A tube splits its way through her nostrils, another disappears into her hospital gown to connect to her heart; tens of them enter and leave her body. Connected to her heart, lungs, kidneys, brain, tugging at her for dear life. Fluids of every kind, smells and tastes of which she abhors, bombard her veins. But there she lay, unaware of the in and out, unconscious to the life-giving and the life-draining. Avva - soft, kind, good-hearted. Our Avva.
Everything and everyone looks the same from the hospital bed - dull, dreary, lifeless, unexciting. The doctors are nice but she quite can't say why they keep shaking their heads all the time. She also can't say which is more painful- feeling the tubes piercing her skin or sensing that look of helplessness in her doctors' eyes. She wants to get up, tear away the tubes and make kadlepuri, chikki and ragi-mudde... But her skin is sore and red, her body swollen, her brain dying and her heart aching. Her heart, aching, to see some love on a familiar face. Perhaps that's why on seeing her grandson, she fought hard against dysfunctional nerve cells and splitting pain from every part of her body, and... recognised him. The fastest recognition goal she'd scored off late - she was ecstatic! Her heart leapt, so much so that the cardiograph lost its way. Tears rolled down their cheeks - his first or hers? - as they held hands and sat in silence for a while. Our Avva.
Familiar face - tick, love - tick, pain - double tick. Kadlepuri, chikki, ragi-mudde - zero.
The disease is mercilessly parasitic - feeding on her bit by bit everyday- gland by gland, nerve by nerve, organ by organ... To test her again that day, the nurse persisted, "Who is that? Do you know her?" She strained eyes to focus on her granddaughter's face and mumbled again. This time it and out a wee bit clearer - "Av-vi-ni". Yes that's her name... Right?... Yes... No?... Of course!... Uncertainty, fear of failing her test, despair in my eyes, splitting pain, the tube through her mouth - none of them could dampen her conviction to recognise me. She wants to ask me a hundred questions - How is thatha? Are you eating properly? When is Anna getting married? Are Appa and Amma still waiting outside? "Av-vi-ni", she called me that day. The sweetest my name has ever sounded. Even with the super-annoying nurse, even with that damn tube through her mouth. Our Avva.
Familiar face - tick, love - tick, pain - triple tick. Kadlepuri, chikki, ragi-mudde - zero.
