Mitch
Albom has always been readers’ delight. He is not a roller-coaster writer, but
writes with great feelings and emotions. That he is frugal with words never
hampers his portrayal of characters that are mostly pragmatic and down to earth
species, not high-flying angels.
‘The
Five People You Meet in Heaven’ [FPYMH], Albom’s current best-seller, coming as
it does from a gentry of thrillers, is an interesting read with an innovative
plot. Eddie, the protagonist of the novel, a maintenance mechanic in a Theme
Park, dies in an accident, goes to heaven and meets a bunch of five people
there whom he had known while living on the earth but forgotten them at the
time of his tragic death. Five different people with five different quaint
characters trigger Eddie’s memories, both sweet and sour.
I
sat through a night and read the novel in one draught. It was a sort of scary,
ominous night whose deadly silence and somnolence got torn apart by streaks of
lightning followed by a heavy downpour and ramblings of thunder. I felt a
little frightened when I saw the eerie ambience of the novel slowly
setting in my room [was it an optical illusion?]
Eddie’s
meeting with five of his old acquaintances in heaven was so exciting that I was
tempted to think about my own choice of the people with whom I would like to
have a rendezvous in the ‘swargaloka’ [Since the Balance Sheet of my
life is full of assets I hope that I would go only to heaven… he he he] Choices
are many and a host of [read ghost] people appeared before me from nowhere and
said:’ hello’. It was more or less a ‘Hobson’s choice, and after much dilly-
dallying, I zeroed in on the following five people and wrote their names in my
diary.
- Father
- Uncle
- Mother Theresa
- Babuji
- ??????
The
night was getting old and I grew weary not able to catch up with the name of
the fifth person whom I would like to meet in heaven. Leaving thus the fifth
column blank, I put down my diary with a sigh and hit the bed.
When I woke up in the morning, I heard
Naveen’s, my brother, meeting with an accident the night before in the Chennai
Bangalore National Highways while driving his car. My wife told me that
Naveen’s condition was critical and he was battling for life in a sub-urban
hospital. I felt shattered, smelling funeral in the air.
The
hospital was unusually crowded. The chief doctor, a tall and portly man, told
me in a subdued tone that Naveen’s condition was most critical and he had the
only remote chance of recovery. I stood still, unable to piece together the
breaking mind. ‘Naveen … Naveen’, my mother screamed. Since I couldn’t console
her, I hauled her into the other side of the hospital.
An
old woman who was standing at the entrance to the ICU for long came over to me
in quick steps and sat by my side. She peered at me long and said nonchalantly:
“I saw your mother crying in the ICU moments back. Make up your mind. No one
can wish away god’s command. Today is Mahashivratri day. And whoever dies today
will go to only heaven.”
Heaven!
Heaven!! Heaven!!!
I
was startled, got up abruptly as if I was stung by a scorpion. The moment I
heard the word ‘heaven’ from the old woman, I felt it ripped open my heart and
made my head spin. It looked as though the woman did not utter the word, but by
an oracle that might be lurking somewhere in the hospital. For, I began to
think about the blank space I had left in the fifth column of my diary after
reading Album. ‘Is it destined that I should fill the blank space with Naveen’s
name? I thought plaintively.
Time
was not moving, only crawling. There were moments of anxiety, moments of
despair, moments of crying, moments of despondency and moments of my cursing
god when doctors shrugged off their shoulders dismissively and pouted their
lips about the survival of Naveen. I felt I was in the eye of a storm. A new
sense of guiltiness started running through my veins as I began to think again
and again that it was Naveen who was going to fill the 5th vacant column in my
diary. What a horrible coincidence? God must be ‘tyrannous and rough’, I
thought helplessly.
But,
to my great relief, God proved Himself otherwise. For, on the ninth day, the
chief doctor came to the hospital lounge where I was sitting crestfallen and
browsing a newspaper. He was all smiles, told me that Naveen was alright and
his condition was stable.
“OMG!
‘Thank you doctor… thank you very much,’ I shouted, shook hands with the
doctor, though I couldn’t see him for the tears. I had no inclination to go to
the ICU and see Naveen. I flew home in my Santro. Reaching home, I climbed up
the stairs and reached my room in one bound. Still breathing hard, I took out
my diary from the table and wrote the word ‘god’ in the fifth column, which was
blank until now. Only after putting down the diary again on the table, I let
out a sigh…a sigh of relief. My face became more luminous and my dying spirits got
a new momentum. The FPYMH was still lying on the bed. I didn’t know why I
laughed when I took the book in my hand again.
I
know some of you may call me a superstitious guy or an emotional freak or a
pessimist or an idiosyncratic bloke. But, now, having got my brother alive from
his grave, I don’t give a damn to what others say and what taunting
appellations I get from them.
Image
courtesy: Google
