Page 84 - Musings 2021

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A Virgin’s Ignorance
Somya Tripathi
2019A4PS0474P

The warmth of the sun soaked me as I woke up to my six-year-old son’s annoyances. I was
sweating profusely from the nightmare I just saw while lying in the sun. They had become
more frequent, maybe because of all the prescriptions but his innocent smile banished all my
fears. “Dad, can we take Leo for a walk by the shore?”

His simple question was posed so lovingly that it almost demanded truth. Pausing for a bit, I
lift him up by her lanky arms and position him on my lap. “Daddy is a bit too tired today, son,
I had some bad dreams and couldn’t get to sleep.” His smile curls downwards and he
unwillingly says “okay”.

It is becoming increasingly difficult to formulate new excuses for the increasing smartness of
a six-year-old. Not having to lie to him about how my body has been ravaged is what sends
me to a new hospital every week in search of some miraculous almost impossible cure. It is
this urge, stronger than the growing tumour that lengthens my battle. He is what ultimately
drives my life.

The sparkling sun cast various hues at the same time and even indulged in a playful game
with the clouds. Melting deep into the horizon it casts a silhouette over an aspiring Aditya
still chasing a misfit band of seagulls. As Aditya splashed on the peaceful waters an uneasy
feeling rose in my chest and I almost instinctively shouted “Be careful Adi, the tide’s coming
in. Come to the shore”. He obediently paddled to the shore.
I have read numerous books written by cancer survivors. Most of them sugar-coat the truth
but a few have outlined that one of the symptoms of this disease is the idea of being so
unbelievably afraid of death, that living almost becomes a mystery. “You start to question
each passing minute of your existence”. I have never understood how “living”, which is
something I have done somewhat seamlessly for the past forty years, can suddenly become a
mystery due to an enlarging tumour in my head. But alas!, I have certainly figured it out. A
simple gaze towards the roughening sea is no longer a serene sight. When the water attacks
the innocent, gold casted beach I imagine the wrath and persistence of rapidly multiplying
cancer cells annihilating every white blood cell in sight. These cancer cells are like the
ultimate boss in a video game with infinite health. I can no longer appreciate small things
without thinking of the impending doom. I can no longer see an insect getting trampled
without thinking about my fate.

It is fascinating to believe that my son experiences a world so different and so abstract to my
own. His wide eyes see no horror. He sees thrill, excitement and wonder when the waves
crash into the shore. He sees the vibrant sun’s reflection, highlighting his freckle-filled face.
He sees life as an opportunity to wonder. He can take his time because no one is counting
down his days. He can gaze at scenic landscapes that much longer. All these breath-taking
views, and yet, he will often admire me, but what does he see when he looks in my direction?

The wind had died down and the sun was almost crimson. Aditya labours up and trots slowly
towards me. I think I know what he sees. A man whose figure has shrunken. A man who still

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