Turning 54 on a Rainy Day !

A few years back, a brilliant artist friend of mine, Dhanaraj Keezhara did a celestially beautiful painting series. He called it “I shall die in a heavy rain”. It’s a metaphor, but things could get literal, the way it has been raining in Kerala, and especially in Karakulam, where I have my earthly little jail, I am locked in, most of these days, voluntarily, in fear of a tiny little non-living piece of a creature. 
And here, today, I turned 54. That fortunately is not a metaphor. I did, and have crawled my way into the mid 50’s.  The morning got me a few good birthday wishes, almost all virtually. Thanks to everybody. I am wishing for more of them. It gives me that feeling of “you are still remembered”. Even I was reminded by facebook, and so owe my birthday to Zuckerberg (no offence meant to my parents, my father is no more, and my mother does not read english!). One friend called me all the way from somewhere in America. I apologise for not remembering where he called from. Most of my friends who live in America live there, and that’s all. Remembering where friends actually live shouldn’t anymore be expected from us, mid-fiftians (English Profs, pardon me),  especially when the last 20 months of pandemic and the 6 months of spread-out monsoons, or to be more precise, just heavy rains, have numbed that part of the brain, and perhaps the heart! So, one is left with a little less of remembering and less of empathy! We are detached! At 54, in these times, expect that from us!
So, before I go about completing this journal note on my own birthday, here is a caveat, please, please do not consider this as self-indulgence. It looks like it. It is not, I vouch, it’s serious.
So, what’s the bleak picture all about- the metaphor of dying? The virus that is on us has evolved x number of times. Yes, the scientists are clueless, the numbers they throw around is because they dont have a time machine. We, engineers have one. So, when we don’t know, we use ‘x”, which in the colloquial “is a number” (for mallus this translates to “oru number aanu”). Meanwhile, forget “x”, we human beings have not evolved in these times, even once. We were expected to- ecologically, economically, socially, politically, responsibly, even reproductively - evolve and fit sensibly into the earth. But, after 20 months of a pandemic, 3 peaks done, more than 266 million affected, 5.2 million dead, we are “business as usual”. Extract more, produce more, exploit more, buy more, travel more, dump more, pollute more and possibly even reproduce more! 
And then in my little state, Kerala, at the deep south end of the Indian peninsula, which has the sea on both sides and the Indian ocean below, with the only land across Srilanka happens to be Antartica; it’s oceans all around. We live on the edge. And it’s rains all through. We have had unprecedented, erratic and strange rains, that have no time borders. Scientists say the Arabian sea is heating up,and like never before. We had atleast eight cyclonic activities there, where we never had even one. And whenever the Bay of Bengal gets a cyclonic activity, we in Kerala get rains, deluge and landslides. Infact, some of those cyclones even crossed the peninsula. Climate Lunacy,I call that.  
I actually feel the oceans traversing over the peninsula like an atmospheric river, that breaks the dam over our heads, every now and then and drenches us in flashes. It’s not cats and dogs anymore! Looks like the dinosaur is here. Talking of metaphors, that is a better one. Climate Change is a dinosaur, we better don’t have in our rooms!
And what’s the rossy picture? I turned 54. I did not die in the heavy rain, nor by the virus. I could have. I have turned dark brown in the face, white on my head and peppered in the beard. I still have most of my friends intact, though I lost some of my family! I am still of adequate irritant value to those who don’t have the time machine, and hence continue to read the signs wrong, or so I believe. I have grown more passionate over time, but less of grit and energy. Yes, exactly like that Norwegian study that was reported in “The Guardian” last year of people at, guess where, 54!. I have less to do with the public nowadays. I sleep more, watch movies, eat better and love things that have no value for others. I try writing articles and most of them never get finished. The lucky ones get published.  Among the non-living things, the antique excite me, the new is boring. And for the living, it’s the other way round ! I don’t pick up all my calls. I wait and see whether the ring stops, and then I pick it up. This gives me a sadist delight. Some lucky ones get my call back. Most lucky ones don’t. 
But the young ones, surely get back my call. Because, they make me feel old and grand. Like one of those 20-something brand new friend of mine from Mumbai greets me today , “Happy Birthday unclelish grandfather”. Let me reply to that grand daughter of mine, says me!
Happy Birthday to the 54! On a rainy day!

My Onam this year

(posted in FB the day before Onam 20th August 2021)

The day before, a journalist called me, "We are doing a story on Onam celebrations, would like to know how it is this time for you?". My response was quick. "I am not celebrating Onam this year." She then quickly heard my story, empathised, wished me well, and promised to leave me alone. A thanks is due for her.

It was in February, that our family was hit by the virus. It kept us in a hospital for three weeks, disconnected, except for the caretakers, the phone calls, the room, the beds, a few books and the windows to a frightened world. By the time we left the hospital, I had lost my father and an uncle, both parents, for we were literally brought up by four people. My mother and I ended up with damaged lungs, an intensively medicated body and a shattered mind. The only solace were my family, my brothers, relatives and hundreds of friends, their words and prayers, that kept us alive, not to forget the doctors and nurses.

The next few months, were a life full of lessons on the pandemic. My mother slowly recovered, fortunately, and she has to have a permanent caretaker at home, both for care and for company. I literally walked into a Long Covid.

It first started with just the pain in the legs, sometimes irritating, giving me sleepless nights, insomnia, they call it. Then it was the foggy brain. My writing and reading went for a toss. Was I getting into depression ? Perhaps. Many friends also fell for the virus. A few did not survive. It left me more emotional than I could believe. I had a long talk with a psychiatrist friend. “A moderate attack of PTSD”, he told me. Couple of months of very low doses of medicine, and I was back into my work. I read. I wrote. I spoke and had meetings and sessions. I was surely limping back to life.

But the pain in the leg wasn't going away. And a new problem also popped up. While I loved doing long interactive talk sessions, I was getting breathless, increasingly so, worse than what I was left with from the infectious days. By July, I was getting blackouts when speaking.

And then the pressure to vaccinate. "Was it safe for people with Long Covid symptoms to get vaccination?" Doctors were always reassuring, but none emphatic. My doctor said, “lets do an ECG and a few other tests”. The ECG turned abnormal. It was followed with an Echo Cardiogram and a Tread Mill Test, and soon I was lying in the Cath lab for an Angiogram. I had three blocks in the heart. Angioplasty was done. Three stents were placed. Almost instantly, I was breathing better and the pain in the leg disappeared. The links were clear.

The keywords of my diagnosis - “Sinus Trachicardia”, “Exercise induced Ischemia”, “Left Ventricular Hypertrophy”. “Left Bundle Branch Block(LBBB)” and yes, the pictorial discovery of three blocks, two somewhere “upstream”, at 80% and one “downstream” at 99%. It was worth a sight to see the sudden flow of blood into parched blood vessels, when the stent was placed. The procedure was painful, but it was an amazing moment.

I had the question, "Was this a Covid induced problem?". "This is my fourth such case", said the doctor. The senior one told me,"one can’t be sure, but Covid is causing damages to multiple organs". I also read a report in The Guardian that quoted studies that showed Long Covid had more than 200 different symptoms and were affecting atleast 10 organs, the main ones being the lungs and the heart.

I continued to gorge literature, something my dear sister, a doctor, has told me not to do, fearing a psychological impact. She could be right! Nevertheless, I ended up with some serious findings. Yes, such impacts are possibly Covid related. Now, don’t ask me how I can be sure. I am not. Nobody is.

Now, I am stuck with a renewed dilemma – to vaccinate or not! I do run a risk, if I were to contract Covid again. But I run a bigger risk if I am vulnerable to life threatening clots or other heart issues, that are being reported on post-vaccination in rare cases, though.

So, here I am, paranoid about leaving home, fearing sitting or travelling in any crowded place and yet, would love to vaccinate and join the “protected” crowd, but caught in a peculiar risk, that nobody seem to be able to reassure me on. Added to that is the sheer uncertainty that I face of the future, in life and work. It’s just not normal for me anymore!

I believe there must be possibly a huge number of people, living silently, not knowing how to handle their own diverse crisis – physical, mental, medical, even financial , with no sustained help coming their way. In remembrance of all whom we lost, and to be together with the helplessly suffering thousands, and affected millions, this time, no Onam celebrations for me!

Praying for that gift, that will give us back our old wonderful world!

Be humble, be thankful, this Onam.