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Henry Jayasena Column - 178 Story of a Cancer Patient
- Part 20:
Fun in the Clinic
"Yes we have, in a way." said Somasiri in his brassy voice. "When we
leave you can ask Manel Akka all about it." "I thought I heard you
whispering in the adjoining room. It must be a secret..." I added rather
wryly. "I don't think there can be any more surprises for me...!"
Later, I learnt the reason for their happiness. They had got the date
and time of my birth from Manel. Then they had consulted an astrologer
without revealing my identity.
Apparently this astrologer had cast my horoscope and read it to
Somasiri and Ramani. He had described events of my past quite correctly,
recounting some of the major events.
Then he had said that presently I should be very ill and under
treatment or even hospitalized for some vicious illness. What he had
said was that my time was so malefic, that whether I was ill or not I
had to go through all this devastation.
The treatment was not even necessary he had said, but that I would
get back to normalcy by such and such a time, when the malefic period
will be over. If, however, I was under treatment, let it be continued,
he had concluded.
"What about his life? Is there any danger to his life?" Somasiri had
persisted. "No, there is no threat to this person's life yet... But he
will have to undergo much suffering during this malefic period of two
years... It is a bad Erashtaka." ['Erashtaka' in astrological terms,
means a bad period in one's life between major planetary changes] All
these details were given to me by my wife much later.
At that moment she only revealed that she had got my time read
through Somasiri and Ramani and that I was going to come through.
Apparently she had consulted another astrologer earlier and his
prediction was that I was going through a very bad period and that there
could be even loss of life.
Somasiri told me later, much later, that after the reading was over
he had revealed the identity of the person to the astrologer, and when
he came to know, he had been extremely sorry for my plight and assured
them over and over again that all will be well once the bad period was
over.
Of course I needed no astrologer to tell me that I was very ill - I
knew it well enough. All I wanted was to have done with all this and get
back to normal life - if that was possible!
***
Being a patient is no joke. And visiting a patient is no cake either.
But there is always humour if you look for it. And if you can manage to
keep the visitor in good humor, so much the better for you too.
There were several occasions when visitors came tight lipped and
looking as serious as death itself. If I was not in too much discomfort
I never failed to relate to them some of the funny incidents from
hospital - like the one of the intruder in search of a bed.
Or the one about the woman on the bench who gleefully mistook Manel
as the patient. Some of my visitors even thanked me for making them
laugh after a long while!
I think the tale of the Woman on the Bench is worthy of record. This
was at the early stages of Maharagama. After the initial five day bout
of chemo, Dr. Balawardhana wanted me to have ray therapy. For this a
marking at the right place has to be done with indelible ink - rather
like the marking at voting.
Dr B. saw us at his crowded little room, assured me that I was
looking pink - yes positively pink in spite of the chemo, and asked us
to sit outside until he finished with his batch of patients. Then he
would take me upstairs to a special room with the correct equipment and
mark me for ray therapy.
So I was seated outside, on a bench, together with a number of chatty
females. Manel was standing in the corridor and peering towards the door
from which Dr. B. would emerge.
One of the women had recognized Manel. Unfortunately for her, at this
particular time she was appearing in a regular tele drama by the name of
'Senehevantayo' in which she portrayed the character of an uppity and
rather unpleasant Walawwe Hamu and she gives hell to the poor girl with
whom her son has fallen in love and is intent on marrying. Very often
our TV viewers identify the person with the character, and if you happen
to play a bad role you have had it.
And so when one of the chatty women on the bench - not a patient I am
sure, but someone accompanying a patient - recognized Manel, she mistook
her to be the patient. She had either not seen me or failed to recognize
me, which was quite possible in the emaciated state I was in.
"Look at her...!" said the woman, not quite in a whisper. "That is
the Walawwe Hamu in that tele drama who gives hell to that poor girl!
Huh...you see.they also come here... That is retribution if you ask
me...!"
The other women on the bench were looking hard in the direction of my
poor wife. They, while not being too outspoken about the issue, did not
seem to contradict the speaker either.
At that moment I managed to catch the eye of the chatty woman and
managed a fairly disarming smile - or so I thought. As recognition
dawned, her countenance changed to one of utter disbelief.
At the very moment Dr. B. emerged from the door and was proceeding
towards us. "Come." Said Manel coming up to me and helping me to get up.
The woman had hardly any time even to draw her face together and she was
trying to manage a rather unsuccessful 'I am sorry' smile.
By now, her neighbors - the other women on the bench - were staring
daggers at her. My dear wife, oblivious to all these interesting
happenings, was, if I remember right, smiling broadly at this motley
crowd of her own species. I remember looking back from the stairway and
registering a number of pairs of deeply guilty eyes following our
progress upstairs!
And there is one more incident worth retelling. I was coming out of
the consultation complex one day when a fairly elderly man accosted me.
"Aah, there you are Mahattaya... I saw you several times and wanted to
have a chat with you..." I leaned on the wall to oblige him so as not to
inconvenience others who were coming in or going out of the complex.
"And what's your particular problem?" Was the first question. I
explained my 'problem' as briefly and as courteously as possible.
"Aaah...yes Mahattaya.. What's to be done..? It's one's fate no,
Mahattaya.." Said the man going over my frail frame. "Yes, it is, isn't
it?" Was all I could say in answer.
While the man was loading me with enquiries and questions, Manel was
tugging at my arm for fear of being late at the chemo room. Then the man
saw her and was beaming at her.
"Must be your daughter...?" said the man. "Er...Ah yes..." I managed
to say and then the man turned and brought into focus a rather youngish
woman in a frock.
"And this is my wife...!" Beamed the man proudly.
"Really..?" said I. "I thought she was your daughter...!" I was
smiling as sweetly as possible towards the lady in the frock by which
time my wife had managed to tug me away from the bewildered man and a
rather roguishly smiling woman!
***
There were some very unusual gifts too. There was my friend, Abey
Gunapala from Kurunegala who visited me at least once a week with a
young Kundira coconut wrapped neatly in a polythene bag. He has no car
and brought this gift by bus all the way from Kurunegala.
"This is the best thing for a cancer patient..." He would assure me
and offer it to me with both hands as if the fruit came from Jeevaka
himself - the Healer of the Gods in the Heavens !
I drank the Kundira without fail. I did not ask him who assured him
of its efficacy. His word was good enough for me because it came with so
much affection. On other days he would bring bags full of provisions
such as red rice, kurakkan flour and a whole big seer fish weighing at
least two kilos.
Of course the fish was uncut and Manel had to get the regular fish
vendor to cut it up for us. She would then share it with our son's
family and some of our neighbours.
(To be continued)
[email protected]
****
Thought for the day
It looks like whatever we could say is 'ours' is being assailed left,
right and centre from all quarters. The electronic media is the worst
culprit. We in this country are quite adept at 'copying' things -
especially from the outside world - be it dress, food or fashion.
The perpetrators of unhealthy trends are only too well aware of this
weakness of ours. If you take the field of tele drama - which
undoubtedly is one of the most patronized forms of entertainment - the
Indian influence could be seen very clearly.
Gone are the days of homely teledramas with homely themes, such as
Palingu Menike, Yashoravaya, Kadulla, Doo Daruwo, Dandubasnamanaya and
productions of their ilk. The present day fare is seen to be copying the
cheap, low quality Indian imports unashamedly.
Even respected directors of local teledramas seem to have fallen into
the trap. So what we have today are stories of family disputes,
schemings, jealousies with men and women trying their best to be
unpleasant to each other. What the viewer gains by all this is a
question worth asking.
The same thing has happened to so called Musical Shows. They breed
Super Stars overnight [I believe from the American models] and create an
unprecedented frenzy right through the country.
Gone are the days when a singer, a musician or a dancer goes through
a long period of apprenticeship and training before he or she reaches
full bloom.
There is no doubt that some of these boys and girls have a measure of
talent. But this instant 'blooming' could be very harmful to their
talents which should be trained and presented to the future. Today's
super star is forgotten tomorrow. And the circle goes on. I wonder what
legacy they will leave behind in cultural terms.
Or is it just 'instant pleasure and frenzy' which is unashamedly
marketed at the expense of the very roots and meaning of Culture? |
