BENGALURU: 20 years ago, even as my wife was admitted to a maternity nursing home, expecting our second child, my father was put into the intensive care unit of a hospital with congestive heart failure. Shuttling between the maternity home and the hospital, I observed a distinct difference in the set of emotions in both the places.
While happiness dominated over the arrivals of newborns at the maternity home, the scenes in front of the ICU at the hospital remained solemn. Wails of people – waiting outside with sheer hope of recovery of the loved one admitted inside – rented the air on being informed about the worst. They beat their chests, rolled on the ground, screamed at the Almighty, and pleaded with Him to reverse their grief.
Others passed sympathetic glances at the just-bereaved, while whispering desperate prayers for the recovery of their own loved ones lying inside the ICU. Many among the latter found themselves in the former’s position. But I was fortunate not to be among them.
While escorting my father back home on being discharged, I couldn’t help thinking that most of those admitted to the maternity home – my wife among them – walk out with budding bundles of life in their arms. But the hospital wears a different look, some returning with the mortal remains of their dear ones who do not make it, while others, like me, return with a persisting worry about possible future relapses. Yet, I was happy with my father’s arrival back home.
A fortnight ago, I was at the Bangalore International Airport with my wife and younger son, and a group of friends of my elder son, who was going abroad for higher studies. The word “Departure” screamed down at us. But at the far end, outside the terminal, a more pleasant and an assuring word announced itself – “Arrival”.
People stood or sat in groups outside the “Departure” gate, many teary-eyed and lumps the size of an apple in their throats, while waiting for the time their loved ones said “goodbye” and stepped inside the terminal. At the far end, the “Arrival” witnessed scenes of much celebration, dancing, jumping, hugging and kissing – a happy lot!
“Arrival” characterises scenes of being reunited, of lives coming back together, of getting what was elusive. “Departure” rips you away from your loved ones, leaving a feeling of deprivation, of sadness, of anxiety – with which we returned home.
But what would life be without “arrivals” and “ departures”? Every day, our life sees us departing from a place to arrive somewhere else. Life is filled with arrivals and depar - tures. We feel happy with arrivals. We are happy when Virat Kohli arrives at the crease, sad when he departs; we were happy when Sachin Tendulkar was at his peak, sad when he departed from the cricketing arena. We like it when money comes in, hate it when it leaves us – which is why we try ensuring that more arrives and as less of it as possible departs, a process that we have labelled as “saving”.
A good thing about our feelings about “arrival” and “departure” is that it transcends religious boundaries. It is as secular as it comes. One cannot assign a religious tag to these feelings. The feelings are human.
The only way this set of feelings can be disrupted to completely turn it on its head is through widespread hatred, as is taking root in many parts of our country, including Karnataka. Then one may end up sad with the “arrivals” and happy with the “departures”. Hatred makes people happy with others’ “departure”.
If there is one “departure” I would be happy with, it is that of “hatred” itself. Then we can continue being happy with “arrivals” – and being together – and sad with “departures” – and being apart.