How far I would go to get closer to someone I love

If I remember correctly, I was fifteen casually going on sixteen when Frost told me ‘something there is that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down’. It was the most intriguing line of his masterpiece ‘Mending Wall’. The words jumped out at me. It is surprising they did. For a bunch of girls in a classroom in Bulawayo living life with the luxury of youth, poetry was story time with Mrs. Eddington on a lazy summer day. I suppose sometimes, some words just stick with you.

I remember the line now because I’m thinking of D. We would talk about life, boys, gossip. We met in high school in our candy-stripe summer uniform, around break time. That would be around ten past ten of a morning. And somewhere after the ‘hi’ and ‘hello’ and all the conversations in between, a friendship was forged that managed to weather more than just Bulawayo-African summer days.

It even managed to make it through the economic meltdown and rising dictatorship of a country that was both her home and mine. Mugabe at the time was busy building walls between races. People were moving out. To other parts of the world.

She moved to England and gained citizenship from her English ancestry. Four years into a new millennium, I came back to India. We were on different continents plunging into adulthood. Eighteen was liberating. And excruciating. It was the wall that divided childhood and the advent of adult life. We found a way to tell each other about our lives. I remember a surprised uncle returning home one day to tell me the police had noticed unusual activity on the telephone line. An hour-long call from England to a small town in North Karnataka was suspicious. I doubt if the powers that be ever realize that ‘something there is, that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down’. It might be a telephone line.

Twenty one came by and I was officially a twenty-something veteran of the teenage years. D fell in love and so did I. Our conversations changed too. We spoke of the future, of love and family. I told her about the little dreams I was building; she shared hers with me. And the more things had changed, the more they stayed the same. I suppose sometimes, some people just stick with you.

In 2011, the first year of the second decade, she visited me in India. It was the first time we had seen each other since high school and we wouldn’t stop talking. We traveled around the North. I saw the Taj Mahal and the Himalayas for the first time with her.

Soon after that her left-hand ring-finger was blinged out. She was engaged to be married. I started plotting to get to England. I have this vision of D looking drop dead gorgeous in her wedding dress. She would look so beautiful.

But life unfolds in so many different, unexpected ways. She called me one day and said she wanted to chat. There was something in her voice that was different.

It was cancer. 

The thing you must remember, is that at first, you think to yourself: it’s ok. She is young. They have the best doctors in England. They have such a good support system. She is so strong and amazing. Everything will be fine. So you chat normally about chemotherapy, radiotherapy etc. And all the medical jargon…well it’s just jargon really isn’t it? So you postpone the plans for England. It’s better to wait until she is ok isn’t it?

Then the radiotherapy is done and so is the chemotherapy and you think, well there you go. Let’s plan life. There was the question of flowers for her wedding. I suggested hydrangeas because purple is her favorite color.

Except the doctors get back to you and say, no. No. Wait a minute. Hang on. Not yet. We need to operate. So you leave the question of the flowers unsettled. But you don’t leave out hope because there are always options.

You wait to hear how the operation went. Is she ok? They will confirm in a little while. Right now though, all is good.

But it’s not all good because that’s cancer. In a little while they say, wait. Hang on. We need to operate. Again.

So you hang on. And they operate. By now you’re thinking, they have been so thorough, that everything has most definitely been addressed. She will definitely be fine. The thorough doctors tell you to wait a bit more, just to be sure. So you do that.

And all the while you go on living life like everything will be ok. Let’s face it. She is young and strong and there are still options. So you go for a coffee or a movie with a friend or even hang out with colleagues. You talk about when would be the best time to visit England and keep plotting. Never stop plotting.

Then what happens is that the doctors tell her, that’s it. Here’s the thing love, nothing more can be done; you will be around for this Christmas, but not necessarily for the next one.

The truth dawns on you, that there are, in fact, just two options: life and death. Cancer is breaking down the wall that divides the two.

Through it all, you see her being strong and graceful, asking you how you’re doing, what you’re going through, being there for you, when really, you should be the one trying to be there for her. You feel guilty and helpless. Guilty, because she suffers while you live so comfortably. Helpless, because you are sitting thousands of miles away, unable to do a single thing that could save her.

Then one day, a little more than a week ago, D says, “I’m not afraid to die, Anu. I just don’t want the people I love and leave behind to experience the pain of loss, like I’ve done before.”

I am asked: how far would you go to get closer to someone you love?* If I were to get scientific that would be exactly 8056 kilometres from London Heathrow to Bangalore International. It’s the trip I have been wanting to take to see her. 

But I will tell you what I’ve learnt in my heart. To get closer to someone I love, I have gone as far as to break down my own walls. I believe it’s as far as I could ever go. In her own way, D taught me that. Through the years, we broke down the walls of race and religion, time and space. In these past few months, I have gone so far for the people I love as to break down the walls that stopped me from forgiving them. And I’m trying to break down the ones that stop me from truly loving and giving back. It has not been easy.

But D inspires me to keep trying. You should see her. She is incredible. Some people have the courage to face the breaking of walls. They are out there, silent warriors of this world, giving hope to the rest of us.

Frost tells me now, when I’m twenty eight going on twenty nine, ‘Before I built a wall, I’d ask to know what I was walling in or walling out’. I agree. And though the question of the flowers remains unsettled still, I will not build a wall that keeps out hope. 

*The question 'how far would you go to get closer to someone you love?', which resulted in this blog, was asked by the British Airways. Check out their link and video: http://bit.ly/1epU8Uj .