“Main tasavvur bhi judai ka bhala kaise karoon?
(How can I ever imagine being separated from you?)
Maine kismet ki lakeeron se churaya hai tujhe...
(I have stolen you from the lines of fate)...”
When Anup Jalota sang these lines from Qateel Shifai’s ghazal to wife Medha sitting in the audience, he meant every word. Because he had relentlessly wooed reality to soften its gaze towards his ailing wife. It began in 2001, when Medha was diagnosed with a fatal heart condition. The braveheart wished to die peacefully in snow-capped Switzerland but Anup took her to Mount Sinai Hospital in New York instead. And miraculously she returned alive with an ‘American heart’ transplanted inside. “She now calls me darling,” he had once joked.
After six years of fair weather, Medha developed a kidney ailment that put her on weekly dialysis. Last year, the heart threatened to give away again. Not one to accept the diktats of destiny, the couple flew to the US for a double transplant of both the heart and the kidney. And as time ticked dangerously away – they waited with optimism for a donor. Sadly, when she did find one, the 59-year-old Medha succumbed to liver failure on November 24, 2014. But not before proving that nothing’s more sacred than life, nothing more sacrosanct than the will to fight. In fact, in a surreal way, she could now be completing Qateel’s ghazal for her dear husband...|
Zindagi mein toh sabhi pyaar kiya karte hai
(In life, we all happen to love...)
Main toh mar kar bhi meri jaan tujhe chahoonga...
(But I will continue to love you even after I am gone)...
Anup Jalota with wife Medha
DIEHARD SPIRIT
“After her first heart transplant around 2001, Medha had to go for check-ups abroad every six months. Last year, we were told that her heart was not doing well; her arteries had started blocking again. Also, in the past six years, she had developed a kidney ailment. She had to undergo dialysis twice a week. The doctors at the Westchester Medical Centre in New York, under the care of Dr Alan Gass and his team, suggested that she undergo a kidney transplant with a second heart transplant in one go. She was going anyway they said, so why not try out this last option.
We took our son, Aryaman (19) along with us to get him admission at the Princeton University to study financial engineering. That was Medha’s dream. After that she got admitted to the hospital. We spent two months there waiting for a donor. I lived in the hospital virtually. I ate there, showered there and slept there. But those two months were our happiest ones. We stayed positive and had fun even in the darkest times. We had friends dropping in, musicians visiting us.
Someday, Medha would crave for Japanese food. Some day she’d desire an Afghani meal. An Afghani family, our friends, drove five hours from their home to bring her the specially prepared feast. Once she asked me to get gajak (a sweetmeat) from Aligarh. At times she’d remember the badams (almonds) that her close friend Shobha Motwane got her back in India. Drinks were naturally not allowed there. But once or twice I managed to have some wine for which Medha chided me.
So full of life was she that we once organised a painting competition for all the patients waiting for a heart transplant. We ordered paints, brushes. That day Medha had to undergo plasma treatment to prepare her for the surgery. So on one hand her plasma treatment was going on and with the other she painted.
With Dr Alan Gass
TOUGH BATTLE
Yes there were tough times too. Like just 15 days before we found the donor, her heart began to sink. At 3.30 am the doctors conducted an emergency operation and put a pacemaker to stabilise the heartbeats. There were moments when she said, “Choddh do ab kya reh gaya hai!” I’d say, “Haan, chhodh denge jab kuch nahin rahega haath mein.” You could understand her weariness because in the past too she had endured critical moments.
The first time, around 15 years back, we had taken her to Mayo Clinic, for a biopsy of the heart. There, by mistake, they cut her stem and she started bleeding. They conducted an open heart surgery immediately and she survived. Then on a few occasions she developed acute infection and the doctors asked for the family to be called. Also, one night, when I was away, her potassium levels shot up and she almost collapsed. Aryaman put her in a cab and took her to Hinduja hospital. We owe a lot to Dr Nitin Kothari there who took great care of her throughout.
Coming back to the last month, one day, all of a sudden, we found a donor. A young 16-year-old in another city had met with an accident. The hospital staff took a flight to get the heart first and then the kidney. Yes, the treatment cost me big money – not the kind I earn. But for whom do you earn at the end of the day? She went to the theatre smiling and fearless holding a Hanumanji idol. The heart was first transplanted and then the kidney. But during the surgery she bled a lot. The liver, which was not too sound, gave away. So the main reason of her death was liver failure. Everyone at the hospital was taken aback because she’d told everybody before the surgery, “I will come back!” There was no indication that she’d never return.
But given any situation in life, I’ve never lost faith in God. Whatever He decides for us has some implication. The doctors said had she survived perhaps she’d have been left paralysed or slipped into a coma given the blood loss. That was not a desirable state to be. But because her death was so unexpected, I was shattered. My son supported me instead. Much before the surgery she had mentioned that if she were to pass away in the US then her body should not be flown back to India. So we cremated her in the US. We brought her ashes to the Parmarth Niketan Ashram in Hrishikesh. Aryaman accompanied me.
Son Aryaman feeding cake to mother Medha as dad Anup looks on
THE WIFE I MISS
Medha’s presence is all around me. The kind of happiness she gave me in the past 20 years is hard to express. Not a single day did we fight. We followed one rule – every argument had to be resolved before going to sleep. Another thing is that since the age of 15-16 I’ve been singing the poetry of saints – Kabir, Surdas and others. That somewhere freed me of latent anger. In fact, Medha would get angry about the fact that I never got angry. I’d say, “Fifteen days a month I spend performing all over where people pamper me. So the rest of the days, let me pamper you.”
Medha belonged to a cultured family. She was the niece of our ex-Prime Minister of India, Shri Inder Kumar Gujral. She was not overtly religious but she was spiritual and had great faith in Shirdi Sai Baba. Subah sham diya zaroor jalati thi. She was aesthetic in the way she dressed and in the manner she did up our home. In fact, we have a beautifully done up duplex apartment in New Jersey, near Princeton, as well.
I don’t have the heart to go there without her. Also, I have never shopped for my clothes because she handpicked everything for me. She enjoyed my classical compositions. Like my bhajan Kabhi kabhi Bhagwan ko bhi bhakton se kaam padhein based on raag gujri todi. Or Thumak thumak chalat Ramchandra based on raag jayjayvanti. I will now concentrate on my music, something I had neglected over the years. I guess, my music will grow deeper and more classical. Our family has started an organisation to spread awareness about organ donation. In India such awareness is lacking. In fact, Medha’s sister Kirti also had had a heart transplant in Chennai. She’s doing fine. The Government should make easier laws for donors. I have pledged my organs. Even Shabana Azmi, after seeing what Medha went through, has pledged her organs. Because nothing is more precious than life and nothing stronger than the will to live.”
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