When does one grow up? I know growing up is a continuous process, but there must be a time, a moment in one's life when one crosses the invisible line between childhood and adulthood. I do not know the general answer, just like most of the important questions of my life. But I think I know at which point, I, personally crossed that line of no return.
It was on a sleepless night three years ago.
I did not realize it then, but the more I remember of that time, the surer I become. I didn't grow a beard all of a sudden that night, neither did I wisen up considerably. I just stepped out of childhood, unceremoniously, and unknowingly.
But I do not complain of losing the carefree life. I had my fair share of fun. My childhood was prolonged....lasting almost 20 years, starting with the beginning, the birth.
I was in my college third year when my father retired from work. He was never a cautious money-savor. He spent most of his earnings for the comfort and happiness of his near and dear ones, namely us. But he had still enough left in the banks for a confortable retirement. I still had one year to go in college before I could start earning. The pressure started building on me from that moment. Though it did not affect me that much at that time. To me, the world was still a happy place, with people around me to take care of me.
Then my father was diagnosed with a problem in his spinal chord, which required immediate surgery. We consulted doctors and made the preperations. The cost was estimated at 1.5 lakhs of rupees. Pretty hard, but not undoable. My brother was there to help too. So, there were no big problems in sight. The operation itself was complex, and lasted 7 hours. A titanium cage was inserted into my father's spinal cord to strenghten it. The doctor told us it would take about three months for him to walk normally again.
The first few days after the operation were tough. He could not move a finger and needed help all the time. The nurses of the nursing home were helpful, and took care of everything. But they required that someone of the family should stay with my father for the nights, as long as he was in the nursing home. My uncles and relatives took part in it, a friend of my father stayed back one night. I, too, spent a few nights. But since I had my college going on, I could not stay back every night. However I usually did every alternate night. It was in one of those nights that I grew up.
The day was not different from other days. I went to college and from there went to the nursing home. I was prepared to spend the night, I was even provided a bed by the authorities. However, I never slept in it, and usually spent the nights sitting on the bedside chair. The visiting hour over, the people departed. I was eventually left alone with my father on the bed. Night descended, the lights went off. I was on the chair as usual, and dozzed off for a bit. But a chair is an uncomfortable place to sleep and I soon woke up, with a slight pain in my neck. I stood and stretched. My father was sleeping, not exactly like a baby, but sleeping nevertheless. For the past few nights, he got almost no sleep, due to coughing and the general discomfort. I was glad to see he finally managed to get some. I walked towards the window that occupied almost one full side of the room and looked out. The nursing home was placed right beside the Eastern Metropolitan bypass and we were on the 5th floor. From the airconditioned room I looked out through the window. It was dark outside, more profoundly felt since none of the sounds from outside penetrated into the room. It was silent except for the troubled breathing of my father, the soft noise from the monitoring instruments and the slight whirr of the air conditioning. The city was not asleep though. An endless streams of car headlights were flowing in the distant bypass that lay 5 stories below us. Cars, trucks and overnight buses moving along at great speed, and absolutely silently. Though the world seemed to have stopped for me, it has not for the rest. Outside life was in full swing.
I kept looking at the silent stream of lights, not partucularly thinking of anything and then looked at my father. And I was suddenly aware of the world. I suddenly felt vulnerable. It was as if I, for the first time in my life, truly felt the world around me. All my life, I was under a shield, a shield formed by my parents, my relatives, my friends. And suddenly, at that moment, the shield dissappeared, there was no one. I felt alone and strange, felt helpless and foreign. There was my father, lying in the bed beside me, and for the first time in my life, it is ME who is taking care of him. It seemed so out-of-order, so frightening! And in retrospect, I now think that it was at that precise moment that I finally grew up. My childhood was gone, along with the shield. I faced the world alone, for the first time. I recoiled in fear, but only for a few moments. Like billions of human before me and billions to come after me, I got over it. I faced it, like everyone does...sooner or later.
Responsibility is the key word I believe. It is what separates men from boys. Childhood and responsibility are mutually exclusive. With the appearance of the later, the former disappears forever. But there's no point crying over it, brooding and sulking. Thats how it works, thats the rule.
And there ends my boring story of self discovery and you may rest now. I'm sure your eyes are tired from reading all this nonsense, so go ahead and take a break. Look at some some pictures ;), while you're at it!
Just for the really curious and serious type, here's some info. The doctors were wrong. The cost of the operation and post operative care went up to 6.5 lakhs in the first year after the operation, completely depleting my fathers saved funds. My desperation for getting a job reached a point where I could not wait for my final exams to end. Its been three years now. My father still can't walk without support (the doctors were wrong again!), the medicines continue, the physiotherapy continues (I do not keep track of the spending any more. Money is no more a major concern for me, God has provided me with a job which provided me with that luxury). He gets severe depressions from time and again (I think I would too if I was unable to walk without support for three years), yet we survived. We go on.
