Pay it forward.
Dolly Koghar learns that sharing stress reduces it to small fragmaents.
Life is about learning and I guess, one is never too old, nor is it ever too late to finally understand what one thinks one knows, but really doesn’t. We’ve heard often enough that, “Happiness adds and multiplies, as we divide it with others.” But I could never have dreamt that others sharing in with my stress and worry, helped divide them into manageable fragments, and subtracted much of the overwhelming weight I was bravely (pretending) to shoulder on my own. This lesson was needed and came as lessons often do when you least expect them and it goes without saying, that it’s the untoward incidences that best drive in the message.
Life was more or less carrying on as usual, mundane and boring, and me, as always, going about cribbing, whining, and grumbling about the irks and qualms of the day or the week, or life till now or the years to come; nothing and no one was or could ever be good enough.
But then, a few months ago, on one of the rare mornings that I was slumbering through hubby dear’s customary, before the crack-of-dawn, noisy exit towards the TV room, he came back really soon, exhibiting signs and symptoms that definitely harked a heart attack.
Fortunately, it wasn’t; but it became a three-month odyssey, during which the typical routine took a toss. In the hurry-scurry of those days, I missed the glimpse of the rising sun peeping in from between the high-rise buildings around us, which harked in the sense of continuity and in that magical light of dawn, the chirpy chattering of the birds, unfazed by what the day might bring, was lost on me. For now, everything paled and could wait, even the frenzied urgency with which I habitually attacked my ever-lengthening list of to-dos; I needed to focus on getting what needed to be done for hubby dear, done.
The hospitalisations, the in-between appointments, and the follow-ups kept us on our toes. During those visits, especially to the government hospitals, seeing the sheer number of people waiting for blood tests, in queues to pay bills, waiting for radiation and X-rays, and others sitting patiently outside their respective doctors’ rooms was humbling. We weren’t special or different; pain and disease are universal. It did not select or skip on the merits of age, gender, colour, religion, or social status.
The procedures are behind us, with hubby dear reemerged as a ‘bionic man’, with no semblance to Lee Majors! Nevertheless, it was during that stressful period, when something out of the ordinary, at least for me, happened. We aren’t very social, and neither do I have phone buddies, but for some vague reason, news got around pretty quickly about hubby dear’s heart issues, which are as common as the ‘common man’, in any household. But what was even stranger, and came as a huge but pleasant surprise for me, was messages started coming in, even from far-off acquaintances: “How’s he,” “Let me know if I can do anything,” “Take care.” I didn’t know he mattered; I didn’t know we mattered. But these messages mattered, a lot; they kept me distracted. I felt cared for, and I wasn’t isolated to wallow in the probability of an unwanted outcome.
I now know, firsthand, that good intentions ricochet and do make a difference; if not in the outcome, then at least to help make the difficult period a little less scary, a little less lonely. My faith is renewed that each and every one of us, have it inherent in our DNA to be compassionate, caring, and giving. In doing one good deed, which might not seem much, and if every one of us did something good for someone else and kept the cycle of ‘Pay It Forward’ going, we’ll definitely become a much better and nobler version of ourselves!
