What does darkness mean to me? It’s something I live with constantly—not complete darkness, but a hazy, dusk-like gloom. It reminds me of the double-decker buses in Mumbai, with their recessed windshields, looking like one-eyed monsters. With one non-functional eye, I often feel like one of those buses. My “rascal” eye flashes strange lights in odd colors and patterns. At times, I see imaginary pillars or obstacles on my left side. Instinctively, I reach out to touch these non-existent objects, much to my wife’s confusion. Despite my explanations, she never fails to ask why I do it. 

This brings back memories of my post-surgery period. Once, in the hospital, I accidentally grabbed the doctor’s secretary, nearly causing an uproar. My wife panicked, fearing I’d get slapped. She still isn’t sure if it was intentional or accidental. Another time, at a temple, I almost leaned on what I thought was a pillar—only to realize it was a woman in a black saree. Close calls like these have been a constant source of humor and chaos. 

In 2013, I began receiving eye injections to treat macular degeneration. Three injections are usually sufficient, but my condition demanded more—countless more. The doctor’s poker-faced response to how many I might need. “As many as it takes.” The cost? I could have probably bought a small apartment in Manhattan. 

During my hospital stays, the bandages were removed quickly to compensate for my already limited vision. But on one occasion, my son, daughter-in-law, and grandson accompanied us, and we stayed in a hotel. After the injection, I was bandaged and escorted back by my wife and daughter-in-law. I blindly followed their step-by-step instructions—*“To your left, just one step... now right.” * Getting into the car and navigating the hotel felt like comedy in slow motion. At the hotel, my wife provided a running commentary on everything on my plate, as eating blindly was another challenge. 

These moments were challenging for me—and probably exhausting for my family. But humor has a way of sneaking into even the most desperate hours. 

If you’ve read this far, thank you for your patience. 

Contd. 360. Half Is Full - Part 1