All in Two Pages of a Diary

His name was Ranjay. A unique name that piqued my curiosity. When I asked him what it meant, he shrugged and said he never bothered to check. When I persisted, he replied that an astrologer once told him it meant something negative and inauspicious. Unsatisfied, I Googled it and shared the real meaning with him (at least according to Google). He just smiled, clearly unconvinced.

Being part of my daughter’s initiative, "Gift a Smile," and visiting the centre has been a life-changing or rather perspective-changing experience for me. I had never felt such deep gratitude and humility as I did in the past year since I joined her initiative. It was during one of these visits that I first met Ranjay. Though in his early twenties, he looked like a teenage child.

I learned he wanted a personal diary, so I went to the center to gift him one. He said nothing and just stared at the diary. I asked his permission before taking a picture of him with it. When I asked, he just nodded—not a yes or no, but an indifferent nod. I left to distribute gifts to other patients, but something about him drew me back.

I asked him what he would write in the diary, and for the first time, he acknowledged my presence. When I asked again, he smiled faintly and said, "I will write poetry." "Oh, wow, cool," I replied. "I’ll come again in a few days to read them. Is that okay, son?" He smiled genuinely this time and said, "Yes, I will share." I did not actually think that I will go back to meet him again.

I got busy with life, but Ranjay stayed in my thoughts. Almost a week later, I messaged the attending doctor to see if I could visit him again. She agreed, though she sounded a bit surprised. It is easier to get people to donate money than getting them to give time, she later shared the reason for her surprised response.

When I arrived, he was lying on the bed, writhing in pain. It was upsetting and I wanted to leave but since I was already there and I didn’t know what to say, I asked, “Son, do you wish to talk?” Though he was in pain, he said yes and asked of he could talk while lying down. I nodded. I inquired if he had written anything in the diary. He pointed to a nearby cupboard and requested me to remove the diary. I read it.

?"I thought you wouldn’t come again," he mentioned. I didn’t realise that he was waiting for me to come. I silently thanked god that I had come. He had written two pages, and tears filled my eyes as I read them. It was like a glimpse of a roller coaster going on in his mind and heart.

We started talking, and he told me about his family, his two brothers and one sister, his nieces and nephews, and how he missed his friends who had cut off contact. He was from Bihar, and his father, a daily wage earner, somehow managed to educate all three sons till graduation, but there were no jobs. And his illness further strained their finances.

He spoke about his simple life in Bihar, his mother sat nearby, silently weeping. I listened, overwhelmed, as he shared that he had only learned about his illness a few months ago, in January. It had been a steep downhill journey since then, with constant hospital visits, first in his hometown and now in Mumbai. “I had so many plans”. I could see tears at the corners of his eyes. Just in three months, his life had changed completely and all his dreams were broken. ?

He asked about my family and was both surprised and sympathetic that I was a single mom. I smiled, thinking how a person who is in such pain could still find kindness to sympathize with my life's troubles. His kindness humbled me.

To lighten the mood, I asked if he had a girlfriend. His answer made me sad. "I never did anything in my life—no tobacco, no drinking, no smoking, no time pass with girlfriends. My only dream was to get a government job." He was to apply for railway recruitment when he learned of his sickness.

I asked if he was angry. "I am disappointed," he said. “Life waste ho gayi”.

He listened to bhajans to calm his mind and wanted to share his feelings with others. I suggested he chronicle his story in the diary. His eyes brightened at the idea. "Yes, I will write my story." I shared my number and email id with him, asking him to share his writings with me when done. He promised he would.

When we had been chatting for almost an hour, his mother remarked that he was not crying in pain anymore. "Since morning, he was crying. Your talking has distracted him. He is smiling now." Actually, all three of us were smiling.

Almost two hours later, as I was about to leave, he asked me, "Ma'am, doctors have asked me to go home. I am returning home tomorrow. Please pray for me to get better." It broke my heart. I promised him I would, but I knew he was in palliative care. The doctors had advised him to return home as nothing more could be done. I think he also knew. But humans I guess cannot live even for a moment without hope. Even if it's hope for a miracle.

I spoke to his doctor, asking hopefully if there was any chance. "He is at the advanced stage of liver cancer. It’s a matter of 1-2 months, max," she said. I left with a heavy heart, silently praying for a miracle. I hoped to find a mail from him.

Just two weeks later, the doctor messaged me—Ranjay had passed away. I have no words to describe how I felt. I won’t even try to. He was just a stranger but in that one meeting, I got to know him as a simple boy with hopes, dreams and a lot to live for. Despite knowing the inevitable he refused to give up hope and be bitter. A kind kid who did not once curse god or his fate or question “Why me”.

Meeting Rujnay also brought me to a simple but often overlooked realisation - offering our time and attention to others is also an act of kindness. I promised myself to continue visiting the center and offer my time to any patient who wishes to talk.

For Ranjay—I hope he is in a better place. I wish I could tell him that his life wasn’t wasted. I could tell seeing his mother that, he was a good son. And I am sure the way he impacted me with his kindness and spirit, he must have impacted many others too. His name meant "a winner," and that’s exactly who he was, just a matter of perspective.

To those who wish to know, here are the The Two pages from his diary, a glimpse of the story he could'nt tell.