Nobody plans a trip to the hospital.
I certainly didn't. A complication at the site of a previous injection led my doctor to advise immediate surgery. What seemed like a routine medical issue suddenly became a hospital admission.
Like most people, I have often heard others say, "I don't like hospitals." But then, who really does? Hospitals are places we find ourselves in when life takes an unexpected turn. Yet this visit taught me that a hospital is much more than a building where medicines are given and surgeries are performed.
Before my operation, I was waiting in the pre-operative ward when I noticed an elderly village woman sitting alone. She had been fasting since morning, waiting patiently for her procedure. No attendants were allowed inside, so she sat there by herself for hours.
Later, the doctor informed her that her operation could not be performed that day and would have to be rescheduled. I felt sad watching her leave after such a long wait.
A few days later, after my own surgery, I learned that she had finally been admitted. By then I had recovered enough to walk around. I went to see her. She was lying quietly in a ward full of women and newborn babies. As I held her hand and spoke with her, she expressed immense gratitude. She told me she was hungry but had been instructed not to eat for another twenty-four hours. We talked for some time, and in that moment I felt that perhaps my presence brought her a little comfort.
During my stay, I met many people. There were nurses and housekeeping staff who worked tirelessly with smiles on their faces despite long hours. There was a young girl preparing for competitive examinations who had taken a temporary job at the hospital. We spoke about her dreams and ambitions, and I hoped to encourage her to keep moving forward.
There were two friends working the night shift. One of them shyly asked if she could take a raw mango from my table because her pregnant friend had been craving one. It was such a simple request, yet it reminded me how small acts of kindness can mean so much.
For a short time, a young boy suffering from asthma was admitted to the room next to mine. His mother stayed by his side, worried yet hopeful. Conversations with them, and with many other patients and families, became moments of connection.
Another unexpected lesson came during my evening walks around the hospital campus. There was a small Peer Baba shrine where people would occasionally leave offerings. One evening, I noticed that the place was covered with dry leaves and had not been attended to for some time. Something within me felt drawn to it.
I picked up the leaves, cleaned the surroundings, and lit a diya. What began as a simple act soon became a daily routine. Every evening, I would visit the shrine, spend a few quiet moments there, and meditate.
Those moments gave me a deep sense of peace and strength. They also reminded me of something important: religion is not meant to divide people; it is meant to connect them. Whether one enters a temple, a mosque, a gurudwara, a church, or a small shrine under the open sky, the purpose is ultimately the same—to cultivate compassion, humility, gratitude, and a connection with something greater than ourselves.
That little shrine became a place of reflection during my recovery. It helped me realize that healing is not only about medicines and procedures. Sometimes healing comes through service, through silence, through prayer, and through feeling connected to others.
Looking back, I realize something surprising. My hospital stay did not drain my energy. Instead, it gave me an opportunity to pause, reflect, and contribute something positive to the people around me. A smile, a conversation, a few words of encouragement, or simply listening to someone can sometimes be as healing as medicine.
Hospitals are places where people arrive carrying fear, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness. While doctors, nurses, and medicines treat the body, every one of us can help heal the spirit. We can choose to spread positivity instead of absorbing the gloom around us.
I left the hospital with a healthier body, but more importantly, with a deeper appreciation for human connection. Sometimes, when life places us in unexpected situations, we are not there only to receive help—we are also there to give it.
And one final note: throughout my stay at Military Hospital, Meerut, I was pleasantly surprised by something unexpected—the food was among the best hospital food I have ever had!
My journey to the hospital reminded me that even in places associated with illness and suffering, kindness, compassion, faith, and hope can quietly flourish. All we have to do is contribute our small share.
Perhaps that is the true medicine that every hospital needs a little more of: humanity.
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