I was ten when it happened: Father was diagnosed with cancer. The disease was in its third stage, with half a chance of abating. It was proverbially a bolt from the blue. Our family was leading a happy life, with no experience of any form of dearth and no shortages of small luxuries. Life was like a bed of roses for us, but when the sole breadwinner of the family became ill, this was to change.
Father's medical bills were initially taken care of without much hassle as he was a scrupulous planner and had saved a quarter of whatever he earned ever since he started working, all for a rainy day. However, this was not for long. Three months and various palliative treatments later, his condition did not improve. To add insult to injury, he would be on no-pay leave from then on until he came back for work, as he was absent for so long.
The ill-effects hit home when no car came to pick me up from school. My doting and jovial father always picked me up, ever-smiling while asking, "How was your day?" All this ended when the car had to be sold to meet expenses. More such instances were to come. I started seeing a lot less of Mother, after she took up a job. Piano and tennis lessons were stopped. Small luxuries, such as sweets and gifts, began to get rare. Mother had explained the gravity of the situation before, but I could not adjust with the sudden depravation. Every evening after Mother came home, I used to rant about the difficulties I encountered, and all she could do was smile sadly.
The list of complaints was also repeated during the daily visits to the hospital. Father's hair had disappeared, and his haggard face looked at me intently whenever I spoke. He never let me see the pain he was going through; he was always smiling and trying to look normal while asking the usual question. But it pained me to see him in such a condition. We always stayed by his bedside until he slept, and we always returned home teary-eyed.
It was a relief when he got well enough to come home. Despite his weak state, he made it is point to go to work at least thrice a week to make life comfortable once again. Mother tried pointlessly to stop him, often resorting to screaming- after all, Father winced whenever he walked and incessantly coughed. Although the tough times were still not over, he kept surprising me with small treats that had become non-existent when he was in hospital. I realized that he was trying to give me back whatever I had missed during the nine months. This was clear one resplendent afternoon, when I saw a car coming to pick me up from school. Father had rented a car right after I mentioned that grievance, and the look of accomplishment on his face as he asked "How was your day?" became indelible in my memory. That incident pulled both of us closer than ever before.
The tough times eventually disappeared with all its effects, but only one effect remained in the family- we became closer to each other in a way we would never have been without experiencing the adversity.
Avishek Mondal (2)
3I
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