Gafs

I don’t remember, exactly, the day we met. Like most of the long relationships that I have had. But I knew his brother, who was a year junior to me, in school . I was a constant visitor to the same building since my childhood best buddy stayed three floors above him.
I still remember the first week of the last month of 1994. I was on my way to the inauguration of my friend’s agrochemical plant in Vapi, Gujarat . He came along in his white Ambassador and we all piled on to it. The journey was a riot with laughter, curses, ribaldry, singing and a lot of noise. We bonded instantaneously and the gang met regularly, occasions and otherwise, for almost a decade.
He was the perfect car steerer I have ever driven with. To him, driving was akin to any of the fine art. To him, the hallmark of the finest driver was that the water in the stomach of the passenger should not ripple whilst driving.
Patience was his virtue. To the extent of driving people mad :}
I had the privilege of being his preferred navigator for most of the journeys throughout the country. A teetotaller, he would always be the one to tempt us to have a party. He loved to be the bartender, measuring and preparing our drinks. He was an excellent cook and never tired taking our requests. He was the man for emergencies and responded each and every time to a dear one’s call of distress, even during unearthly hours.
He was a devout muslim but blended naturally with all the customs and rituals of every religion. He danced on christian weddings. He celebrated all the hindu festivals. Experienced as he was in carrying all kinds in his big white ambassador.
Three years ago, I had never heard about a health condition named sacral chordoma until he was diagnosed with one. The doctors said that it was a rare occurrence, and rarer even, for a young healthy man of forty.
The tumour was benign, but it had trespassed the nerves and had eaten into the bones. The doctors said that the only process was to operate and remove everytime the tumour grew. They referred to a patient who was operated 11 times before it stopped growing.
The second operation occurred the next year and colostomy was performed. A simple word which implies that you are sawn off from a side and catheters attached with disposable bags for passage of your wastes.
The pain became unbearable, to the extent that morphine proved to be in vain. He wept and called for help and I did not know what was to happen. He told me one day and I quote, “ Jaaane ka gham nahin hain, lekin tum logo se bicchadne ka gham zarroor hoga”.
On the 30th of June 2007, he was shifted to the home for terminally ill patients on the steps of Mount Mary.
4th of July, 2007, I headed towards town. I wrapped up my work in the afternoon and decided to meet Gafs (as he was fondly called by his gang).
I walked into the hospital run entirely by nuns and enquired at the reception. One of the nuns guided me to the floor and left when I assured her that I would find my way. I passed through a couple of rooms and peeked into the third. I could not recognize him on the bed nearest to the door. I stood beside him and took one look at his ravaged body. I ran my fingers through his hair and rested it on his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked at me, resignedly. Stroking his forehead, I told him to go to sleep. I do not know whether he heard me or not, but acceptingly he shut his eyes and calmness spread on his face. I stood there, not knowing what to do next. The doctor on her round saw me and asked whether I was a relative. I nodded and she beckoned to follow her. She asked me to be seated and excused herself to continue her round.
She was back after what seemed to be an eternity. “Do you know the condition of the patient?”
I shook my head in the negative. “It does not look like he might survive even for a week”, she was very clinical about it.
I thanked her for the information and walked slowly down the stairs. It was just a few minutes back that the realization sank in that Gafs was going. I sat in the car and wept. I called a friend. And all of us decided to meet in the evening.
I came back in the evening and saw a friend calling out to Gafs. I excused myself out of the room and fled downstairs, unable to come to terms with reality.
It was around 11.30 in the night, as I was headed towards home, when I got a text message from his brother. It read “Abdul Ghafoor passed away around 11.15 pm.”
Time flies and tonight is one year since Gafs left us.
He lived every single day and taught me that it’s the life in the years that count and not the years in the life.