It is a beautiful sun set; I just hope my son does not follow suit.

A few days ago, I was standing outside the emergency ward of a reputed hospital in Bangalore, where my young colleague was fighting for his life. We had brought him just in time and that had saved his life. He was still not out of danger and was connected with all kind of gadgets, just to help him breathe. My colleague was staying alone in Bangalore while his family stayed in a different part of the country. After speaking to the doctors in the ICU of the hospital and understanding the line of treatment, I stepped out of the intensive care unit.

 Deliberating with my colleagues on  what do next, and more importantly, how to break the news to his family, we stood on the corridor, gazing at the setting sun. The hues of the setting sun were just magical, and it prompted me to take this picture. 

Oblivious to the cacophony around me, I stood on the steps of the hospital ward, looking at the horizon and the picture I had clicked. Suddenly from behind me, I heard an elderly Bengali lady(sitting on the steps) a few feet away utter the above sentence. Hearing her words, I just stood transfixed, not knowing how to react. Her sentence had an inner meaning, there was a different depth to it. Turning, I walked towards her and sat down and introduced myself as a fellow Bengali. I was not sure, whether she would talk, I just hoped she would. From the dialect she spoke, I knew  she was from present day Bangladesh (formerly-undivided India). It was that part of the world, from where, even my parents hailed from. 

Here was this lady, maybe in her seventy’s wearing a plain cotton saree, disheveled hair, wearing a pair of flip-flops and cotton shoulder bag swung over her shoulder. After a polite introduction, which surprised her, she started to open up. She was from a remote part of Sylhet ( a prominent province) and like many Bangladeshis, was from an agricultural family. Her immediate family consisted of her husband, her only son and herself. From what she stated in her own way I gathered, that her son had a cardiac complaint of some kind for many years and was not responding to treatment, back there. Also, her financial condition, had prevented her from seeking advanced treatment. But folks back in her village, who had come to India for treatment had mentioned about this hospital to her about a year back to her. Then she said, began her battle of arranging funds, getting help towards organizing her visa. As she went on in low tone, I could sense her voice choking, her eyes were turning moist. Hearing her story, one hand I was amazed while on the other, I too had a lump in my throat. I asked her, how did she manage to do this all by herself, she replied, what could I do, I had to save my son. She kept her hand on my head and said, even your mother would have done the same. This statement and her gesture really touched my heart. 

She continued, sipping a little water and said, without a well-wisher from her village accompanying her, she probably could not have made it thus far. This mother then said, “I just want my son to live” and for that, I will do everything I can. I was at a loss for words. So here was a mother from a far away land, who had fought numerous adversaries, just to ensure her son lived and on the other hand, I was with a patient who had brought upon the misery on himself, by foolishly  deciding not to waste money on medication. This lady was probably (in academic terms), an illiterate  but an exemplary fighter, in the journey of life. A paper qualification is not everything. What life teaches you at every step and how you learn from it, is what makes you a  true literate.

 I had lost sense of time, the sun was long gone and the fluorescent lights were at its best. My colleagues strangely, were watching me from far, not wanting to disturb this discussion. They did not understand Bengali, but they could gather that, this was some deep discussion. 

As I got up to leave, I touched her feet to seek her blessings. She was apologetic for wasting  my time and said just pray,  that my son survives and recovers completely. 

I did ask her for her contact details. She politely declined and said, the time spent with you has lifted a stone off my heart. What will a phone number do in comparison? 

I respected her wishes and walked away, a changed man. 

I pray hard that her Son rises very soon, a completely cured man.