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Behind the Chandrasekharan Nair Stadium in Palayam, there used to be several police quarters. Many of my childhood friends were children of state police officers. I used to visit them every evening. Near those houses stood the multi-storied CRPF camp, whose main headquarters was at Pallippuram, Kaniyapuram. One day, while walking towards the quarters, a CRPF sentry on duty stopped me and shouted, "Aap sab kahan ja rahe ho? Yeh aapke liye public road nahi hai" (Where are you all going? This is not a public road for you to walk on). I realized he had been watching me for some time.
I walked faster without looking back, but he sent another personnel to bring me to him. The officer told me in Hindi, "The Quartermaster Sahib is watching. Come with me for your own good." I had heard that a Quartermaster was powerful enough to initiate a 'Court Martial.' An invitation from him was an order. Fearing trouble, I followed him silently.
I was led into a large compound with manicured gardens and white-painted brick pathways. Outside a room on the ground floor of a four-story building, a board read: Thomas George, DIG, Quartermaster. There was a profound silence and discipline. Having visited the Pangode Military Barracks many times, this atmosphere didn't intimidate me. I recalled the 'Garrison' theater at Pangode, where high-ranking officers and their families watched Hindi movies. After the late-night shows, my friends and I would walk back to Palayam via Vazhuthacaud and Bakery Junction without any fear, as everyone knew my family and my uncle.
The officer who took me in signaled me to enter. I greeted the handsome man in the revolving chair with a "Good Morning, Sir." After asking about my name, education, and my father’s profession in English, he suddenly asked me in Malayalam: "Are you interested in joining the CRPF?" I was stunned, wondering if he was joking. I said "Yes," but mentioned I needed my parents' permission. He encouraged me to go and ask them immediately.
My parents were initially hesitant, thinking a police job was beneath our status, but eventually, they agreed. I rushed back to the Quartermaster. He spoke with the Commandant and initiated the recruitment process. He truly took a liking to me. I still remember him personally showing me how to high jump and sending a policeman to run with me at the stadium to improve my speed. He was a man with a heart of gold.
However, when the battalion received orders to move to Jammu & Kashmir, my father strongly opposed it. I suffered from chronic sinus issues and severe allergies to cold weather, which would debilitate me for weeks. Consequently, I had to resign. In those days, a police job was often seen as a last resort, involving menial tasks for superiors. The CRPF also had a different reputation then, unlike the professional force it is today.
As I watch the CRPF personnel currently stationed at Sanskrit College for protest control, I see they are all from other states. My memories drift back to those days. I offer them my best wishes. But knowing how sternly the paramilitary handles situations, I should be careful not to get caught in a lathi charge myself! Palayam Nizar Ahamed Copyrights alrights reserved
(Written on Sunday, August 11, 2013) Author: Palayam Nizar Ahamed(M.Nizar Ahamed) Writer| Journalist |Blogger| Poet | Editor-in-Chief |Flash News Bulletindaily|Breaking news, investigative reports, editorial writings
Self-Respect in the Twilight of Life
"If I look away for a moment, father soils the sofa. If we put on a diaper, he tears it off; the floor is often covered in waste. I am exhausted from cleaning. If a home nurse comes, they don’t stay for more than a week," a friend shared with tears in his eyes. Another friend recounted: "I had stepped out to tie the cow after putting a diaper on my bedridden mother. When I returned, she had smeared waste all over her head and the bed with her hands. It took an entire day just to clean her."
A lady acquaintance shared, "Brother, my mother-in-law refuses to wear clothes. No matter what we put on her, she tears it off. I feel ashamed in front of relatives. I am fed up." The stories shared by friends and relatives are enough to fill a small book. You might also have many such experiences. Caring for the elderly, especially those who have lost their memory, is a very challenging task. Often, this responsibility falls on a single family member (son, daughter, or in-laws). Have we ever thought about their mental struggles?
The first thing to do is to treat those who care for the elderly with love and compassion. Offer them maximum support, affection, and financial help if needed. Do not hurt them with words, avoid criticism, and be patient with their shortcomings. These are crucial. Now, let’s get to the core: How can a person who has lost their memory live their remaining days with dignity and self-respect?
Children and loved ones should create a clear plan for 'Palliative Care' or 'Comfort Care.' What is Palliative Care? It is a method of care focused on improving the quality of life for a bedridden patient by eliminating discomfort, distress, and ensuring as little pain as possible. This care may be needed for a few days to several months. Here are things we can do as part of palliative care:
Elderly people may show stubbornness, anger, or speak incessantly due to physical pain and the side effects of medications. This is a common sight in homes with elderly patients. Always remind your heart that your parents raised you by enduring your childhood tantrums and stubbornness. If you keep this in mind, no child will find it difficult to care for them. You will find the heart to clean them and keep them comfortable. Reading scriptures (Bible, Ramayana, Quran) according to their wish may provide solace. Give them the assurance that their last rites will be performed according to their wishes.
Where is help available?
In Kerala, the State Government provides excellent Palliative Care services (including nurse visits) entirely free of charge.
If you have elderly people at home, try to visit Medical Colleges or General Hospitals to see those who have no one to care for them. When you see the struggles of the elderly and their bystanders there, you will realize that the elders in your own home are like God. You will understand that the 'glory' we see now is not permanent. Kerala is a model for other states in palliative care. For more information, contact your local ASHA worker or the nearest Public Health Center.
This is submitted to the social conscience with necessary suggestions from experts in this field. Please share this as much as possible