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Life is Beautiful

Gypsy beamed one of her classic smiles and I could feel warm sunshine spreading their wings all around the room. She was lying on the bed, her long curly, tangled hair enveloping the beautiful face. Eyes shining bright, full of hushed mischief and innocence, lips bursting to smile, cackle and talk. Talk, she did nineteen-to-the-dozen, forever getting chided for her non-stop garrulous outbreaks. I couldn't shake off the magical effect she had on me. I realised that I scrutinised her with such fondness whenever I came across her - in her room, the garden, or simply when she was sleeping peacefully like a fairy child. But long abandoned, I sighed.

As I entered the room, she directed her gaze towards me. "Do you realise you have been delayed by exactly 27 minutes?" she queried. I was bemused, none of my dear friends, or for that matter, even my patients waited on me so readily and eagerly. She promptly extended her hands for the routine examination and handed me her medical chart before the nurse could. My heart sank. Her temperature had soared and her pulse rate had been considerably slow last night. "Did you inform the nurse last night when you were feeling sick," I enquired, to which she retorted, "No, I was feeling perfectly fine last night." I sighed, an odd jumble of anger, helplessness and tenderness choking my throat.

Gypsy was such a remarkable person, and so different from other patients who fussed and fretted forever. I gazed at her frail hands punctuated with ugly violet marks from the daily injections. It was so unfair, how could God - forget others - even think of hurting such a gentle and beautiful soul?

I watched from my room, Gypsy in her wheelchair, touching the flowers, chatting with other patients, some who laughed with her and others who frowned. Not everybody liked her blabbering, but she did it, a thousand questions waiting to spurt forth. She flayed her tiny hands in all directions, explaining, reckoning, and reasoning, in a whole new world of her own, oblivious to her pain and fate.

I found myself drawn closer to Gypsy that went beyond our ages, background and experiences. Gypsy had come here a year ago, ailing and sick. It took nearly two months of relentless effort by doctors to make her sit by herself. We knew she suffered from a dreaded disease and that she had some stinking rich relatives, who financed her costly medical treatment in this hospital. The hospital management knew about her background, but was tight-lipped amidst subdued whispers of various ridiculous stories doing rounds.

I was not really curious about Gypsy's personal history, but what nagged me was the fact that she didn't have any visitors. If her family was prepared to pay for her expensive treatment, why not be with her at times, take her back home, especially when she had a short span of life?

My questions were never answered. Gypsy baffled me further by never mentioning about her family. At times, flashes of sorrow swapped places with the impishness in her eyes, but they were fleeting impressions. She knew she was ailing, but didn't comprehend the seriousness of her disease. None of us had the heart to tell her. She was the sweetest person. Who wouldn't want her to live forever?

The whole day, I struggled with my decision. Would Sarla accept it? It was getting harder for me. I loved both Sarla and Gypsy equally. Sarla was my fiancée. But what about Gypsy, of whom I had grown so fond of? It was a tough choice.

Gypsy was no stranger to Sarla. I constantly spoke about her. Sarla listened intently, at times she pulled my legs saying, "I see someone else has become more important than me!" Sarla had ushered many a nice things into my life and I loved her dearly. It would hurt me if I lost her. Especially, when both of us had interweaved a wonderful tapestry of our future married life.

I didn't mince my words and told Sarla about Gypsy. She heard me out patiently, not giving anything away. I became restless and impatient, "Why don't you tell me something Sarla? I know, you will be hurt by this decision, but there was no other way. I love Gypsy dearly. Her days are numbered in this world. I want her to be happy during her last days at least. Will you help me?" Sarla still had the deadpan expression on her face. "But I want to meet her first," she said.

Gypsy was thrilled seeing Sarla. "I have been telling doc to get you, but he never listens to me. Does he ever listens to you," she demanded. Sarla smiled and handed her the chocolates. "I love it," she beamed, stretching herself to grasp them. Suddenly, a violent spasm gripped her and she was lost in an unending series of coughs. Sarla immediately reached out for her, caressing her back and ruffling her hair. I was deeply touched, more so by what I glimpsed in Gypsy's eyes. She pretended her eyes were watering, but I was good enough a doctor to distinguish between tearful and watering eyes. I knew what Sarla's decision would be. I heaved a silent prayer.

I was the happiest man in the world on my wedding day! I had never seen Gypsy so cheerful. She looked lovely, the angle that she was. Bless her dear God; let her live longer and longer, forever, I prayed.

The entire hospital staff was present. Despite my unending troubles with the hospital management to get Gypsy's custody, I was glad I went ahead with my resolution and succeeded. I glanced at Sarla, my dear Sarla, serene and lovely. How could I ever thank her? She looked radiant in her bridal finery and as we exchanged vows, we were the luckiest couple in the world. We were husband and wife with our adopted daughter, Gypsy, with us.