The main challenge when you take a flight that lands at 2 a.m. is not the sleep you lose. But to ensure that the driver of the cab who picks you up will stay awake and alert through the journey.

My strategy remained the same this time too. Greet the driver heartily and after establishing our respective identities, start a conversation about the latest in local politics. Never fails to keep the conversation flowing and eyes open, especially when you are in Kerala.

Of course, as always, I had taken care to quickly scan the interior of the cab for words, images or colours that would have indicated if the driver was already aligned to a political thought or a party. Again, as always, I started out with some innocent questions, expected of an ignoramus not tuned into the here and now of the political landscape.
​
This time my plan failed. Or, maybe, he sensed pretty early that I was a mere pup when it came to politics. So, after a short pause that threatened to induce sleep, I latched on to a topic that was making headlines all over.

“Isn’t it frightening,” I began. “Small school children getting addicted to drugs. They become rude, violent and don’t hesitate to kill. What is happening to God’s Own Country? The most literate state?” I patted myself for that closing. It was sure to kick off a long conversation.

Instead, sitting as I was right next to him, I could discern a change in his expression. Suddenly, he slowed the car down. I looked around to spot a reason. No teashop or public toilet around. All I could see was a signboard that identified the building across the road to be a government school.

He was pointing to that school. Then he turned to face me.

“My daughter studies there. She is in the eighth standard. My son is also there, three years younger,” he paused. His turned his face away and wiped his face on his sleeve. Was he crying?

I remained quiet as we resumed our journey. The silence persisted. Then he spoke, almost in a whisper.
“For you, these are just headlines to talk about. For me, this is my life, my family.” There was anger in his voice and sorrow. Then he shared his story in bits and pieces.

“This has been going on for a while. Everyone thought it was localized first. That was the excuse our leaders used for a long time. Now, it is too big a fire to hide.

“Politicians don’t even bother with justifications and promises any longer. Yes, some of the drug runners get arrested once in a while and it becomes big news. Usually, they are out in a week or two. There is too much money and power at play.”

He stopped the car for a tea break. I refused his offer of a cup and waited in the car for him to return. I was disturbed. It was one thing to read from far away and arrive at righteous opinions about the deplorable state of affairs. It was another to be in the middle of it all and live life on the edge, day after day.
​
He had half a smile on his face when he returned and started the car. I asked him: “So, how do you handle this? How do you protect your children?”

“My wife I and I make a conscious effort to be not just parents but also good friends to our children. They are free to talk to us about anything. We do not rush to judge them or punish them. Thankfully, they are smart and are doing well in school. We just sit and talk. If my daughter has something to say that is strictly for feminine ears, she opts for a private conversation with her mother. My son is crazy about football, and he would rather discuss that with me, thought I am not a footballer. We have our disagreements, yet we try to keep one another happy.”

Where did he get this idea from? Did someone counsel him and his wife? Did they watch some YouTube video?

“We have been like this right from the time we married. Our family life never had a man’s side separate from the woman’s. We saw no reason to change our way even after we had children. I do not know if we are doing right or wrong. We just want to keep everything transparent. It is not about right and wrong or good and bad. We just hope that when we discuss everything in the open, we will be able to prevent any serious problem ... or at least nip it in the bud.

“Yes, we talk about the drug problem also. They have told us about a few things they have seen on the way to school. Fortunately, their school appears to be safe so far. Maybe because most of the students there come from relatively poor families. Not much money to get there. But there are some teachers in our neighbourhood who work in bigger schools. They tell us they are afraid. It is just a job for them now and they continue only because they cannot possibly get another job here.”
​
We happened to pass a church. He slowed and bowed his head. The same thing happened when we later crossed a temple and a mosque. He was conscious of my gaze and answered my unasked question.

“You have probably guessed my faith from my name. But honestly, I have lost my faith in humanity. Our only goal now is to divide and exploit. My only plea to God, wherever He is and whatever we call Him, is to help me and my family.”

We were very close to my destination. He had something more to say.

“We want our children to study well, find a good job and settle down somewhere outside. Like you, they should be able to speak English and do well to fly from place to place.”

I was on the verge of defending myself, but we had already stopped at my spot. So, I let it pass.

After I paid him, he asked my permission to contact me once the children finished their school. Maybe I could help them find a job somewhere far away from here?
​
All I could do in response was give him a long hug and walk away. I didn’t want my tears to dilute his hope.
The birds were hailing the rising sun with their chorus. As I slowly wheeled my bag along, I tuned into their songs and focused on the gentle light in the horizon. I desperately wanted to be positive. Maybe, just maybe, God would return to reclaim His country and save His people.

When the doctor was first describing her cancer, Katie Doble, 32, stopped listening for some time. Because she had a decision to make. Should she be planning her wedding or her funeral? Her boyfriend had proposed to her just ten days earlier.

Katie went on to get married. She also prepared for her funeral but, thankfully, that must wait.
​
Her first symptom had appeared in May 2013—"a strange vertical black bar swimming through her field of vision”. It was diagnosed as uveal melanoma, a cancer of the eye. The first line of treatment involved a “radiation-emitting metal disk placed in the back of her left eye”. As feared, that led to her losing vision in her left eye.

On the positive side, her doctor said the chance of her cancer spreading was less than 2 percent. In April 2014, an ultrasound found no signs of metastasis.

Seven months later, just after Katie’s engagement, new scans revealed that her liver now had a dozen lesions. Like most afflicted with the deadly C, Katie was anxious to immediately start the treatment the physician had suggested, the one that would have given her some 16 months to live.
​
Fortunately, she had a rare advantage. Her father was a doctor, who was already exploring more promising options in the stage of clinical trials. On his advice, she refused the treatment and entered a trial at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, New York. 

Five months into the trial, her tumors had grown. She was moved to a second arm of the trial that added a second medication to the regimen. The side effects of the combination “kicked my ass”. But she braved it. Determined to overthrow cancer as the ruler of her life, she went skydiving. As she floated down, she tasted the salt from her “happy tears”.

She had to exit the trial because the tumors continued to grow even after two months on the combination therapy.

Then she joined a second clinical trial at UCHealth, Colorado in September 2015. That too she had to leave after one treatment on account of gastrointestinal complications.
​
Given that it is not easy to access a clinical trial, and the heavy costs involved (estimated at $600 a month in 2015), most cancer patients hardly get to join one. Katie was already a unique case having participated in two. 

In November 2015, she opted for an FDA-approved treatment of radio embolization. Thirty million tiny radioactive beads called microspheres were injected into the blood vessels supplying the tumors in the right lobe of her liver. It worked! The tumors stopped growing and some even shrunk.

Heartened by this, Katie took a break to focus on building a house, “as one does when you’re trying not to die.”

​She had outlived her doctor’s first dire prediction, but the tumors were thriving in the untreated left lobe of her liver. So, she joined a third clinical trial, again at UCHealth. That trial too went on to fail.

In September 2016, they repeated the microsphere treatment, this time for the left lobe. The cancer gradually stopped growing.

One morning in May 2018, she stumbled out of bed struggling for her balance. A brain MRI revealed that the cancer had now spread to her brain. Gamma Knife radiosurgery eliminated the tumor. However, her liver tumors were growing again.
​
Going by a study published in 2019, “the four-year survival rate for Stage 4 uveal melanoma patients is only about 2 percent.” By now, Katie had taken part in three clinical trials and also received three additional treatments. Yet three or four tumors persisted. 

In July 2020, Katie started her fourth clinical trial at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. Dr Udai Kammula, the doctor leading the trial, had been after uveal melanoma for almost a decade, because it is “so devilishly difficult to fight”.

Dr Kammula injected her with 111 billion new T cells, after first wiping our Katie’s own immune system. A month after the procedure all tumors were gone or shrinking. The one which did not was surgically removed.

​Finally, Katie was cancer free. 

​Today, she works as a recruiter and gives talks to pharmaceutical and biotechnology companies and nonprofit cancer organizations. She lifts weights and rides her exercise bike when she and Nick are not enjoying golfing, biking and hiking.

“Had I made the choice to not get a second opinion, I would be dead,” Katie said. 

How would Katie have fared, if she were in India? Is it possible for a patient in India, handed a grim prognosis, to take a chance with an experimental remedy that is under clinical trial?

Dr Santam Chakraborty, Senior Consultant at Tata Medical Center, Kolkata, co-author of a paper on “Geographic disparities in access to cancer clinical trials in India” is not very optimistic.
​
The best person to inform a cancer patient about a clinical trial possibility is their oncologist. However, as India does not have a very integrated healthcare system, the oncologist is most likely to offer trials running in the hospital they are attached to. According to Dr Chakraborty, given the limitations of the clinical trial registry in India, “finding a clinical trial which is appropriate for the patient is a difficult endeavor for the oncologist.”  

In the US and Europe, an efficient, integrated healthcare system makes healthcare records available to all centers. In India, if a patient undergoing treatment in Hospital A wants to undergo a trial on in Hospital B, they will have to undergo a full workup and could be turned away at the end of it for failing to fulfil the eligibility criteria. The patient could have avoided the hassles and the cost of transfer if the data were easily accessible to Hospital B from the records of Hospital A.

There is also the larger problem that in India, as yet, “the clinical trial scenario is not geared towards providing really cutting-edge solutions.” In advanced countries, a new therapy is researched for decades in a laboratory before it becomes eligible for evaluation in a patient.

In India, clinical trials are usually run with products already evaluated in another country. A pharmaceutical company may evince interest if and only if it is sure that there will be a market for the drug in India.
​
Clinical trials in India mostly focus on finding new uses of existing treatments or evaluating efficacy of treatments that have been evaluated in the west or finding ways to make the treatment more affordable. This is in stark contrast to the scene, say in the USA, where a novel innovation could be on trial.

“Even if I were aware that a trial very relevant to my patient is being run in an institution like Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center,” Dr Chakraborty said, “I can offer that to my patient here only if the same trial is being conducted at a center in India.” Most early Phase I trials done in India are for “me-too molecules”, meaning medication already established outside.
​  
It is mandatory for every clinical trial to be registered with Clinical Trials Registry of India (CTRI). “As a patient, I can participate in a trial if I fulfil all the eligibility criteria, provide my consent and my physician is an investigator in the trial,” Dr Chakraborty pointed out. 

Whether in India, the US or elsewhere, there is no telling if every person who enters a trial will be blessed with a positive outcome like Katie was after all her trials. While everyone’s outcome may be unique, Katie has been sharing her experience with all.

“I gave my first talk in 2017, giving an acceptance speech for The Courage Award from the Melanoma Research Foundation. That’s when I realized how much I loved sharing my story. It gives people hope. It now feels like it’s what I’m called to do. It’s my way of paying it forward and saying thank you to all of the people who have helped me along this journey. I don’t want to hoard the wisdom I’ve gained from this horrible experience and expect other people to just figure it out on their own. It’s really, really hard to navigate this. If I can help just one person and change the course of their treatment for the better, then it’s worth it.”

It is never easy for the patient and the caregivers. Who helped Katie pull through it all?

"I've always identified both Nick and my Dad as my caregivers. Nick is my moral support. And my big spoon! He takes care of me physically and emotionally. And my Dad is the one who has helped us navigate this journey and understand the decisions we’ve had to make. I designated them both as my medical powers of attorney because I didn’t want either of them to face difficult decisions alone."

Do Katie and Nick have a prescription for those who are going through such tough times, so that they can cope better? Yes! Communicate and laugh!

"We still manage to laugh our butts off!" Katie added, "one of my lasting side effects from all of my treatments and the abdominal surgery is that it really hurts when I laugh hysterically. So, when I get that keel-over, gut-wrenching laughter, I can’t breathe. And he [Nick] loves it!"

How did the bullock cart always come on time to take us to the railway station? Then I was too small to ask and too busy trying to squeeze into a tiny space among the bags and the other members of the family. Nor do I know now; even my mobile can’t tell me.

The cart would shake and sway its way for a long time past many miles of trees and farms until we reached the river. The river with clear water flowing past stones and boulders and fish that swam carefree. 

That’s where we had to get down, cross the river and walk the rest of the way to the station. The elders would get off and carry the bags, stepping confidently from one boulder to another. The whistling of the steam engine would urge us children to run, deliberately stopping once in a while to let the fish nibble at our feet. 

I look up the name of the that river. Wikipedia finds it for me.

“The Kalpathy River, also known as the Kalpathipuzha, is one of the main tributaries of the Bharathapuzha River, the second-longest river in Kerala, south India.

“One of the problems faced by the Kalpathipuzha, like most other rivers in Kerala, is illegal sand mining. This has left many pits in the riverbed, which leads to shrub growth. During summer, the river is covered by a green carpet of Water Hyacinth and other shrubs.”

I am now in a big busy city. I can see two bridges, extending the road from one bank of another river to the other. Above those is another bridge bearing the metro rail. From where I am, I can see everything, and everyone is in a rush.

No one has the time to look at the river, except when you want to fling yet another bag of garbage into it.

The water is sluggish and black wherever it is not smothered by thick swathes of water hyacinth. This river used to attract so many birds. They are missing now. Did all the fish die?
​
Right below my window, they are felling more trees so that we can have another road for more people. The river appears to pause and sigh.

Fires in cities. Heavy rain in deserts. Lush green growth in Antarctica.

There are more roads and more bridges. But we can hardly move because there are too many of us. We build and build. But we get time to live only in vehicles.

The rivers now weakly carry the filth we can’t stop generating to the ocean where the mightiest predator is plastic.

We can’t go back to yesterday. Perhaps, today, we can stop and look at the river. And look after it?

​Are we already too late? Is it tomorrow, no, tosorrow already? 

The money she tightly held in her hand was not enough for her ticket. Her plea “But that’s all I have, and I must go now,” did not move the guy behind the counter.

Seeing that she was short by just a few rupees, I offered to pay for her ticket online. She watched the whole process with suspicion. I handed her the ticket.

She was about to give me the money but hesitated. She walked away a few steps, showed her ticket to a stranger, apparently asking him to confirm that the ticket was indeed for her destination.

Then she walked back to me, gave me the money. “I don’t understand these things. So, I have to be careful.” She was apologetic. I was embarrassed.

The bus started late. She had a found a seat where she lay curled up, hugging a small bag. I wondered if it would be presumptuous to wake her up and offer her a meal where the bus was scheduled to stop next, after a couple of hours.

I must have dozed off. The driver’s loud voice woke me up. “The engine has failed. Please get down. I will stop the next bus. Please ensure it will take you where you want to go.”

As I grabbed my backpack, I looked at the old lady. She was up but appeared unsure about getting down. I explained the situation to her. She waited until another passenger confirmed it.

Obviously, I was far from winning her confidence. Or, perhaps, life had robbed her of all confidence in others.

Now that we were in a different bus, I noticed that she did not sleep for a long time. She kept nodding off but would wake up with a start every now and then to anxiously check where we had reached.

She lay down again when we stopped at a major bus station and the driver announced we would resume journey after 30 minutes.

After 45 minutes, the driver was back on and started the engine. He revved it like mad, filling the bus with fumes but it refused to move.

“Something is wrong. The steering is also faulty. I can’t take any risk. Please board another bus,” the driver announced not bothering to look back at the passengers. There were loud protests and so he consoled us: “You will get any number of buses from here, going wherever you want to go.”

So, there we were, in the third bus, with a long distance to cover yet. I could see that she was determined not to sleep now. Maybe because of all the rattling which was worsened by the condition of the road.

There were not many passengers, and the conductor was done with issuing and checking tickets. I moved next to him and struck up a conversation.

“You think having to change buses twice is a big deal? Just last month, I was in a bus that had passengers who had to change four buses. Imagine, those many breakdowns within 200 kms," he said.

“I am not surprised at all,” he continued. “Do you have any idea about the quality of the spare parts we get? They must be paying a huge price, and someone must be pocketing it, but the buses are not getting any benefit.”

Before the conversation took a contentious turn, I tried to insert a positive note. “It is a good thing that they are introducing modern electric, air-conditioned buses now.”

He laughed. “Electric? Air-conditioned? Do you know the cost of repairing those buses? Those are just not designed to run on our kind of roads. Maybe you can, but do you think people like her can afford those buses?” He pointed to the old lady who was now dozing, seated and swaying.

“Now everyone wants a car, that too a large car. The roads are the same. Always damaged and always jammed. Do you think that is progress?” He smirked.

As if on cue, the bus hit what might have been large pothole, veered off the road and came to a stop.

This time nobody had to tell us to get down. We were all off the bus in a rush. I ensured the lady got down safely. The conductor asked if everyone was safe and unhurt. He got on the phone, trying to find out if and when another bus would come that way.

As we waited, some used their lighter bags as umbrellas to shield from the harsh sun.
Then I noticed her shuffling away. She settled down in the shade provided by a big hoarding. She used her bag as a pillow and prepared to sleep, unmindful of the stones and the dirt. She looked as if she was quite used to it.
​
Involuntarily, I looked up at the hoarding. It showed the large face of a leader who had won the recent election. The text around congratulated and appreciated all the services rendered by him for the upliftment of the poor.

There was the usual hubbub when we descended the last slope from the tranquil tourist spot to the parking area. Vendors selling everything from mementoes to snacks were yelling in the hope of attracting at least a few customers before everyone went off in their vehicles.

Then came the sound of an old-style bus horn. No, it was not from the parking lot. It was from a small makeshift shop selling tender coconuts. Suddenly, we were all thirsty and hungry.

As we went closer, he welcomed us all with a big smile and put aside the horn. Interesting, I thought. Instead of letting his own voice get lost in the cacophony of all the shouting from the other vendors, he was trying something different.

I was about to compliment him for that when he used his fingers to answer my question about the price per coconut. He wrote it on his palm and then gestured—he could not hear or speak.

After that it was a smooth conversation. Before cutting each ​coconut he would ask—just water or you prefer some malai also?

The first sip of the coconut water instantly took me back in time, when my family used to have a large coconut plantation. When city folks like me were visiting, someone would climb a palm and bring down tender coconuts. The water that I had just tasted had the unforgettable tang of very fresh coconut.

He gestured to me that every morning he climbed up a few palms in the vicinity and got fresh coconuts.

There were still four coconut halves with the glistening white meat waiting to be picked up and eaten when there was a sudden downpour. The bus was parked a little distance away and everyone was eager to make a dash for it. Skip what was left and go? Suddenly, he pulled out a clean bag to put the meat in. I asked him to pack it. He refused. “My hands are not clean, you do it” he indicated.

As the bus moved away, I wondered. Did I miss taking his photo? A selfie? Should I have got more information? It would have made such a wonderful post and garnered so many “likes”.

Then the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The few wisps of remaining clouds accentuated the blue that vied with the green all around to fill one’s eyes and heart.
​
That was it. I realised the meeting with him was best stored in the heart, where it would stay far longer than on any screen. 

What if Humpty did not have a great fall? Because happy Dumpty was saved in the nick of time by the pail of water Jack and Jill were carrying?

We are playing with rhymes for a reason. The thinking has always been repetition of good old nursery rhymes helps develop focus and vocabulary. Does that rationale extend to all learning by rote?

A report by The British Psychological Society cites research to state that most little children are “insatiably curious”, constantly questioning and exploring (young parents would concur, for sure). If the children were to remain in this state they can outlearn adults, but. It is a very significant but because “by about the age of six, their unbridled curiosity starts to wane” which hampers their ability to keep questioning and solving.
​
Now, a new work published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology: General has studied children aged three to six years and “found that simply varying the messages that were embedded in a storybook could make a difference”. 

There were 138 participants in the study in the US and, “to broaden the cultural background of the sample”, another 88 in Turkey.

The children listened to two versions of the same story of Sam following rules and instructions to search a group of islands for treasure. In the first version of the story Sam strictly went by the rules. At the end of it, when a participating child was asked a question, “the potential responses were always limited”.

The second version, the “strategic curiosity” version, lefts things rather uncertain. The children could pick which island to visit and also had to keep an eye on the time. Unlike the “obvious” questions that followed the first version, there were open-ended questions at the end of the second version.

Then came the application part. After the story, the children were introduced to a new game, which featured a virtual aquarium consisting of five fish tanks. Each tank had different hidden creatures, and the children had 15 minutes to find them.

For the group that had heard the “traditional” version of Sam’s story, this meant "following the rules and checking for all your clues". For the other group, it was about "staying curious and paying careful attention to everything around you".

While the two groups found about the same number of sea creatures, there were differences in performance. Those who were tuned to the “traditional” approach “often ran out of time to explore all of the tanks”. The “curious” group “prioritized visiting multiple tanks over deeply exploring individual ones and were more likely to get through them all”. The second group “spent a longer time searching tanks that appeared to contain relatively more creatures, even if it took some time to find those creatures”. This was a clear demonstration of greater “strategic persistence”, the researchers concluded. 

That “strategic persistence” is valuable in the corporate world. So, in the world of grown-up learning and development, should Sam be taught the rules by rote, or be encouraged to question and rethink? Would that sacrifice discipline and progress? Or yield rich rewards?

What do you think, my accomplished friends in the learning domain?

If I am in school, there is no room for questioning either Humpty or Jack. After all, my success depends on getting the answers expectedly right, to up-grade myself. That's what my young seven-year-old student had taught me all those years ago when I attempted to correct her homework. (“This is what my teacher wrote on the board…. Now, who gives me marks? Who gives me punishment if I do not obey?”)
​
By the way, I do wonder what you are up above so high. How come the rain does not put off your twinkle? Why don’t you fall if you are diamonds? Hey, are you really stars or high-flying drones?

Her job had taken her all over the world. After she retired, she made it a point to drive herself to visit her friends. As the years kept moving, and as her body failed to keep pace, just going down two floors to sit by the garden in front of her building became the highlight of her day, every day.

Sitting there, with a stray dog to keep her company, she would call her six friends one by one. Just to discuss the weather and the day’s headlines and to ask how things were at the other end. Occasionally, much to her frustration her mobile would misbehave, until someone found the time to show her what she was doing wrong. When a friend was willing to talk longer, she would be thrilled and would thank them profusely for listening to her.

She would always keep some chocolates with her. She would give it to random people—the watchman, a maid on her way home or even the driver of a cab returning after dropping someone. Their smile and “thanks” were worth more than the little she spent on each chocolate.

Then one day she had a fall. Or others said she did. She could not remember what exactly happened. Just that she was no longer able to walk or even stand without help. They cared for her despite multiple admissions to the hospital. For her, the biggest pain was she could no longer go down.

Everyone tried to persuade her it did not matter. For her, nothing else did.
​
She was alone, more alone than before.

Rajni was a responsible homemaker, devoted to caring for her husband, her children, and other members of her family. Then the elder ones passed away and the children were all comfortably settled elsewhere. She felt she was not needed by anyone anymore. The one who cared for many lives thus far yearned for a reason to care for her own.

That’s when she approached a professional, to help her find a purpose beyond being just alive.

The counsellor began by congratulating her for seeking help instead of drowning in self-pity and loneliness. Their conversations helped Rajni recollect how she had dealt with difficult situations in life. Together, they listed all she could do to help and earn, including some things Rajni had always wanted to do.
​
When we get old, we plan for our financial security, we prepare our Will, and we even draw up a bucket list. Prerna Shah, the psychotherapist who helped Rajni observes: “We rarely discuss or even think about a situation of being the lone survivor …. If there are open discussions about how the survivor (could be anyone) could utilize his/her alone time meaningfully or how the person can have activities that would help regular interaction with other people, would it not be easier for the survivor to pick up the ropes of life, as they restart their life alone?”

It is part of palliative care to ease pain and make the final journey as comfortable as possible. Simultaneously, it also helps the family members and caregivers cope with grief before and after the end. However, there is no predicting how long it would take for the person closest to the departed soul (very often the spouse) to get back to what is called normalcy.

According to senior palliative care physician, Dr Pradeep Kulkarni, the shock of loss has an immediate effect on both men and women in the family. “However, contrary to common belief, I have observed that women recover faster than men.”
​
He cites the example of a friend who lost both his wife and his parents in quick succession. “He remained in touch with me for a whole year through daily messages. Then he found a job in a distant city and the messages slowly stopped.”

Preparing for loneliness after the life mate’s death can be tougher for those who are low in education and income because they are rarely told the truth until it is too late to mitigate the shock.

Dr Parth Sharma, physician, researcher, and writer recently interacted with the wife of a patient who was in the terminal stage of oral cancer. They just had each other for family. “For me," Dr Sharma said, "this interaction was more as a researcher for my paper on oral cancer. However, I soon learnt that the treating oncologist had not informed them how serious his condition was and how little time they had together.”

While Dr Sharma was hesitant to crush whatever hope they were clinging to, the couple were busy planning how they would repay him for his help and kindness. Maybe she could start selling vegetables and fruits and thus start earning?

“I gently told them not to think so far into the future and to focus on today. I urged her to try and fulfil his wishes, like maybe when he wants to eat something special,” Dr Parth remembered.

“Five days after he passed away, she called me up. She was hesitant maybe because she thought her husband had already passed away, so why bother the doctor. I assured her that she was welcome to call me, whenever she wanted.”
​
Dr Parth regrets that we look down upon people who “complain.” Yes, everyone is busy in his or her own way. Perhaps, those who are in a position to comfort and ease loneliness could just listen to the complaints, without being judgmental? Could that be the starting point for a positive resolution?

The loss of a dear one is only one of the factors that can trigger loneliness. According to the Loneliness Statistics Worldwide 2024, 43% of the people in India feel “lonely always, often or some of the times” (third from the top in the list of 28 countries) while only 27% “never or hardly” feel lonely (third from the bottom)—the global average being 33% and 37%, respectively.
  
Perhaps, in this age of disasters and conflicts (natural and manmade), it would be too much to expect India to have a Minister for Loneliness like the UK did in 2018. One can imagine the pressure on the healthcare system if more and more people visited doctors just to have someone to talk to.

Is that the reason why senior citizens now constitute a lucrative market for old age homes? And why we need more associations of youngsters who provide companionship to senior citizens in multiple ways—dropping in to play games with them, singing songs, taking them to the bank or accompanying them to their favorite restaurant?

Unlike Covid, the source of the pandemic of loneliness is within us. So is the remedy, if we can spare a moment of empathy to open up and reach out, often just by listening.
​
Or simply by helping someone go down to the garden safely, so that she could be truly alive again.

A routine visit to the ENT physician resulted in an immediate admission to the hospital for “acute follicular tonsilitis with quinsy.” Now we move to the main story which is less about health and more about health insurance.

The estimate for claim clearly mentioned the admission was for medical management with surgery as an SOS option, if required.

REJECTED: We don’t cover ENT surgeries for the first two years.

The main treating physician takes the time to write a note explaining that the admission is for medical management and no surgery is scheduled.

REJECTED: For the same reason by one person associated with the insurance company.

REJECTED: For the same reason by another insurance company person, who was considerate enough to reduce the waiting time to 12 months. (In other words, if you are alive to seek treatment after 12 months, you might raise a claim again.)

As the doctor expected, the patient recovers fast just with the medicines and is discharged on the third day. The patient pays and goes home. He has to work to pay the bills (including the health insurance premium).

Believing that the amount would be reimbursed now (as it was only medical management), the claim is re-presented.

REJECTED: “Patient paid and discharge.”

Applause!

According to your website, Care Insurance “is one of India's leading Health Insurance providers, with a claim settlement ratio of 95.2%.” Going by this experience, the numbers that constitute the 4.8% unsettled patients must be huge.

Your marketing department is doing a wonderful job.

But that is nothing compared to the astounding work of your Chief Excuse Officer. Refuse to settle for this reason and that until the patient pays and goes home. Then throw the masterpiece (don’t get distracted by the English): “Patient paid and discharge.”
​
Bravo!

​I love your washing machine. And I love your refrigerator.
 
Over the last two decades, when one got too old, replaced it with another from you. Again. And again. Loved the products based on actual use. Therefore, loved the brand.

Except in the recent past.
 
I understand old machines can breakdown. But then you have been so considerate to extend your care to your customer over WhatsApp. Or so I thought.

“Please confirm your name.” I am presented a wrongly spelt version of my name.

“Are you a dealer or a customer?” Huh?

“Provide full address.” I do that. But must again reconfirm the LOCATION, the CITY, and the STATE. Yes, in all CAPS.

“Describe your model.”

“When did you buy it?”

“This is out of warranty. You will have to pay X amount.” I have an AMC in place.

“Provide details.”

As I scramble to dig out the details …

“Are you still connected? As I am not getting any response from your end I am bound to close this chat. Thank you for chatting with Xxxxxxxxx. Have a nice day!”

Hey, wait! What about all those times you asked me to wait and vanished to do God knows what, while I held on.

Three calls within a month. All following the same pattern.

Technology is smart. Just from the mobile number, it can dig out all information including your last service request. That is the optimistic theory for the gullible. Tech must have a poor memory, though. Why else do I have to provide the same details in virtually the same sequence during every chat? Even if the chat is repeated within a span of 30 minutes?
 
Of course, there must be a script at the other end that must be honoured. Who dares face the consequence of breaking the sequence!

Until you buy, we woo you.

After you buy, shut up and don’t bother us.

If you dare complain, well, we’ll simply Whirl you, fool!