Carry on, my Wayward son

I see omens.
I wish I didn't. I wish I could convince myself they were all coincidences.

2 weeks ago, I left the operation theatre at 3 am, heading across the darklit streets to my room for a well deserved rest.A premature baby had just been delivered and against the odds, had cried. He was in the NICU, nonetheless, as the odds of his living were still iffy.
As I crossed the street, I was stopped in my tracks by a tableau taking place in front of me. A young sparrow, a little more than a fistful, was lying still in the road. I wished to God it were dead, seeing it's pitiful state. Crows hopped around , their gazes devouring the sparrow already. As I came nearer , I realised the little one was not dead. It was bleeding from various spots where it had obviously been stabbed by the crows. I had delayed the inevitable by walking the road at the moment of time.

I want to tell you that I took that bird in. I cleaned it's wounds. Nurtured it these 2 weeks and watched as it grew stronger and flew for the first time. How it flew away yesterday, leaving me teary eyed and praying for it's safety.

But that would be a lie. I turned and walked away. I didn't have the heart to face any more deaths.. not even of a small creature. And not at 3.30 in the morning. But I could hear the warning bells that were sounding in my head. Death was nearby. And I knew who it was going to be.

4 hours later, after a 'sound' sleep and having refreshed myself for a new days work, I entered the NICU. I waited to hear the sister's words telling me the infant had not survived the night. But again, I was wrong. He had. I wondered if I had got it wrong. Was I reading this wrong ? In this world where they say, the flapping of a butterfly's wings can affect the course of history in another part of the world, could it be that the young sparrow had traded places with the infant ? Had I witnessed , not death, but the miracle of life getting a second chance ?

I entered the operation theatre ,wondering how I always tend to see the negative omens. Maybe it was because I was just not looking for the positive omens that exist all around me if I just open my eyes to them. Was I, with my doc eyes, dismissing the miracles of life and accentuating the darkness of death's deeds ? Could it be...

"Hey, Rosh. Did you hear ? Dr B's dad passed away today morning. Heart attack. It was sudden." R said as I passed him by.

And suddenly, I knew what the sparrow represented.

You see, only the previous day, Dr B had opened up to us.. on how he'd become a success in life, how he had struggled to move out of his dad's famous reputation and try to carve a place for himself in the city's medical society. How, over the years, he had succeeded in his aim, while simultaneously, breaking bridges with his father. How perhaps, it was time to start mending those bridges now. How the fights to assert his individuality back then, seemed so trivial now. His dad's birthday was coming up. It was a good time for a son to show his dad how much he really loved him. It was a good time to make up for lost time.

The baby sparrow had not been the infant in the NICU as I had imagined. It had not been as literal a sign as that. The omens seldom are, I find. It had been the dreams and hopes of a doctor trying to return back to the family he loved and turned away from years ago. Dreams which would remain forever dreams.

Throughout the death rites and the cremation, I admired the poise of this doctor. His knowledge had impressed me earlier... on that day, I watched a man with a lion's heart. The world saw a son coming back to perform his duties to his estranged father. I and R alone saw the man whose hopes were shattered, maintaining a dignity worthy of an armyman.

Later, in my room, I pondered, on how often, as life progresses, we take our parents for granted. We spend our young lives impressing our peer groups, later on our girlfriends and seniors. Our parents get sidelined as we rush ahead in the ratrace. The hand that held the bicycle when we were 5 years old, now does not even warrant a wave of the hand as we drive by in our fancy wheels. They rejoice in our success, wish we were nearer by,wished we'd call more often... or atleast remember them more often.

And one fine day, it is too late to undo all that we've done.

As I beat myself up, wondering how bad a son I too was, I sought solace in the company of friends. But there wasn't any that night. The terrible mobile service I have ensured that I couldn't call up my parents too.
But then, solace is a funny thing too. You find it in the least expected place. Late that night as I decided to retire to bed, I decided to watch an episode of 'Supernatural'. The lyrics of the song that appeared at the start of that particular episode ( the last episode of Season 2 ) stunned me and I sought out the full song.
"Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more."

It's "Carry on, my wayward son" by Kansas. The video too is apt for this post. It depicts the 2 brothers meeting.. and then losing their dad. The lyrics and the guitarwork are par excellence.

Do me a favour. Don't delay what you wanna tell your parents. Time is a lot shorter than you think sometimes. If you can find the time to spare for that girl who laughs at your silly jokes, surely there's time for the hand that fed you little 'rice aeroplanes' when you were a kid and waited for you to come back from school... every day. Because while you may have grown too old for those silly rice plane, somewhere there's a mom and dad who'd love to feed them to you again. For old times sake.