A Book That Talks About Often Unspoken Bonds Across Generations

His Voice by Rima Pande is a first-person narrative, of her father’s unspoken thoughts, emotions and key life experiences during the two years he lived after the stroke. An excerpt:

Two years ago, the temporary short circuiting in my head took on a monstrous new mutation. My mind was zapped in one wanton episode, leaving my legs useless. Another event followed within a few weeks, detaching all connections between my mind and body. My mind no longer controls my body, everyone else around me does. And every thought I have had in the past two years has stayed in my head, unable to be uttered. I have tried. Very hard. For nineteen years, I lived with the uncertainty of mini seizures that created havoc in my mind. And for the past two years, I have been helplessly paralysed. Now I am tired. I am ready to move on. There is no fear or panic or regret, just a sense of peace and finality and withdrawal. Every actor has an exit cue. The show goes on, but actors who have no role to play cannot sit on the stage forever. They get in the way of life.

Being the youngest among your siblings, cousins, and friends is glorious only in the misty eyes of grown-ups. In reality, it usually means going along with a lot of things without an opportunity to express an opinion – playing whatever games the other kids are playing, often getting knocked around the most, working the hardest and focusing the most to win the guli-danda championship, never being strong enough to beat the older kids at kabaddi. In my case, it also meant being dressed up as Sita during the weeklong Ramlila performance at the annual Chhinj Mela. Girls were allowed to enjoy the mela, but acting on stage was frowned upon; thus boys performed all female roles. This was mortifying, and it seemed to me like the whole village was pointing at me and having a good laugh at my expense when I staggered onto the stage as Sita, tripping over my sari, trying desperately to look feminine while maintaining my young masculinity at the same time. But of course, no one asked me how I felt about it.

A few years ago, my father suffered two strokes within a few weeks of each other, the second leaving him paralyzed neck down, and unable to speak or communicate in any manner. In the two years he lived after that, he was physically well taken care of, mentally stimulated and emotionally nurtured. My mother created a positive normalized environment where he was as happy as he could possibly be, given the situation. He was physically taken care of, mentally stimulated and emotionally nurtured.  

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I was on an emotional roller coaster - anxiety, anguish, worry, helplessness, the pressure to stay strong and happy. I struggled with finding the right balance between worrying about my father’s situation and continuing to live my “normal” life. During this period, regret was a large component of my thought process - regret for everything I had not done, regret at not knowing my father better as a person. And there was a constant feeling of guilt, amplified due to me not being there all the time for my parents when they needed me the most. I often wondered what was going through his mind, how he was calmly dealing with this monumental crisis, tried to immerse myself in his stream of consciousness - and started writing a “diary” on his behalf. My father’s death, even though we had two years to “prepare”, created a giant vacuum in my life. I continued writing his diary. 

Rima Pande recently published a book titled His Voice, a journey through her father's mind to share his unspoken thoughts and emotions during two years he was paralyzed and unable to speak after a stroke. 

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Author's Note: His Voice is not just my father’s voice, but the voice of many. I hope that reading this story will make you pause and reflect on your relationships, behaviors and attitudes - in the context of your own family, friends and communities. Even if you don’t read the book, please call your parents. Don’t wait, don’t hesitate, don’t postpone, don’t judge, just call. Call them today - and listen, for as long as they want to speak to you. And be there when they need you - physically and emotionally. Don’t wait till they need a caregiver. Connect, don’t regret.