Dadoo is unable to take care of his body. It makes me go mad at the injustice of it all. A year back the confusion had started when bathing became a cumbersome process for him, he could not do it on his own. In the beginning Mamma used to keep the towel and his clothes and fill the bucket with water and guide him to the bathroom but slowly, this independence too deteriorated. Now you have to take him to the washroom, take off his clothes, massage the soap on his body, pour water, pat him dry and make him wear his clothes.
During this process it arouses, sorrow and pity for him and a loathing and contempt for myself. I cringe and shrink when I see his naked, frail body. He is a bony figure with dark patches of blood clots and raw wounds caused by his constant itching. Dementia has not only destroyed him mentally but also made him so weak and vulnerable physically. The doctors tell me that oils in the body dry due to this illness and the patient suffers from a constant itch. He will never be at peace.
You have to be calm, you have to be patient, you have to tell this to yourself every time that it is not his control. But it is not easy, you do get irritated, angry and impatient. And later when you have shouted and said something rude you nurse the guilt for a long time and you realize how little you do for your parents. Your selfishness blatantly stares at you though you tell yourself, he can’t help it but neither can you.
I remember, once he had called me up and he wanted to enquire about his files. In the beginning I calmly told him that there was nothing to worry but slowly, I started getting irritated. I had so many other things on my mind. Sir, my teacher, was not well, my father-in-law was not in a good mood, Rohit had to go to Delhi, someone had scared me by discussing about cancer, an illness that I have overcome and forgotten, and then here was Dadoo relentlessly talking about his files. When he called the fourth time I did not pick up the phone. Then he called on the landline, I knew it was his phone but I did not pick up that either. Next he called on Rohit’s phone, Rohit was in the washroom, I was getting angrier. I picked up the phone and before he could say anything I snapped, ‘Dadoo, why don’t you listen, I have told you that there is nothing wrong with your files. I have other work to do. You are free but I am not.’
There was a silence on the other side, then in a pitiable voice he said, ‘Can you not help me?’
I snapped, ‘I have told you that there is nothing wrong with your files,’ and quickly disconnected the phone.
By now I was crying and furious at myself when the phone rang again and this time Rohit picked it up. He patiently told him not to worry and that he will come in the evening and set his files right. I hated myself that day, whenever I was in trouble or needed help Dadoo was always there but now when he needs it I can’t reciprocate with same patience. What kind of daughter I am and what a weak and impatient person. I grieve for him sometimes as if he has died, I have lost him forever but on the other hand I still see his breathing body. Oh, where has my Dadoo disappeared?