Departure

Departure

It was year 2008 and the Orkut storm had swept India like a widespread infection reversing the earlier known boundaries of communication. I too could not stay away from this little revolution happening on our computer screens. The initial impulse was to search for our first and the closest school friends. The shere excitement unwrapped as we found the whereabouts of our 'chuddy buddy' friends, their careers', their families and got reunited with them after decades. Somehow, it took back to the old treasured memories of our school days, our white washed classrooms and our transition from childhood to youth together.

Friend requests started pouring in and slowly a chain connected to the old bunch of DAVians we used to proudly call ourselves. Mostly, all of them were settled after marriage. I, however stood out being single. As a surgeon in one of the most reputed hospitals in New Delhi, I lived a happy & a content life as Dr. Manav Bhutani. One fine day, I was poked by one of my school mates, Dr. Reema Wahi. She had continued with me through the medical college in our small town where we graduated as doctors many years ago. Back then, we were good friends but had lost touch as we went ahead for our respective specialisations'.

Reema had shared her number. She was now a reputed gynaecologist, also settled in New Delhi. We decided to go the traditional way to meet over a cup of coffee rather than messaging endlessly. Finally, we were at my favourite place-Cafe Lota at the Barakhamba Road. Reema was still that charming, affectionate and radiant girl. I must say she wasn't picture perfect yet her intelligence and confidence set her apart from other women. I was awestruck to see her after years, from short hair she had transitioned to long tresses, her eyes submerged in dark kohl made them look wide, a nude lipper painted into her perfectly shaped petal lips, her cheeks needed no artificial colour, she adorned a natural radiance of her inner feminine beauty. Dressed in a simple fab India kurta matched with a floral print long skirt, the scarf around her neck made her look ethereal. When she spoke, her long danglers moved like waves. She had a vibrant persona. We had been classmates for almost 19 years, it was however, on that day I noticed her as being a beautiful women.

We chatted over an overfilled cup of coffee, with a splash of chocolate sauce floating over artistically. Before we could start our conversation and share our lives this far, Reema burst into an unexpected laughter. I was a little startled, yet the man in me was bowled over by her giggle that lit up her big kohl eyes as if leaving a magic on my mind. She spoke sarcastically, “Dr. Manav Bhutani! I can't believe, you are one of the best surgeons in India today. As friends we always knew you will excel in life. Do you remember how our Hindi teacher Mrs. Kohli would scold you over your poor marks and once taunted that she fears her son who shares your name does not becomes a complete nut like you.” Reema chuckled. Her smile was magical, her face sparkled like thousand stars. I replied, “Yeah! I remember. I am sure Mrs. Kohli won't believe today that this nut is a surgeon who opens and closes many hearts.” We both laughed.

What began as a coffee date, turned into dinner as we chatted endlessly. The sun set, giving way to a glorious moon watching over us secretly. As we finished our dinner and walked slowly towards home, to my surprise, Reema proposed to me. I was bowled over. It took me a while to realise what was actually happening. My first response was 'yes', in fact a very very loud 'YES'. I asked her to rethink for one more day till she was sure that I was the right man for her. However, I danced my way back home. Although I told her to reconsider her decision, inside I felt fearful that incase she says 'no' the next day, I would be ruined! I must confess, I had an anxious sleepless night. I came out of my slumber only when she messaged the next morning. I still remember the text. It read, “Hi Doctor. You may be a famous heart surgeon, but believe me, from now on, your heart is mine for a lifetime!” Another text followed, “Manav, we have known each other from our ABC to the human anatomy days, so there is no room to rethink. Meet me at 5PM. Let’s go ahead stitching our lives together”. She further added, “I have always admired you as a friend and yesterday after spending a day with you, I completely fell in love with you”.

We met the same day. The Adam in me had finally found my Eve! There wasn't any point in delaying. We both were already 32. Mature, single, settled. Though Orkut breathed its last soon, it gave both of us a lifetime connection. Within a month, we were Dr. Reemaand& Manav Bhutani. It was so easy to relate to Reema. Same school, same medical college, same friends, same profession and similar memories. There was no point of conflict or struggle whatsoever.

What a blessed life we had. Both reputed doctors, in the most sought after hospital in New Delhi. After two years we planned our first child. There was no point in waiting further. And soon we both welcomed our cute little son. We named him 'Manveer' and life suddenly opened a gateway to sleepless nights, diapers, giggles and lullabies. Manveer completed our perfect life. I often wondered, what else could one ask from God. Gratitude was what I uttered 24x7. People struggled for happiness and here I had a home full of heaven. It always transpired that I must have done some nice karmas, that I was blessed with the most beautiful women as my wife, the best profession and a lovely son who filled our hearts.

Life went on. Four years passed blissfully. Manveer was in a preschool. He was my heart, my source of light. Reema took a 2 year sabbatical due to some health issues and was slowly turning into a short tempered and frustrated women. I understood how she wasn't able to balance her career and her biological clock together. Being hot headed and an over ambitious women, she couldn't handle her break. The atmosphere at home slowly started changing. The love songs got replaced with frequent arguments and sometimes, many days of silence followed. Yet I understood it was a difficult phase for Reema. She had more responsibilities than me.

One day, as we put Manveer to sleep, Reema brought coffee and we sat in the lawn. It was a moonless cloudy night. Frequent sound of insects filled the gap that was now between us. Reema shared that she had applied for further studies and received a call from US. She wanted me to accompany her and settle abroad. All these years, I always listened to her and never got angry as I loved her and understood her emotional turmoil.

But this was unexpected. I spoke, “Reema, we have the best careers here, a beautiful home, loving families, what more do we need. There was no point in leaving the country and start afresh at this age, when we have a son to think of and nurture him with the values and culture that we are so proud of. I have never felt the need to seek for more in life, especially abroad; when we have the best of everything here.” Yet, Reema was adamant and stubborn to the extent that she wanted me to either accompany her or leave her. I was gutted. I had no strength to argue and agree with her over this matter. I tried hard for months to change her mind. But she was too reluctant to listen and looked determined to take a call between the opportunity and me.

A few months passed. I had a conference in Germany for a fortnight. I messaged Reema while boarding the flight, “We will discuss over this matter when I return and find a solution. I love you and can't see you stressed out. You are my strength and my weakness, Manveer is my heart. I can't live without both of you”. Reema hadn't taken my calls while I was in Germany, neither did she text. After finishing my work, I flew back to an empty home.I saw a note under the fridge magnet. My tears blurred each letter as I tried to read. She wrote, 'Manav, when you get this note, Manveer and I would have gone. I love you, yet I love my career more. These two years when you have been rising in your research and practice, I felt frustrated to see how my life became static. I don’t see any point in staying here, I have dreams to fulfil, aspirations that stand a good chance in the US. Mom and dad are going along with me. They will take care of Manveer while I do my research. I tried hard for months to convince you. Yet I know, you would have never agreed. I would request you not to contact us. I don’t want you to get in touch with Manveer. Please hold no grudges but I had no other option. Don’t look for us if you really love us.'

The years that followed, tore my soul apart. As if I lost myself forever. My world came crashing down. It was impossible to ever recover from their departure, without any fault of mine. I was devastated. My dreams to see my son grow ended.

28 years later:

I tried hard to contact Reema but in vain. My last memories of them were the albums and my laptop filled with many pictures of Manveer till he was four. Thereafter, I searched Facebook with every possible name, the friend lists of common friends, emailed several times to Reema with no response ever. I could never catch a glimpse of both of them. The advent of technology had made the world shrink, yet I was the only man in this world thrown into a primitive world. The inner emotional turmoil continued , yet being a surgeon I was committed to all those families who came with a hope that my hands would revive the ailing hearts of their loved ones.

The deep wounds of the separation made me sick. I succumbed to acute liver cirrhosis. Years passed and my condition worsened. There was no further hope of my survival except a liver transplant which was a hopeless option as it required a blood relation. How ironical? One of the best heart surgeons in India, hope to innumerable patients, blessed with the most charismatic life, and today struggling for my own health. Everything came tumbling down. As my health worsened, I had to quit my job. I was fighting for my own survival, I was no more a doctor who had the miracle hands. I was a patient who had lost the will to live. The news of my illness spread like a wild fire across the medical fraternity. It was shocking for everyone who heard. Phone calls, messages from across the world came pouring in. I had a flourishing career as a heart surgeon and now the curtains were set to drop.

Meanwhile, I wrapped up my practice and moved to our holiday home in Puducherry, designed wall by wall by Reema and me. It was an abode we used to visit every year. A nest that engraved the most fond memories, of our once envious life. It was a place where my son was conceived.

It rained that day heavily. As if clouds had unburdened. The sound of the beach nearby rustled in my ears. The mystic matipal incense that was Reema's favourite smoked her reflection in the air. The little chirps of birds reminded me of Manveer. Life had been challenging since then. The note that Reema left had hurt really bad. I wasn't a strong man. I was a simple, ordinary doctor who felt peace in a close knit family but was left desolated.

Meanwhile, before leaving New Delhi, I had repeatedly got an email from a young heart surgeon in Boston, who wanted me as his guide for his final research papers. He had been pursuing for my consent since over a year now. At this juncture of life, I wanted to withdrew from the professional world so I had denied his request. Yet, this young man was adamant and quite determined to have his will. I left a message for him after repeated requests. I wrote,' Dear Dr. Mevel, I do not know whether I would be of any help. I am retired and shifting to my holiday home. I apologise but you can contact some other surgeon. I am enclosing a list of the best with my recommendation letter. Wish you success.'

An hour later, my mobile pinged. Dr. Mevel had replied. He wrote, 'Dr. Manav Bhutani. You are right, there are many well known surgeons in your list. Yet I want my final assessment to be done under the guidance of the world's best! I have boarded the flight and I will be reaching your home in the next 30 hours. I hope I will be welcomed.' Back home, I kept watching clock in the living room. After years I had come across someone as stubborn as Reema who knew how to have his way. Strangely, I waited for Dr. Mevel. He had touched a chord.

It was getting late enough to be worried. I once again stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched street dog that was lying down miserably near the gate, there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Rain water had puddled under the lamp post. A breeze ruffled the mango tree in the courtyard and a few twigs fell down and broke. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Did I hear a soft knock at the door? I turned back.

The servant opened the door. I gazed from my balcony. A tall, handsome young boy of around 28 years entered. I stepped in towards the living area. It was Dr. Mevel. He was busy looking curiously at each wall of my home that was almost a museum of myself, Reema and Manveer's photographs. I cleared my throat, he turned around. We gazed each other. Something stirred deep inside, my heart started pounding faster, my breath flowed in asymmetric rhythmic patterns, I started feeling anxious. We shook hands and sat across from each other. He asked for a cup of coffee, with a splash of chocolate sauce. The servant took the order. A pin drop silence embraced our home.

Dr. Mevel handed over a note to me. It read:

“Dear Manav, I know I do not deserve your forgiveness. Ever since I left you without saying a word, I have achieved the best of the materialistic world; name, fame, awards. Yet, inside there remained a vacuum that no one could ever fill. I feel like an empty abyss. I took your Manveer away and today, I send him back to you as Dr. Mevel, one of the most promising heart surgeons in the US. I confess to be one of the worst women ever, yet if you allow, I want to reunite with the world's best companion. Will you? From our ABC days to the human anatomy ones; I want to spend our grey hair days together,forever. We know about your illness.The only way Manveer and myself can repay your debt is by becoming a donor. Please allow us this opportunity. I apologise and desperately wait for you. Manveer is carrying the tickets. We meet at New Delhi tomorrow at 5 PM. Please come.

Yours Reema.”

My heart sank and tears flowed.