The Weeping Willow and the Willing Weep-o

Today was a surprising day.

I did two things I hadn't been able to do in a long time: attend a class and meet my advisor. This, a natural result of being sick in some form or the other for nearly a month.

I expected some semi-stern orders from my advisor to catch up on the research for the project I've been funded on, but I couldn't have been farther from the truth. My advisor took one look at me and asked me how much weight I've lost over the past few months. I winced and told him the truth. I'd already emailed him about the problems I'd been having, so I poured out my grudges against the university hospital and the pennsylvanian weather. He told me that health should come first, and said he would speak to the graduate advisor about getting me permission to drop everything and go home to recover. (He'd already given me permission to take the entire summer off.)

I was shocked! When I'd been at the depth of my misery two weeks ago, I had such thoughts but dismissed them later as absurd, my advisor wouldn't allow me to do something like that unless the situation was really hopeless. I told him now that I will give that thought serious consideration, but since I am feeling stronger than I did last week, I think I ought to wait another week and see if my condition continues to improve. My advisor said it was my call, and he would relieve me of research work for the rest of the semester if I choose to stay.

What concern! What compassion! Nobody's ever been this kind to me. As I walked away from his office, I found myself choking with emotion. And then I called up my Mom to tell her what I'd just been told, and that I am seriously considering returning home. I'd been "protecting" her by not telling all my troubles, so now that I am only left with a few minor symptons, I poured out the entire truth of the past few weeks. My voice broke down by the time I reached the end of my monologue, so I hastily said goodnight and hung up.

And then I wept, there by the windowsill at the end of the corridor, as a bemused american undergrad walked past me to the stairwell. I composed myself, walked back to my lab and informed my friends that I am thinking of dropping the semester and going back to India next week. But one month of pent-up pain and frustration wasn't done with me; my voice broke again and my eyes glistened. They waited till I had a full hold on myself and dragged me to a restaurant for lunch to cheer me up.

A couple of hours later, as my advisor returned from his lunch, he brought me a parcel, courtesy his wife. It contained idlis, which any South Indian worth his salt will tell you is the best food for convalescing patients. Lovingly packed with it was some andhra-style spicy chutney.

I should have wept again. But heck, where does logic ever apply when it comes to my emotions?

I smiled.