From the Heart

by Sudha Nair

Mandira Sarkar shut the book on her lap after reading a page and looked at her snoring patient. Mrs. Leela was resting peacefully, her silver-grey hair, a zigzag wave converging onto her pillow, her palms turned upwards and fingers naturally curled. She looked beautiful as she slept, her mouth slightly open, her face serene. The floor had three older patients like Mrs. Leela, and a pregnant woman, all of whom went to sleep when read to… She rarely went beyond the first chapter and hardly anyone noticed if she read the same pages again.

Last summer with her friend and neighbour, Suchit, had been so different. Suchit’s dad had been admitted on this floor, and Suchit and she had spent the whole summer at the hospital. Suchit drew caricatures for the patients, asking them to pose, and making them laugh at his funny jokes. She could do none of that. All she could do was read a book that sent patients into restful sleep.

Mandy rose with a sigh and tiptoed out of the room, pulling the screen door shut behind her. She walked along the corridor, pausing outside Mrs. Bhaskar’s room, smiling as she heard her noisy, twin grandchildren inside. Sister Kia exited from the room ahead. The colonel, Mandy guessed, was already fast asleep, going by Sister’s fingers to her lips, and eyes-shut gesture.

Mandy nodded and moved on towards the pregnant woman, Janaki’s room but stopped when she heard sounds of strumming coming from across the corridor and made her way towards it instead. She hadn’t known there was a new patient on this floor.

Curiosity got the better of her as she nudged a door open. An incongruous sight met her eyes. Propped up on the bed was a young man in hospital garb, with a guitar supported by his thighs. He played on, unaware that she stood watching him.

A tap on her shoulder startled her.
Sister Kia was back, holding a tray. Mandy moved aside to let her enter. ‘You can come in if you like,’ she said kindly. ‘How are you, Anand?’
Mandy followed, right behind her.
‘Who is that hiding in your shadow, Sister?’
Sister Kia stuck a thermometer in his armpit as Mandy stepped out from behind. ‘I’m surprised you two haven’t met. This is our in-house storyteller. She’ll read to you if you like.’
‘Really?’ Anand looked so amused that Mandy felt her cheeks burn. Suchit would have said something funny back to him and made him laugh. She found herself at a loss for words.
Sister pulled out the thermometer. ‘Fever’s down but you still need rest.’ She wound the BP reader around his arm and pumped.
Mandy gazed at his face while he wasn’t looking. He had dark, straight shoulder-length hair, a clean-shaven face and almond shaped eyes.
‘BP is normal.’ Sister Kia gathered her things back on the tray and turned on her heels. ‘Later, Anand. Be a good boy now!’
Sister Kia was like a whirlwind, in and out before anyone could notice. Now that she had left, Mandy found herself alone in the room with Anand.

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Hi, I’m Anand.’
‘Mandy.’
He raised an eyebrow, forming an inverted V. ‘Just Mandy? An unusual name.’
‘Mandira Sarkar.’
‘And what do you do, Mandira Sarkar?’
‘I read.’
Mirth danced in his eyes. ‘Read? I’m feeling like a child again.’ He was shaking with laughter and she found herself laughing along. ‘Read what?’ he asked.
He was going to be fun, she could tell. ‘Stories.’
‘Ah, a storyteller.’ He made her smile despite the sombre sight of wires and tubes all around him. The eyebrow rose again, cutting a comical sight. ‘May I have the honour of you reading to me, Mandy?’
He reminded her of Suchit. Suchit… she sighed.

When she took out her book, he raised his hand. ‘Oh, I’ve read that. In fact, I’ve read pretty much everything under the sun. Do you have anything else?’
She shut the book. ‘I’ll try to find something else for you tomorrow.’
He turned to the window. ‘Do you see that tree outside? I just love this room. It has the best view, don’t you think?’ His eyes were soft, his shirt bunched up, he looked frail, weak… Yet he wasn’t like a patient. She’d never met a patient who made her seem like the sick one, sad and subdued as she was.
‘There was this place I’d been to once…It was nestled in the hills and faced a lake…’
He had so many wonderful things to tell her, so many experiences to share, and he talked easily.

Two hours had gone by when she realised she was late and there was no time to visit Janaki’s room. Sister Kia was at the reception. ‘Your mum’s mad. Where have you been?’
‘I was in Anand’s room.’
‘I’m glad he’s enjoying your company,’ Sister Kia said, smiling. ‘He’s a wonderful patient, entertaining us whenever he comes.’
Mandy cocked her head in surprise. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
She hesitated slightly. ‘He has cancer of the kidneys. He gets infections…often.’
Mandy froze.
Sister Kia’s smile was forced. ‘There’s nothing stopping him though. He runs marathons, he’s learnt four instruments, he’s performed at Carnegie Hall. There’s nothing he can’t do or hasn’t done.’
Mandy leaned against the desk to steady her trembling feet. ‘Will…Will he—’
‘He’s not the type to give up easy, but we don’t know for how long, you know…’
‘There you are! Why are you late?’ Her mum’s voice interrupted their conversation.

‘How was it at the hospital today?’ her mum asked, at their quiet dinner.
‘I made a new friend.’
Her mum worked as an admin at the hospital, kept long hours, and suggested Mandy come along during the high-school summer vacation to keep from being home alone and bored. Mandy sat at the reception in the mornings, helping with filling out forms or directing visitors to the right ward. After lunch, she wrote. Then spent an hour or two reading to the patients who could do with some company. If it hadn’t been for the lack of Suchit’s company, she wouldn’t have gone back there. She’d have played TT or Scrabble, watched movies, or visited the mall with him. But then, she also wouldn’t have met Anand.

Anand’s eyes lit up beneath his pale face when she entered his room the next day. She showed him her laptop. ‘I brought you something else to read. You’ve probably never read this before.’
‘Then I’d like to hear it.’
She began reading to him.
He was still listening intently when she finished the first chapter. Still awake. ‘It’s beautiful and interesting.’
Her heart swelled, did a little dance. She’d been hoping he’d enjoy it.

It was Suchit’s and her story. The story about their childhood, pranks, growing up, and moving away. It was so personal she’d never wanted to share it. Until now.
Because Anand was different. Anand was brave, talented. She wanted to hear what he thought of it. The proud tilt of his chin defied his emaciated looks, his face wore a smile. She felt the tight knots within her, loosening under his gaze. Reading this story to him had put her at ease, like she’d hoped it would.

‘I wrote this story,’ she found herself saying.
His eyes sparkled. ‘You write beautifully. From the heart.’

The words on the page had been a constant reminder of Suchit, difficult to pen. She recalled their last conversation, one she wished she could undo. ‘My dad died, Mandy,’ he’d said, ‘and all you’re thinking about is that I can’t stay in Bangalore?’
Her dad had died too. Suchit was all she had. ‘You’re all that matters to me.’
‘Can you imagine what my mum’s going through? She needs me with her.’
But I love you, Suchit!
The words she’d never said.

Suchit and his mum had sold their apartment in Bangalore and moved to his grandparents’ home in Chennai. Months had passed, and she still hadn’t heard from him. He was shaken by his father’s unexpected death. Still hurting, she knew, and the fact that she hadn’t been able to console him, making it worse. But in her heart, he was her first and only true love. Writing had been therapeutic, her only anchor, after he’d gone.

A buzzer sounded from the next room, breaking her reverie. She checked her watch. She was late.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

Anand was fun to read to, as she sat with him over the next few days. He laughed at the right places. ‘I never saw that coming,’ he quipped when something amused him. He was a joy to have around. Hardly like any other patient she’d known. Like her dad at times, whom she missed very much. Full of inspiration, advice, running commentaries about her lines. Some days after reading, he’d play his guitar. Mandy found herself warming up to him, looking forward to his company, even missing him the next Sunday when she didn’t go to the hospital.
After the last chapter, she stared out the window. ‘The end!’ she said, after a long pause.
It took a moment before he waved his hand. ‘What! But it isn’t finished,’ he cried.
She nodded. She’d known this would come. ‘I know. I couldn’t write,’ she said, her breath catching.
He sat up. ‘That’s not fair. What happens next?’
Her eyes misted. She looked away, trying to keep her tears in check.
There was silence except for the birds outside on his favourite tree, chirping a sweet tune. She wished she knew what would happen next.
She turned back to him, her heart heavy. ‘Can you play something?’
He picked up his guitar and began to strum. Music filled the room. She closed her eyes as he began to sing along softly, feeling the effect like magic, being transported to the world of a sweet country home in Alabama.
When he stopped, she wished he would go on.

He put aside the guitar and smiled. ‘Your turn tomorrow. I’m desperate to find out the end.’
‘I don’t think I can write anymore.’
‘Will you do it for me before my time’s up?’ His eyes crinkled. ‘I hope I’m not boring you, but I have this feeling lately that I don’t have much time.’
Though he made light of it, the words caused a wave of panic in her. All the persons she’d grown close to, or loved, had either died or moved away. First, her father. Then, Suchit. She just couldn’t bear the thought of Anand meeting the same fate.

That night, if there was anything she wanted badly, it was to finish her story for Anand. Cups of coffee, music plugged to her ears, and thoughts of Suchit kept her going. Even if it took the entire night, she was determined to finish writing her book.

When she woke up, the sun was beating on her cheeks. She found herself bent over her desk, her computer dead. She stood up with a jolt and checked the time. It was already eleven. Maybe her mum had decided not to wake her up. She got ready quickly, picked up her laptop and charger, and rushed to the hospital.

Sister Kia waved at her as she swung through the door. ‘Somebody’s looking awfully cheerful this morning.’
‘Yes, I’ll be back in a moment.’

She hurried up the stairs, two steps at a time, until she reached Anand’s room. She knocked and nudged the door open. To her horror, the bed was empty, the sheets stripped, the machines, drips, wires gone.
She called his name and began to cry.
Rushing downstairs, tears still flowing down her cheeks, she confronted Sister Kia: ‘Where is Anand?’
‘I’m sorry, my dear.’
Mandy covered her face. She couldn’t bear to hear.
‘We discharged him this morning.’
‘What!’ Relieved, she wiped her cheeks and hugged Sister.
‘He told me you’re a very talented writer.’
Mandy slumped into the nearest chair, her heart still beating hard. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. ‘I sat up all night to finish writing the book. I wanted him to hear the end.’

It was then that Sister Kia handed her a piece of paper.
‘What is this?’
‘Anand wanted you to have it. He said to tell you he was confident you’d be fine.’
She opened the note after Sister Kia left. It read:
Dear Mandy, I loved your story. I hope you give it the happy ending it deserves.
There was a number below it. Then,
Gautam is a friend and a wonderful editor. Give him a call. When I come back, I hope to see your book in print.

Mandy’s hands closed on the note and she slowly brought it to her heart. ‘I hope you’ll be fine and don’t have to come back,’ she whispered, thanking Anand for the hope he had rekindled within her, especially after last night when she had made up her mind to go to Chennai to see Suchit again.