Despite his high counts on everything that could be counted, Swami falls sick rarely. I don’t remember exactly but in the past 25 years, I have seen him fall sick hardly 5 or 6 times, so once every 3-4 years or so. But when he falls sick, he makes everyone, including Jigneshbhai and me, sick. Everything about his sickness becomes serious. After the stressful events of the cinema and perhaps the rejection of security by the clerk at the police station, Swami felt the pressure and due to the tension, fell sick after a long time.
“I think I am going to die this time,” he said. He told me and Jigneshbhai, “I am lying on this bed and I can sense that the yamadutas are hovering somewhere nearby in the sky.”
When most people fall sick, they just sleep, and no one knows. When Swami falls sick, everyone knows. Apart from his family, me and Jigneshbhai, it also includes his office colleagues, his society friends and his social media contacts. Many people call him, contact him somehow and, oftentimes, visit him. Swami is busier when he falls sick than when he is well and working. This happened this time too.
“So many people are visiting me. I feel like I am meeting them for the last time,” he said. “I feel like I am in a train that is leaving, and people have come to say their final goodbyes.”
Jigneshbhai gave a wry smile and said, “For some of these guys who came visiting, I really hope I am seeing them for the last time.” Swami frowned. “They are not that bad. And they have come to see me, not you.”
People sent Swami get well soon cards and messages. And he forwarded them to us. People sent him fruits also. That is because this time when he fell sick, the doctor (a real one, not Somasekhar) advised him, “You need to eat well to get healthy.” When Swami told this to his various well-wishers (who they were, by the way, he decided), people sent him food of different kinds.
Most of the time when he is sick, Swami can’t eat. It was the same this time too. So Jigneshbhai and I enjoyed the food like every time. People sent him everything from apples, oranges and bananas, to almonds and cashews, and even ordered salads and soups for him. We made and enjoyed fruit juices, dry fruit milkshakes and salads. One of his colleagues actually ordered and got home delivered his favourite idli vada sambar with filter coffee, and actually messaged him that if you can’t eat this, you must be really sick. Jigneshbhai and I relished it. That meant this time Swami was genuinely sick. It wasn’t an excuse.
Swami enjoyed the attention though, Jigneshbhai and I thought. He seemed to be cheerful when he was sick when all the calls, food, greetings and emojis arrived. He enthusiastically explained who sent what and who called when, as a sign of how much people cared. “Take care of yourself, dear Swami,” Raji Periamma called. She enquired if he was taking the medicines prescribed by Dr Somasekhar. To avoid any further discussion, Swami said, “Yes, they are helping me.” Jigneshbhai and I looked at each other and hoped this doesn’t cost us heavily in the future.
Swami’s sickness eventually got better like always in the past. Most people feel better when their sickness goes. Swami felt better physically, but his mood got less cheerful. Last week when we met at the café after he recovered from his sickness, he told me and Jigneshbhai, “It’s nice to recover and meet again for coffee after a gap. But now nobody asks about my health, no one calls me and now that I can eat anything, no one sends me any food.”
I told you that Swami enjoys the attention. He is one of the few people who enjoy being sick. While he may see the messengers of God from heaven wandering above his head, the people of this earth and their attention is where his sight is firmly placed. It makes him feel special. Not that he is not for me and Jigneshbhai. But then who would want him to fall sick just to make him feel special?
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This is a chapter extract from The Good, The Bad and The Silly