The greatest lesson of life

The greatest lesson of life

Vijay Gopichandran


The clinic was closing up. Not many patients today. There was no electricity in the clinic today. Yesterday there had been a heavy downpour in the village and lightning had struck the nearby trees. This had led to a major power shutdown in the village. It was cloudy all day today and the interior of the clinic was dark, dusky and humid. So, we started seeing patients outside in the open. It was uncomfortable but manageable. So, as we started winding up the clinic around 2 PM and preparing to leave, an elderly lady limped to the open area where we were seeing patients. I was seated on a mat on the floor and was checking my mobile for messages. The signal was poor and so I was feeling a bit irritated. This lady limped in and sat in front of me on the mat. She was Mrs. Kalanjiyam. She is one of my regular patients. Kalanjiyam and I had a very comfortable equation. She calls me “nee”, “vaa”, “po” – all Tamil words which mean “you”, “come”, “go” which we use with people who are very familiar and close to us in a non-formal manner. I always talk to her cheerfully and tease her now and then in a funny way. So, with the same level of comfort and familiarity, she came right over and sat with me on the mat on the floor.


Mrs. Kalanjiyam had Bell’s palsy, which is the medical name for paralysis of one half of the face. This had made one side of her face weak. She couldn’t close her left eye. This kept her left eye always open and watering. It was also red and inflamed because it was constantly open throughout day and night, even when she was sleeping. The constant tears had created irritation and redness of the lower eyelids and the skin over the line of tears tracking down her eyes. Her mouth has deviated to the left side. So when she ate or drank anything the food and water drooled down the left side. She had a limp as she always had a pain in her left knee. I have been seeing her for the past 3 years since the time she developed the Bell’s palsy. I had referred her to a tertiary care center for treatment of the Bell’s Palsy. She had refused to go. I had suggested some simple physiotherapy exercises to strengthen the facial muscles, but she had refused. I had even suggested that we close and plaster the eyes so that they are not constantly open and exposed. She refused even that treatment. The only treatment she was willing to take from me was some tablets which give her sleep and some vitamin pills, for which she would come once every 15 days.


Mrs. Kalanjiyam is from a village about 2 KM from the clinic. She belongs to a very poor family and lives in a small hut with a thatched roof. Her son and daughter in law live in the same village, but in a different home. They just feed her 2 meals a day. The meals are very unremarkable – often just rice with some gravy. Rarely they would feed her fish or chicken. Mrs. Kalanjiyam lives alone and usually has no company. Initially, when she was coming to see me, we would charge her a very nominal fee for the pills, less than one-tenth of what she would have to pay in the open market. But subsequently I understood her financial status and dependence on her son and so I started giving her prescription refills free of charge.


Today Kalanjiyam sat next to me on the mat and asked, “why are you sitting here on the floor? What happened to your clinic table and chair?” I replied, “today there was a major power cut and so there was no light in the clinic. So, we saw patients here.” She asked, “why is there no crowd today? What happened?” I said, “all the people have seen me and left. You are late today.” To this, the smart lady replied, “I came late on purpose. Only because I came late, I am able to sit and talk to you freely like this. Otherwise, will you talk to me like this?” I was overcome by a warm feeling of love and I held her arm and patted her back. I said, “yes, you are right. I am glad we got the time to chat like this”

I got up to go and get a BP apparatus to measure her blood pressure. As soon as I got up, Kalanjiyam lay down on the same mat. It was so nice to see how comfortable she was around me in the clinic. I came back with the apparatus, sat down and asked, “why are you lying down? Are you tired now?” Kalanjiyam slowly got up, smoothed the back of her saree and said, “The share auto guy refused to drop me here. So I had to walk all the 2 KM to the clinic. I am not young like you. How can I walk this distance?” I started recording her blood pressure. The blood pressure was normal. I then told her that her BP is fine and that I am going to give her a refill of her routine prescription.


Mrs. Kalanjiyam looked on her sides to see if anyone could hear our conversation and when she was convinced that nobody could, she whispered, “you stop writing me free medicines now. I have brought 50 rupees this time. I got it from my daughter in law. I don’t want you to keep giving me free medicines. If the clinic people find out that you are giving me free medicines, you may lose your job. I don’t want that sin on my hands. And if you lose your job, what will I do for medical care? Who will I go to?” As she said this, her eyes were brimming with tears. Although her eyes were damaged by the paralysis of her eyelids and constant exposure to dry air, the tears were genuine ones of emotion, I could tell.


When I heard this, I was dumbstruck for a few minutes. Suddenly, I felt like hundreds of little soft baby hands were hugging my neck and petting me. The feeling of being loved and being cared for by a patient was indescribable. It was like I was washed over by a pleasant and fragrant gentle breeze. I held her hand once more and gently squeezed it. I wrote her prescription and made sure that I marked “Free Medicines” on the side. Here was a lady, suffering from pain over her leg, irritation, and dryness of the eyes, pain over her eyes and a lot of discomforts. She has had a difficult day, having to walk almost 2 KM with a painful left knee. She lives below the poverty line, dependent on her son and daughter in law for everyday living expenses. Even in this condition, this lady was concerned about me and my job. She thought that I am going out of my way to give her the medicines free by putting my own job in jeopardy. All that I was doing was to write off a bill of about 20 rupees. This lady had the honor, concern, and love to offer to pay this amount and to refuse to accept the free medicines. I was overwhelmed by her concern as well as the honor that she exhibited, despite coming from such difficult living conditions. I realized that love, honour, kindness, compassion, generosity and such characteristics are not determined by the environment in which we live. They are attributes of who we are as people. The same world which has multi-millionaires with infinite greed to amass wealth also has Mrs. Kalanjiyam, who wants to give off the scarce money that she has for the sake of love and honor.


I sat there thinking these thoughts and Mrs. Kalanjiyam came back from the pharmacy and again looked towards her sides to ensure no one was listening and whispered, “I told you not to write the bill off. See, I have the 50 rupees. I could have paid. Why are you doing this?” I smiled at her, gave her one more warm squeeze of her hand and gestured to her to go home. Little did she realize that she has taught me the greatest lesson of life, the lesson of honor, love, kindness, and care for people.