Since the stroke in January 2005, that significantly weakened my left side, my life has been in slow motion. Paucity of power on my left side slowed me down considerably. Losing to the clock became the rule than exception. Bathing and dressing up took considerable time, rendering me perpetually late. My wife, who assisted me to dress up, was resultantly delayed too.

We turned up late at functions and meetings.

I was late to church for the Sunday service too. I invariably entered the Church with my wife beside me well past 7.30 AM, when the Church bell usually chimes to announce commencement of the service.

As partaking of the communion, kneeling at the altar along with the congregation was challenging to me, thanks to the stroke, the priests serve me communion at the pew where I sit. This mandated I sat right on the pew at the front, not to inconvenience the priests who did me a favor.

Entering church well into the service caused considerable consternation to my mother who used to accompany us to church till she passed away. She used to literally steal into the church, to occupy one of the pews closer to the rear. With her sari pallu tightly wrapped around her head, as if to cover her identity, and her perplexity at being late. Her late entry into the church used to be the cause of considerable sniper-fire, sometimes teary, between me and my mother on the way to church. Regretfully.

My late entry into the church right through the front door used to catch everyone’s notice. Some of them have even told me that the church doors could be shut after my entry, as there wouldn’t be anyone else to come in! I took such jibes, in my unsteady strides with my head held high, entirely aware of what kept me late.

In all fairness, there were also some who told me that my marching-in act with the parapareitic gait into the church through the front door, irrespective of time in fact ought to be an inspiration to many able-bodied who continued to keep their sleepy tryst at early morning hours beneath their blankets. I took such ‘compliments’, also with head held high.

I have to admit that my late entry came with a bonus- that of missing the sermon, which has been reduced to insufferable ordeal in churches these days. With indifferent and detached priests reading out material related to the church lectionary downloaded from internet to voluminous quires of paper to a congregation in various stages of sleep cycle.

Recently, my sister and brother-in-law, who are uncompromisingly ‘churchy’ visited me on a Saturday. I knew I was in trouble. Their visit translated into having to walk through the church door on time the next morning, accompanying them- a tall order for me. The congregation was in for a surprise on Sunday morning. Customarily, I walked in through the front door. But, on that Sunday, on time. Through the corner of my eye I beheld a few surprised sleepy-eyed checking the accuracy of their watches.

As I sat down on the front pew beside my wife and sister, it was so refreshing that Sunday to hear something I hadn’t heard since 2005- the chiming of the church bell. Instead of benediction! 

Once the choir was done with the closing Amen, I was mobbed by a few from the congregation, genuinely surprised and stunned at my entry into the church as the church bell chimed. ‘Miracles still do happen’, I told them proudly!