Our time has come

It happened one morning. I received a call from my mother. ‘You have to come to Noida today.’ Usually Mummy is very considerate about my lab timings and personal obligations. I could gauge from the tone of her voice that I had to leave everything I was doing today, and I had to go over to her.  No matter what.  I did not think twice. I told her that I would be there.

I kept wondering what could be so important to make my mom who always says ‘Come whenever you want to, whenever you are free’ so emphatic today. After some subtle enquiries I found out that today was the day when the foundation stone for ‘Tirupati Eye Centre and Research institute’ would be laid.

During my drive to Noida, my mind was wandering. It meandered in our early childhood when my mother would read out stories of Albert Schweitzer, the German doctor who set up a small hospital in an impoverished area in Africa, where he tended to thousands of needy patients in the worst possible conditions. It required a lot of sacrifice and hard work. My mother hoped that we would inculcate these values. The other story that my mother often told us was of Marie Curie, the hard working woman scientist who received two Nobel Prizes for her pioneering work in Physics.

It was no surprise when after two decades or so, two of my sisters became eye specialists and I drifted in research in Biophysics.

I was pulled into the reality by the sudden halt of my car. I was here. I saw my parents waiting for me. ‘Where is Mohita ?’ I asked

Mummy told me ‘Snowy is very unwell. She is tending to him, but I am sure she will be here soon. Let’s go to the site.’

As  we drove in the late afternoon, I was thinking again. Of Mohita. That determined girl who has skilled hands and a steely willpower. I have seen her growing up in front of me, crossing over a million hurdles and obstacles   to come to this point when she will be starting a journey, sailing towards her cherished dream.  This girl does not know the meaning of ‘can’t’. If she decides something, then she just has to do it, even if hell freezes.

We arrived at the site where a small crowd of few of Daddy’s staff members and a pundit waited for us. I stared at the site. Long grass bales glistened in the afternoon sun. There was nothing but the smell of earth and grass. And the sun.

My parents sat away from the site of the puja. I was made to sit with the pundit. I looked anxiously at the entrance. No one. Where was Mohita ? I looked at my mother in concern. She nodded at me, encouraging me to go on. The pundit starting chanting the mantras.

Suddenly there was a mini-commotion. The pundit stopped chanting. I looked up. And smiled. There she was. Dr. Mohita Sharma. She alighted from the car and sashayed inside, with her staff members following her. The star had arrived. When she walks, the minions step aside. Such is her presence.  

She came and sat with me. I looked at my parents again. They were both smiling at us. What a beautiful moment it was.

The pundit started chanting the mantras again. The fire was lit. We sat there, following his instructions. There was a hush in the air. I could hear the long blades of grass swaying around us. An unreal feeling took over me.

I had an out-of-body experience and I floated above us, looking at us from far away. My dad, sitting there, looking at us, nodding. This was his dream. A hospital with a research institute. How hard he has worked for this. How many emotional and physical setbacks and challenges he has overcome for this. He has always been patient, always been optimistic. I looked at my mother, the backbone of this dream, the one who would optimistically build up dreams for Dad and Mohita and push them, cajole them, persuade them, remind them to make them into reality. A million times their dream was threatened and destroyed, and they would patiently build it up from scratch again.

I thought of Vasavdatta, studying Medicine many, many miles away. I thought of Alma, at that moment studying in her coaching center. I thought of Sitab, working on his homework, clutching his pen in his small hands.

And then I looked at Mohita, the person who is doing this all.

I looked at the wasteland around me. In some years, this would transform into a hospital where patients would be walking in and out. Maybe then, we would look back and remember this moment. We may be here today, gone tomorrow. But this moment will always remain, a part of this universe.  

I thought of the many miles, the many years we all have travelled to be here. I looked at the past, waving goodbye to us. And I looked at the future, smiling at us. That moment suddenly became timeless. A moment without a beginning or end. Our moment. Nothing can stop an idea whose time has come. Yes, the time has come. Our time has come.