Spending an entire morning on the balcony overlooking the forest with its butterflies, birdsong, pine trees, blue skies and sunshine…..
Sitting on the balcony swing, drinking mugs of tea and watching the hours glide past without any interruptions or incidents……
Reading tomes of prose, knitting a simple project, checking social media when the fingers want a break from the needles……
I can see these words scrolling past the mind of my guests and visitors, and I have to smile at the picture which is painted. A picture of fantasy fulfilled…nirvana attained…dreams realised.
The reality couldn’t be further from that picture. In the last 4 years, I have not read a single tome of prose. Shorter, easier to complete and assimilate, compatible with my knitting, these have been the guidelines for choosing books to read.
In the early days of living here, my daughter would bring home some huge, thick books and tell me to read “ this one—it’s all about 7 generations and 4 businesses/ this one—it about 5 murders and 2 love stories/this one–…..”. She soon realized that her mother was just not reading any book which was more than 250 pages , or which had a font which called out for a magnifying glass.
In walked some amazing graphic novels,(link to Aya and the other one), some old favourites of Nevil Shute and Gerald Durell, the entire set of Alexander McCall Smith and of course, Stephanie MacPhee and her books on the vagaries of knitting.
I have enjoyed reading books, but I have enjoyed knitting, creating, writing, cooking, walking and driving a lot, lot more. With the laptop and the Net, with the TV and the hard disk with its serials and movies, there have been few books which have asked me to put my knitting aside, sit down and read every word between the covers.
And then, a friend parcelled this book to me. I had read reviews and appreciative comments about Paul Kalanithi and his powerful prose, but that had not prepared me for the way this book would grip my mind and heart.
A book written by a man who chose to study Literature and Biology, delved into History and Philosophy, learnt and perfected the intricacies of Neurosurgery and Neuroscience…one can see the beautiful and brilliant effect of a mind which has absorbed and assimilated a well rounded education. Paul had been blessed with a hard-working, principled set of parents, a sharp mind and the willingness to work hard, opportunities and encouragement …and he used all these blessings in the best way possible. Admirable, to say the least.
At thirty six, surrounded by success, family, love and a great life stretching out in front of him, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.
This book, written after the diagnosis and through the treatment phase, is a treatise on accepting the challenges life throws you, picking out the bits of gratitude floating on the soup tureen of black despair and ill health, focusing on taking each day as it comes, and remembering, remembering that this life will surely end. Its not about self pity, its not about the tragedy of a living a full but short life, and its not about leaving one’s loved ones.
I have savoured every word in these 228 pages of carefully crafted prose. At times, I have taken a deep breath and just stayed with a sentence ( “In fourteenth century philosophy, the word, patient, simply meant “the object of an action”, and I felt like one. As a doctor, I was an agent, a cause; as a patient, I was merely something to which things happened.”) which has resonated with the adventures of my life. At other times, I have marvelled at the spot-on accounts of the experiences of doctors and terminal patients.
It is a book which I will read again, whenever my heart will call out for reassurance from the spiritual realms which surround us. I will read it again, when my mind needs succour and some sustenance after grief and guilt come calling…and I will read it when the world is going about its usual day.