It was December 2019 and COVID-19 had not yet begun its ugly streak in India. My mother, 68, was admitted to the JIPMER hospital in Puducherry for chronic kidney disease; the same hospital where she worked as a nurse for more than three decades until her retirement in 2010. She was making good progress. We even celebrated Christmas in the ward. Unfortunately, the very next day, she breathed her last.
On her last day, she was chatting with friends and family when her heart stopped. During her last days in the hospital, she would discuss a range of topics from things to people. And of the persons she mentioned during her last couple of days, Dr. Rajalakshmi was one.
My mother’s acquaintance with her began in the late 1970s. During her nursing education at the CSI Hospital, Erode, my mother was tutored by Dr. Rajalakshmi who was a young obstetrician. Post-marriage, my mother moved to Puducherry. But as was customary for young married women to be at their mother’s place for childbirth, my mother returned to Erode. Dr. Rajalakshmi, who was doing her private practice in her clinic, was the one to conduct the delivery and I was born. Later, whenever my mother spoke about my birth, she fondly remembered Dr. Rajalakshmi telling her in a friendly way, “Hey, it’s a boy for you.” While I never gave much thought about it, my mother’s death caused me to view it differently.
Then the year 2020 rolled in with its devastating wave of COVID-19 and nationwide lockdown. My birthday that year (July 14) was different: my first birthday without my mother physically around. I was contemplating many things when my mother’s words about Dr. Rajalakshmi popped up. I picked up my phone and googled for “RC’s Clinic, Erode” (the name as best as I could recollect hearing from my mother). The Web gave a landline number. Out of sheer curiosity, I rang it up, half-dreading a message of absentia or a wrong number. A senior female voice answered and responded to my query, “Yes, I am Dr. Rajalakshmi.”
Unbelievable! I was overjoyed and at a loss for words at the same time. I was talking to the doctor who held me in arms before any other human did. I introduced myself as the son of Sitraleka Ponnaiyan, nursing student from Erode. It only took a couple of seconds for Dr. Rajalakshmi to recollect my mother, as she particularly asked, “Is that the girl from Kanjikovil?” “Yes, madam,” I replied, astonished at her memory and ability to recall. On asking how she remembered my mother even after 40 years, the gentle reply was, “Your mother’s name is uncommon. Moreover, we are old practitioners; we know!” Then she asked me for a photograph of my mother just so she could double-check the identity. After speaking for some more minutes, I hung up the phone committing to visit her the next time I travel to Erode. Then I messaged her two of my mother’s old and recent photographs. Back came the reply, “Yes, I’m sure; She is my girl!”
On July 29, 2021, with travel restrictions eased, I had the good fortune of meeting Dr. Rajalakshmi. After fixing an appointment, I rode to her clinic. As I reached the premises, the hospital seemed to call out to me “Welcome back, little one!” I chuckled to myself that this little journey of mine, begun a year ago with a misspelled hospital name and an unfamiliar doctor, finally saw the light of the day.
I took the stairs knowing that I was walking back in time. Inside, a bespectacled and cotton-sari-clad lady was walking along the corridor. She gestured towards me and I approached her. I began, “Madam, I am here to see Dr. Rajalakshmi.” Back came that familiar reply, “Yes, I am Dr. Rajalakshmi.”
It was a moment of wonderment. I reintroduced myself. She walked me into her office and offered me a cup of green tea. Dr. Rajalakshmi was charismatic and confident. Her demeanour displayed the elegance of a seasoned academic and clinician. She spoke about my mother and how my mother was a sincere nurse who never shied away from her duties. It was so good to hear about my mother from her. She also introduced me to her son who is a practising psychiatrist at the hospital. I sought her blessings before leaving, promising to visit her the next time with my father.
What a beauteous connection. I had seen Dr. Rajalakshmi for the first time. No, the “second time” in my life.
Mom too would have been happy on the other side, I believe.
