Gulabi Akka

A raging storm pierced through the tranquility of the night. With each deafening thunderclap, the tiny droplets on the foggy window sparkled, mimicking the hurricane of emotions swirling inside my heart. I was back on the familiar benches of the hospital, and so was my father, fighting for his life once again. The nightlamp highlighted his lean silhouette and the years of health struggles he had suffered in his life. But not even fate can defeat his determination to live. I gently squeezed his hand in assurance, and a smile spread across his sleepy face. His smile and the thunder echoed around me, reminding me of an angelic face that gave me much-needed hope a decade ago.

Years ago, my father had been admitted to a famous hospital in Visakhapatnam to receive surgical treatment for a severe health condition. I had left my flourishing career and friends behind to take care of him and was struggling with his worsening health and uncertain future. The only ray of hope was the doctor, who selflessly treated him. After a tormenting battle to arrange for his rare blood group, we were ready for the day that would decide whether my father would breathe normally again.

He was taken to the operating room, and I was standing there comforting my mother and sisters that "everything will be alright." But will it? I didn't know. The promise I made to my mother was hanging by a thread. The storm brewing inside me turned into a tsunami, and I ran as fast as possible but didn't know where to go. I threw myself to the ground and sobbed inconsolably. Tears were rolling down my cheeks when suddenly I felt someone trying to hold my hand.

I turned, and all I could see through my teary eyes was the hazy figure of a little girl smiling and trying to hold my hand tight with her tiny little hand, and she said, "Akka." Akka is an affectionate reference to an elder sister. As I wiped away my tears, I saw that beautiful, angelic girl, no more than three years old, trying to talk me out of my misery. She spoke in Telugu, a language I wasn't familiar with then, but her smile and laughter were contagious. And for a moment, I forgot everything and listened to her talking nonstop. Soon, her mother came and took her away, and I immediately started missing her.

The day ended with the fantastic news that the surgery was a success and that my father would be fine soon. The next day, outside the cardiac unit, I heard that familiar call again. "Akka, Gulabi Akka," and my face lit up again. The little girl jumped on my lap and started talking. Was she narrating stories about her friends, play, or parents? However, I loved it when she called me Gulabi Akka, though I kept wondering why she called me that.

Her parents were there, and they appeared nervous and restless. Upon asking, her mother told me that the cheerful little girl suffered from an atrial septal defect( a medical condition that causes a hole in her heart). The news shook me to my core. No, no, no, this can't happen; she is a cheerful, chirpy bird meant to stay happy and play and spread love and happiness all around, I exclaimed.

The day went tough, and all I could do was try and imagine the insufferable pain she must be going through, yet she never missed a moment to live happily and smile. She probably didn't know that she was suffering from a life-threatening condition, but she sure does know her pain. My heart was filled with love and respect for that little girl.

Soon, she was admitted to the cardiac dormitory, and this was the best thing to happen to the patients there, making them smile at her silly actions and innocence. But her face lit up upon seeing, and she would shout at the top of her lungs, "Gulabi Akka, Gulabi Akka." It took me some time to realize that mostly I had been wearing pink dresses, leading to her loving nickname for me. I spent as much time with her as possible while my father was recovering faster than anticipated.

Three days later, it was time to prepare for the discharge of my father and return home in a day, surrounded by a family with overflowing love in their hearts. But that was also the day of surgery for that little girl. The day passed, but there was no news about my angelic friend. It was hard to see her parents struggling with stress. I learned from a nurse that around seven doctors were observing her in the operating room. She was later shifted to the ICU that night.

The following day, as I prepared for my father's discharge, I saw teams of doctors in the ICU. My heart stopped beating for a moment. The talkative, ever-smiling little angel was on a bed, lifeless, and they were desperately trying to save her. And within an hour, I got the news that she had passed away. I was shell-shocked. How can someone have such an impact on you despite such a short meeting? But she was special; she was on a mission to help people heal and win through their situation by being brave and with a smile on their faces. Her laughter and that innocent address, "Gulabi Akka," constantly echoed in my mind as I left the hospital and headed home on a train. I didn't dare to face her mother, but I prayed for them all with all my love.

My heart wept for her all through the return journey, although I was glad that the screeches of the train were able to hide my emotions. As I stared aimlessly at the yellow-hued sky against the setting sun, all I could see were pillowy clouds turning pink and sending me her message, "Gulabi Akka.... never stop fighting and never stop smiling, and life will be a smooth sail."