Mother's day wish

Exactly six months ago, this large hospital ward became my home for close to a month. It's the pre-natal ward in the government hospital in Goa.

On all the beds you see here, were heavily pregnant women, just like I was. I was due to have my baby in a few days, like the rest of them and in the days that followed we all became really close. 

We had no choice. We were forced to. We had zero privacy as you can see from the picture. Doctors examining women in full view of everybody in the ward meant we all knew exactly what was going on with each one, right from their food restrictions to their favourite foods, the risks each of them had, their fears, their medical complications... family backgrounds and situations. 

There was Sanjana, who was tiny and looked about 18 years old. She had a six year old daughter and was now expecting twins and prayed something every night before she slept, from a tiny book that she always kept under her pillow. She told me her life would be hell if she had another girl. I met her mother on the hospital corridors a few days after my Riyaan was born. It turned out they were both girls.

There was Bibi whose baby had a hole in his heart and would require an immediate surgery after birth. Her husband never visited or called and she was always alone except when her very ill father could take the long bus trip to visit hospital bringing some of her favourite fruits. 

There was Bhavna who was being harassed for money by her in laws, who even sent uncles and other relatives to hospital to trouble them so much leaving her and her mother in tears almost every day.

There was Saroja who, at age 50+ looked out of place in this maternity ward. Her only 21 year old son had died in a motorcycle accident and she'd had IVF treatments to have another child in her 50s. She had to endure awkward stares and whispers from everyone who entered the ward wondering if she was pregnant.

There was Maya- in tears everyday when she realised she had to miss her four year old's birthday party because she was in hospital.

There was Meenakshi, who had to go through the humiliation of using a bed pan with zero privacy every single day because of her high risk pregnancy required her to be on bed rest all the time.

There was Veena who spoke only Tamil, an alien in this place, where she was obviously scared, overwhelmed and intimidated... far from home and couldn't understand a word the doctors said to her about her own body or her baby. 

There was Archana, whose baby died of asphyxia during the birth in the room attached to our ward, late at night when we were all asleep in our beds. 

There was Natty who had diabetes and like a mischievous schoolgirl managed to fool the doctors and nurses everyday: sneaking in her favourite restricted foods; and despite her high risk pregnancy, joked about everything all the time- leaving all of us women in the ward laughing till we almost peed ourselves!

I only spent 3 weeks there and every bed's occupant had a story to share... most of them sad ones. 

I can't help but remember them all this Mother's Day. 

I wish them well, and wonder what their lives are like right now.