A day of celebration

March 2. A date that now has more significance for me than any other day of the year, birthday included. It is a day of acute and intense realisation. Of acknowledgement. Of bowing to the powers above. Of celebrating this wonderful gift called life...

The year was 2007. Just two years ago. It had been two months since I had returned to work rejuvenated after a four month sabbatical. Time that I had taken for reflection...and to repair the damages caused by thirteen relentless years at work which had taken a heavy toll on the body. It was an opportunity graciously accorded to me by my generous colleagues who stepped in to handle different aspects of my responsibilities so I could focus entirely on myself.

I had utilised my break well. I relaxed, read, began to exercise regularly and walked for hours along the beaches of Goa. I rid myself of unnecessary habits like smoking. I went for long drives. And I undertook extensive therapy for my severe asthmatic condition, including spending a fortnight at a holistic healing centre under the care of a renowned doctor who had treated many difficult conditions. By the time I returned to work on January 1, 2007, I was healed and rejuvenated. Entirely ready to step back and take on work with renewed vigour and energy.

So the events of March 2 came as a surprise, not just to me but also to my family, friends and colleagues who had been delighted to see me back in action.

I was on a business trip to Delhi. My wife had accompanied me this time as the upcoming weekend was Holi - the festival of colours – something we had missed celebrating for years having been away from the city. We were looking forward to catching up with our old friends. As was the norm whenever I traveled now, I exercised at the gym in the morning and proceeded for work to the office. I had a busy day ahead, full of meetings with various people. It was during one such meeting – I was in conversation with a colleague – when I started to feel a constriction in my lungs. Breathing became more laboured and I hastily ended the conversation, leaving him slightly puzzled at the abruptness with which the proceedings had come to a halt. When alone in the room, I broke into a sweat and struggled to breathe. Several puffs from my inhaler followed and I rushed out into the open for fresh air, desperately hoping for relief. Nothing worked. And finally, in a state of dizziness and asphyxiation, I stumbled into the reception and made a plea for medical help. From the corner of my eyes, I saw people converging towards me...and then I passed out. Blissfully unaware of the havoc I had unleashed around me.

Colleagues gathered around my unconscious body. One of them rushed to find oxygen. Calls were made for an ambulance. The first one to respond did not have an oxygen tank installed inside. Another call was made. I was lifted and taken down six floors in the elevator. A decision was being debated – should we wait for the ambulance or take him in a car? Will the ambulance with oxygen show up in time? Someone get a car quick!! Which is when, to everyone's relief, the ambulance containing oxygen pulled into the porch. Some colleagues jumped in. Others followed in cars. Needles and tubes were inserted to inject life into my body. I am told I fought valiantly to keep these off and needed to be forcefully pinned down to allow for the emergency treatment. The nearest hospital was a massive government institution not too far away. A call was made to my wife. She had gone to meet a close friend who had recently been blessed by twins. As I was wheeled into Emergency, a decision was made to move me to the ICU at the other end of the building. Colleagues and hospital staff ran alongside the stretcher, someone ahead paving way through the mass of people milling about so I could be reached there quickly. Another one holding up the transparent bottle containing precious life fluid. They ran a long way. And somewhere during this journey, my heart collapsed. By the time I reached the ICU, I had suffered a cardiac arrest – the breath was gone and heartbeat had stopped. Doctors put a machine on my chest to revive me. Unfortunately our public institutions are not always well equipped and the resuscitator did not start. Several doctors jumped in for CPR and with coordinated movements, they pounded on my chest. The medical report states that my heart had stopped for two minutes. The maximum it can last, someone said, was three. Finally, I breathed again.

When I regained consciousness it was past midnight and I found myself lying on a strange bed covered in a torn green sheet with needles and tubes all over my body. There was frenetic activity around me. Doctors were rushing from one bed to another. Shouting instructions at the nurses. What was I doing here?? I finally managed to get the attention of one doctor. I requested to be handed back my clothes so I could go home. I was ignored. A second attempt – more pleading than arguing now - and I was stonewalled again! No you may not go home. No you cannot meet anyone. Yes, your wife is outside. No you may not see her. STOP ARGUING!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN THROUGH?? YOU HAD ALMOST DIED AND ARE LUCKY TO BE BACK. THIS IS AN ICU AND WE HAVE PEOPLE TO ATTEND TO!! SO PLEASE JUST LIE DOWN AND SLEEP. By next morning, I realised that some co-patients in beds around me were gone...

The next couple of days were a blur. I was transferred – this time in a high tech ambulance – to a private hospital in the other end of town. It took a while for me to be able to see clearly. When the fog cleared somewhat, I got to look into the mirror...and could not believe it was me I was seeing. There was a bloated face with puffed up and bloodshot eyes. The blood vessels in my eyes had ruptured during resuscitation – not an common occurrence when you are subjected to that kind of a physical assault to breathe life back into the body, as I was informed later. My doctor in Bangalore joked that I should have had a couple of cracked ribs as well.

In the days that followed, I underwent a battery of tests. Everything turned out to be normal. I could talk, walk, see and hear. My brain functioned as before. The chances of escaping unscathed from such an ordeal are slim. I was incredibly lucky to have been returned to this world in the same condition as I had almost left it. Those that had been with me through this time said it was a miracle that I was back the way I was. My colleagues – people who till then I had seen in a different life - had saved my life. And they stayed to help with whatever else my family needed. My organisation rallied to provide support. The outpouring of concern, love and care that I received was overwhelming. Colleagues, friends and well wishers called and sent messages from around the world. Friends and relatives came in and out of the hospital all the time, helping with everything from meals for my family to researching the emergency equipment I would need to carry with me once I was out of the hospital.

I often wonder what this experience was meant to be...is there a message for me? I feel truly privileged to be here on earth, and blessed to experience such love and warmth of people. I also can't help feeling that I am on a journey someplace. After all, this was not the first such experience of my life. I have had close calls before. These have shaped the way I perceive the world and my responsibilities towards others. Many things that occupied mind share have entirely ceased to matter...and others have taken their space in my thoughts. More than anything else, I feel an intense desire to make a contribution to the world around me. A desire to not waste this precious life which has been gifted back to me. I am certain that there is a purpose for my being here. A purpose beyond what is evident. And I need to find it and do justice to it. I do not feel the urge to abdicate what I have – my job, my surroundings – as I seek that purpose. I feel they are intrinsically linked to my existence. So I try to discharge my responsibilities at work with sincerity and readily undertake any work that comes my way. I feel thrilled to have an opportunity to contribute. And I don't sweat the small stuff. Not at work and not in my personal life. I look to make moments count. Moments when people approach me for help or advice. Or when I am in the presence of talented and hard working people from who I could learn. I get a nagging feeling that I have a lot to accomplish to do justice to my existence. At such moments, I turn to write so I could at least express my wishes hoping for someone out there to hear and show me the way.

The second anniversary draws near, memories come flooding back and thoughts turn inward again. I remember with immense gratitude all the people who came close to me and my family in that one moment. I hope I will be able to do for others what they did for us.

I did not get to celebrate Holi that year with my friends. Nor have I since then. But we did get to celebrate life itself...this most precious gift of God!