Author: A. J. MathewThe sun had never looked so beautiful. Ever. It seemed to be a disc of flattened bright orange candy. You could see it one moment between the leaves of the palms swaying in the breeze, and the next, it disappeared behind them. The blue waves crashed onto the beach frothing into the finest white, drawing funny shapes on the sand, and taking away whatever litters that remained, together with the crabs that seemed to scramble for their dear lives, sideways. The river wound its way down the hills and wandered aimlessly between the palm trees for a while before finally joining the sea. I watched as a couple of dolphins jumped out from the sea into the air and went back down. The bright orange disc that was the sun sank serenely into the water at the horizon. I enjoyed the look of happiness and sheer thrill on the face of my son building his first sand castle. It was all and more than what one could expect from a vacation. But there were tears in my eyes.
I read the note again. I remember the first time I met Shanti Malhotra as if it were only yesterday. But it would have been about three months back. And she had been in a lot of pain, emotional and physical. But I could vouch that the former had been more severe compared to the latter. Her husband had brought her to the clinic to see me. She seemed to be depressed, and irritated. I wouldn’t blame her; I would have been in much worse a shape had I been in her shoes. Tall and graceful, and young, having seen the world for hardly over three decades, she had been diagnosed with a recurrence of cancer of the breast. And this time it had spread through her body. There was nothing more that could be done for her at the specialty hospital in the city, so she had been brought home. But the pain had forced her to come to my humble clinic in search of me.
The first meeting had been rather uneventful but I could say we had bonded pretty well, for soon she was back for more treatment, symptomatic mainly. She struck me as a hermit crab coming out of its shell. You just disturb the water and it withdraws into its shell. A few more visits and her outlook brightened considerably. On one such visit she told me, “Doctor Sa’ab, I know I have before me, only a fraction of the days that are now behind me. But I have never been happier in my ordeal with this illness than I am right now. And you have made my last days something worth remembering.” Now, I have had many people say a lot of nice things about me. And I never give much importance to what they say. That’s what a doctor’s profession is all about. You do whatever you can to help; in other words you do your job, and you emerge a life giver. But that was the first compliment I had received from a patient who hardly had time left to fulfil even a little bit of her dreams; a person who was dying and knew that she was dying. It is sure hard to forget a compliment like that, let alone forget the person from whom it had emanated. 
The first time she said that I bet there were tears in my eyes. “And it’s because of you, and the way you have dealt with me. I have been to a lot of doctors, even to some of the big names in the country, but you have been different. Very different indeed,” she said another time. And then she asked, “What is it that makes you so different?” “Well you tell me,” said I trying to think of an answer. I was just being myself. I didn’t know what she saw in me that made her happy; struck her as different. “Well, actually I don’t know. I think it’s just the way you relate to me. You know, specialists see me as a patient, and I do not blame them. They see tens of dying patients a day and I am just one of them. But you talked to me as if I were somebody close to you, like I was your family. How do you do that?”
That got me thinking, and at Shanti’s next visit I was ready with what I thought could be the answer. “Shanti, I think I found why I seem to be different from the other doctors you’ve met. Maybe it’s because I learned a small but fairly important lesson pretty early on in life,” I said. “I don’t understand,” complained Shanti. “Here, let me give you a first hand account of the whole thing,” I said as I proceeded to take a file off my chest of drawers. “These are some pages from the diary I used to write when I was a little boy. They contain something that I now believe has shaped my life. Here see for yourself.”
February 16
It was just another mundane day. Went to school as usual. Mrs. Dey was on leave. I was happy for that. Didn’t have to hear her constant drone. Mrs. Das took the class instead. She was no great substitute either. But still it was a much needed change. Hope Mrs. Dey goes on leave more often. After class Ramu Kaka picked me up in the jeep. We drove straight to Papa’s clinic. Sat there listening to what the patients had to say till about 6 in the evening, as usual. And then we all drove back home. Oh yeah, something struck me as strange today. There was this woman who had come to the clinic with a baby. Something was wrong with the baby. Ah, I forget what it was. I should write down new things as soon as I hear them. Or I get back home, sit in front of my diary and forget what I had heard then. Like now. Lutema…. Yeah Lutema is what I think it was. That’s what Papa told the woman her son was suffering from. I will never forget the look on the woman’s face. She didn’t cry. But I think it would have been better if she had cried. She looked very scared. Helpless. That’s the word. She had the look that our cat Momo has when it gets cornered by Shilpa aunty’s dog. Waiting for somebody to come and get her out of the spot. Well at that instant Ramu Kaka called me out for an ice cream and I had to run out. By the time I came back, both the woman and the child were gone. I wanted to ask Papa about that but he was so busy I didn’t want to disturb him and then I forgot all about it till now. I guess it is something like chicken pox. And the mother was scared she would catch it too. I heard somebody say that it can kill adults while we kids escape with some scars, like the one on my face. Will have to ask mummy tomorrow about what it was. Have a math test tomorrow. Have prepared well for it but I hope Mr. Paul gives us an easy test. And hope the baby returns tomorrow with his mother.
February 17
…………No sign of the baby. Asked mummy what Lutema means. She said there is no such thing. Papa was busy today as well and when he gets the time, I tend to forget to ask him. Mrs. Dey is back. Don’t teachers fall sick for more than a day? It is so much fun when they go on leave. Math test was okay.
February 18
……..Didn’t see the baby today either. I think he is okay, whatever it was that he suffered from. Asked Papa about Lutema. He says there is no such illness. I am sure I heard him say that word. Maybe it was something else. He gave me a lot of terms but nothing that I think was the one he used that day for the baby’s illness. He doesn’t remember that baby. You can’t expect a child specialist to remember all the babies he sees in a day. And this had been some days back. Will point him out to Papa when the baby comes again………
February 19
….No sign of the baby. Mummy says I am brooding over that baby more than I should. She says the baby would be alright wherever he was. Or else his mother would have brought him to the clinic. Maybe she is right. Maybe the mother brought the baby to the clinic before I arrived from school. I sure hope he is fine…..
February 22
Played football the past two days, with the guys. It was fun. But it saps your strength. I think I will stick to reading comics than exert so much and fall ill. I couldn’t even stay up to write my diary the last few days. School is the usual. I think I will ask Papa if I could go to some other school. St. John’s was so much fun. But they don’t have good teachers there according to Papa. This place is much more expensive and all the children of Papa’s friends study here. But I think I liked my old school better.
February 23
……..I am running out of comics. Superhero comics are the best. I will get more from Arvind tomorrow. Wonder if you get bitten by a spider, you can really climb walls. I know it is just a story but I sometimes wish it was true. It would be so much fun. Swinging away to school and to play. I even put a big spider on my hand today for a long time. I now believe spiders don’t bite. Maybe you need to be born in another planet to be a superhero. Wish I had some power, some small power that the other guys didn’t have. The next time Ramesh bullies one of my friends I could have used my powers. It just doesn’t work…………….
March 2
Today was a very sad day. I had completely forgotten about the baby all these days. But today I saw the child with his mother again. Today she cried. The baby looked so frail and so ill. Papa remained his usual cool self. But when I told him that this was the baby I had talked about he explained his illness to me. He had leukaemia. That was blood cancer. He was going to die. And there was nothing much a doctor could do. I never knew babies died like that. Death in an accident is explainable. But an illness that could kill! I don’t know. I thought a baby became a grown up and then died. This is so not right. If he had to die so soon why did he have to be born? And Papa talked to the woman so casually. As if her baby just had fever. I could never make out he was talking to a woman about her little son who was going to die soon. Die as a baby. The world is so cruel. But my Papa is very understanding. I wanted to talk to him today about it. He was very busy today. I can’t get this thing off my mind. I wonder if I fell ill with leukaemia, Papa would talk to me like that, and call out the name of the next patient. I am sure he wouldn’t. But I really thought he was like that to his patients as well. I have to talk to him.
March 3
Wanted to talk to Papa last night but fell asleep as soon as I finished my diary entry. So woke up Papa early in the morning and asked him if he would deal with me the same way he dealt with the baby with leukaemia if I had the same illness. We talked for a long time. Papa tried to explain to me how different family was from professional acquaintances. That’s what he called his patients. But I argued saying the boy was somebody’s child and he was going to die. He surely deserved more love and care. But Papa wouldn’t agree with me. He told me I was too young to understand all that. I hate it when people say I am too young. I wish I could grow up overnight. It is so irritating when you go to a store and the man says, “What is it that you want sonny?” And the to young man next to you, he says, “Yes sir?” Too young. Too young to understand. Too young to argue. I am not going to talk to Papa about it ever again.
March 15
Today my little sister Sasha fell ill. Her body was so hot with fever; I was scared she was going to die. The face of the little boy still haunts me. Papa looked after her so well. I am now convinced that if I ever develop leukaemia he will take good care of me. Why can’t he give a quarter of the attention he gives his daughter to his patient, a boy who is going to die? I really wish he did. At least my sister is not going to die. That’s what mummy told me.
March 16
I am convinced beyond any doubt that my father will take good care of me. Today Sasha had fits. It was scary. But mummy said there was nothing to worry. She said little babies get it when their fever gets high. She wiped her body with a cloth soaked in water. But Papa came home as soon as she rang him up. He shut down his clinic for the day and sat beside Sasha all the time. Now I also know that he didn’t have even the smallest of his feelings towards Sasha for the boy with leukaemia. I don’t know if that is normal. I don’t know if it’s alright. I sure don’t think so. Maybe I am wrong. After all, I really am too young to think about all that. But I hope I am not wrong. And if I become a doctor when I grow up, I promise I will take care of my patients like Papa took care of Sasha today.
Both Shanti and I wiped the tears from our eyes. I had read from these leaves of my old diary so many times over the years. But they had never moved me the way they did that day. I knew they were mighty important but I didn’t realize the significance they had till Shanti made me search for it. It made her all the happier and she looked forward to enjoy her last days on earth.
My eyes welled with tears as I read the note again for the umpteenth time. It was from Shanti’s husband. It said, “…………She never talked about her death. But she adored you very much. She would have really wanted you to be there at her funeral.” That was another compliment I received that I will remember for a long, long time.
A giant wave hit the beach sweeping my little boy off his feet. My heart skipped a beat. I let out a sigh as my baby boy leapt up again in delight. Maybe Papa was right. My family is indeed much more important than any acquaintance. Maybe I was wrong. I am still too young to understand. 
