Chef SM

Chef SM

– Ms. Alpa Dharamshi, Bengaluru

As a volunteer counselor, I regularly visit Karunashraya (Bangalore Hospice Trust), a hospice where patients often have only weeks, days, or even hours left to live. While one might expect such a place to be filled with despair and sadness, it’s surprisingly peaceful. When you enter the hospice, the calmness and light strike you first. Nurses move about quietly, attending to patients with deep care and compassion. They work tirelessly, supporting some of the most vulnerable people in our society.

Patients here have typically endured a long and challenging journey of illness to reach this point. Some have spent years battling life-threatening conditions. This is their final chapter, and they are largely accepting of what awaits them. In these last days, they focus on simple pleasures—talking to visitors, reading, or simply lying in bed, completely in the moment. There is much to learn from their acceptance and courage.

During one of my visits, a doctor asked me to speak with a newly admitted patient, Mrs. SM, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile. Mrs. SM, a talented cook, had been diagnosed with cancer two years prior. At first, she hadn’t realized the severity of the wound on her chin, but as  it grew larger and more difficult to manage, her condition became apparent. She initially told people it was just an infection, but as her illness progressed, her employer asked her to leave her job of over a decade, suggesting she could return when she was fully healed.

SM and I quickly formed a bond. She would wait for me outside the ward every time I visited. I made it a point to see her as soon as I arrived at the hospice. Our conversations started with simple introductions but soon became much deeper. She shared her fears, concerns, and even  recipes with me. We celebrated Christmas and New Year’s together at Karunashraya, and she was always cheerful during our time together.

One day, she opened up about her family and the discomfort she felt at home, which had led her to the hospice. She said, “Madam, I trust you, and I am sharing everything with you. You are the only one I can trust blindly”. She confided in me, and as a counselor, I assured her that her secrets were safe with me.

As her illness progressed, she found it difficult to chew and insisted on avoiding a feeding tube. The doctors at Karunashraya respected her wishes and provided her with a nutritious liquid diet. Even as her condition deteriorated, she remained focused on life’s little joys. We spoke about nature, travel, and cooking—her favorite subjects. She often shared her salad and soup recipes with me.

One day, she asked to sit by the fountain, a spot she loved. As we sat by the flowers, she mentioned wanting to donate her eyes about which I had discussed earlier the importance of its donation with her. I told her it was possible and encouraged her to inform her family. The next time I visited, she told me, with a radiant smile, that her son had agreed to fulfill her wish. It was the first time I saw her smile so beautifully, despite her pain and deteriorating health.

In her final days, SM was bedridden and unable to speak much due to the cancer affecting her jaw. One afternoon, as I was preparing to visit her, I received a call from the hospice counselor. SM had passed away peacefully. Her son honored her wish to donate her eyes, and I was deeply moved to learn that two people could now see the world through her beautiful eyes.

SM and I shared a special connection, one I will cherish forever. She lived with grace and left with dignity, and her spirit continues to inspire me and many others.