Mr and Mrs Vardhan saw those eyes near the Intensive Care
Unit of the hospital that day. They were the same shade of sapphire blue. But
then, the spark in them had disappeared. What they could see now were only the
wisps of tear drops, like the skies after a heavy down pour. They looked tired,
they looked helpless, they looked unhappy.
Mr and Mrs Vardhan had come for their routine health check
up. At the age of 86 and 81, where else would you find an elderly couple on a
Saturday morning? It had been their routine for years now. Every 3rd
Saturday of the month, they would come to the hospital and spend a day with the
doctors and nurses. Fortunately, they were in the pink of their health except
for meager signs of old age! The couple had a son and a daughter. Both of them
in some wretched corner of the globe. With their respective families. Twenty
years ago, on their anniversary, Mr and Mrs Vardhan were gifted with the most
beautiful gift by their children: the papers of a life- time bond with the Old
Age Home!
From then on, they had a new family. The inmates of Ashraya
Old Age Home were all beings of a cruel world. The fingers they held firmly
when their children were about to fall, had ruthlessly signed on papers that
freed them from their responsibilities. Love and kindness that had been showered, now
were returned through money orders and online transfers. A seedling planted
with the hope of support in times of fragility now bore thorns. Homes that were
built with bricks of sacrifices and love were shattered with the swords of
selfishness. Life had to go on somehow. The members of Ashraya had succeeded in
giving a purpose to the rest of their living. They ate together, they spoke
about happier times together, they cried at the unfairness together, they lived
together. In the mornings, after a healthy breakfast they indulged themselves
in activities they liked. Activities they had sacrificed for their children.
While Mr. Rao shoveled for his new jasmine garden, Mrs. Wadeyar baked cookies
for the festive season. While some weaved, some solved crosswords in the
newspapers, others simply sat and watched innumerable television shows. They
were happy, in the world they had to live in now to survive. What they missed
were the eyes where they once upon a time had seen the whole world, the smile
that lighted up their lives in the hardest of times, the love that was shared.
They silently cried to Him for some answers. It was better some answers remain
unquestioned.
The children were more than happy to spend their time in the
Old Age Home. Both of them had lost their grand parents and had found a way to
replace their existence in Ashraya. Richa’s blue eyes glowed like sapphires
when with them. Ravi was delighted when his
sister was happy. They had learnt from their parents that love was not
underlined with the ties of blood or relations. It was something that held the
world together, firmly, like the dawn holds to the sun with the promise of a
new morning, the river to the sea with the faith of a successful journey. The
more you gave, the more you would receive, maybe not from the same person, but
from a heart that danced freely in the glory of the true human spirit. With the
same thoughts, they had continued for a few years. Just as the rule of the
world goes, the happy family was shredded on one Sunday morning when the car
they were traveling in was hit by a truck. Richa was the lone survivor to
endure more merciless acts of the cruel world.
More mercies followed. Relatives unfairly lay hands on the
property that legally belonged to Richa. From the abode of heaven she was
thrown into an orphanage of the city. Her journeys to the Old Age home stopped.
She disappeared from their lives like the morning mist from a mountain. The
couples had cried again, this time for a different reason though. They had once
again lost someone they had loved. Life still had to move on like before.
Richa had grown up in the orphanage with the dreams and
aspirations of any woman of this world. She had forced herself to forget the
life she had once led, and had grown accustomed to her new world. After the age
of 18, she had moved out to a her world of independence. Her intelligence had
earned her a job and a life. She had fallen in love, married and lived a normal
life. The financial deficiency of her husband was nothing to her. They could
afford a simple meal of rice and curry thrice a day. That was more than enough
for her until that dreadful 3rd Saturday of the month.
Her husband was run over by a truck from the way back from
work. While he was battling with death for a life, Richa was battling with
people she knew for money to pay for the hospital bills. Hard times became harder with
refusals from all ends. She simply sat on the iron bench of Intensive Care Unit
of the hospital, with those sad sapphire eyes, with the floods of hopelessness
emerging from them.
Mr and Mrs Vardhan had seen her then. They had recognized
her. The old couple had immediately sold the only property they were the owners
of, for her. They were left with nothing now, except for the gratitude of Richa
and her husband who now come to the Old Age Home every Sundays with their 6
month old son.
Richa now quietly sings in her son’s ears:
’It’s my blood that flows in your veins,
’It’s my blood that flows in your veins,
It is the same blood that some day will give
us pain.
Let this blood be replaced with love,
Love that will bond us together forever!!’
