to share his thoughts with, no other companion to laugh and cry with. And here I was, surrounded by my friends and family and complaining that I was lonely.
A nurse approached us and informed that Grandpa was sleeping and seemed to be alright for the moment. She told us that we could visit him from seven o'clock onwards when the visiting hours would start.
As I sat waiting with my parents for the long hours to pass, I couldn't help but remember a remark that Grandpa had made to me once. When I was younger, most of my classmates ignored me and didn't want to talk with me as I was 'the girl whose own brother had run away from her'. I think they did it because they didn't want to feel uncomfortable but I felt so bad at standing out without any fault of my own. And when I had told this to Grandpa, he had said,
"Listen, pie. There will always come both good times and bad times in life. But the trick to overcome the bad times is to think of it as a lesser 'good' time that will eventually lead to a better 'good' time. Never let those lesser 'good' times get the better of you. Because that's how you become strong."
"But how do I know that there will be better times ahead?," I had asked.
"Qui vivra verra," he had replied smiling, " How shall we value the better things in life if we don't get a taste of the other side as well, right?"
Qui vivra verra is a French proverb that is a particular favourite of Grandpa's, which literally means, "Who will live, will see." He had read about it first from The Last Mountain Standing and always says this whenever he thinks that I am upset.
All three of us today waited outside his room with baited breath. None of us moved an inch even though we had not had lunch yet. But the shock of our present situation was enough to make us forget about the inconsequential momentary pangs of hunger.
At about seven, the nurse allowed my parents to enter Grandpa's room. I stayed outside as only two people at a time were allowed to go at once. I desperately hoped that he would be alright. Maybe he was still smiling now despite his pain. If he did so, I wouldn't be surprised in the least.
After about ten excruciatingly long minutes, my parents finally came out of his room with grim faces.
"Is he alright?," I asked, standing up in a hurry.
Dad put a hand down on my shoulder and looked at me.
"Maya, you have always loved Grandpa. But you have never seen him in such a state before. Are you sure you will be alright?"
He said this in such a frightened voice that it made me more eager to see him.
"I don't care. Let me go."
"Wait a bit, then," said Dad.
He rummaged through his bag and took out a blank copy and a dot pen and handed it to me.
"He told me to give this to you," Dad explained as an answer to my puzzled look.
After taking a deep breath, I took the pen and copy from Dad, opened the door to Grandpa's room and walked in.
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