Feisty grandfather continued to live life on his own terms despite the ravages of Parkinson’s disease
Zorben Zend
"Zend the boxer” (1948), "Zend the baker” (1950), "Zend the marathoner” (2012-2013), "Zend the conqueror” (2012) and "Zend goes to heaven” (2021). These are headlines which appeared at various times in the Press describing Zend Merwan Zend (December 9, 1935 to January 10, 2021).
I simply called him Grandpa!
At the age of 60, my grandfather (yes, I hero — worshiped him) suddenly descended into severe depression. My family couldn’t understand it. Either he was severely depressed or on a testosterone filled quest while swinging between the highs and lows of the chemical dopamine (Google it).
The man who was a national level boxer at 16, a father at 22, a grandfather at 51, a man who was successfully running one of the best bakeries in Bombay (Yazdani) was slowly but surely losing himself. At first people (family included) simply presumed that, like most Parsis, he was going eccentric at 60.
Above: Zend Zend; above r: in his boxing days; inset: the iconic Yazdani Bakery
Then the involuntary shaking started. I was 10 years old when I saw my Grandpa being unable to eat food without effort. I started laughing (I was just 10 and thought he was trying to make me laugh as usual). After numerous medical tests and doctors’ visits, he was correctly diagnosed as having Parkinson’s disease. It was relatively unknown at that time.
The fact that my Grandpa had to now be closely monitored by a ward boy while taking copious amounts of medicines was more than he could handle. During a "low” phase he once confided in me that he was contemplating suicide so as not to burden the family. After the entire family reassured and counseled him that we would love and respect him no matter what, this foolish notion subsided.
In one of his dopamine highs, he had boasted "God had to deliver the KO (knock out) punch to me and I am still here, still fighting! Never give up never surrender! Rage, rage against the dying of the light!” (A decade later I realized Grandpa was quoting the famous Welsh poet Dylan Thomas.)
My grandfather’s body was no longer under his control. His speech slurred till it became a whisper. The famed speed at which his hands knocked out opponents in the ring left him. His movements were now in slow motion if not completely frozen. His 6’2” stature and charming gait became the drunken walk of a hunchback until he needed a helper. Men and women who used to vie for his attention and company now shunned him. The basic movements needed in order to preserve a person’s dignity (such as using a toilet) were now a herculean task for my grandfather. During the difficult transition phase (acceptance over denial), more than his family, the only person who stood by him, bore the brunt of his medicine induced rages and weaknesses, was his Man Friday, Sonu Sharma. He was a boon to my grandfather and an even bigger one to my family, his diligent and continuous service was a blessing!
The only thing that my grandfather had left is the most important thing for any Parkinson’s patient/survivor — undiluted will power!
One day while I was going to work at 6 a.m., Sonu called the bakery frantically to inform me that Grandpa was going to run the marathon (without registering). At first a tidal wave of cold panic hit me; then, as I regained my senses, a slow but steady smile crept across my lips. I was finally reaching an understanding of the who/what/why of Zend and his battle against Parkinson’s. He wasn’t doing it out of narcissism, he was doing it purely by will power to live life and to enjoy it on his own terms.
A few months later, just at onset of the monsoon, my grandfather called me and whispered "Shri Jeevdani Devi Mandir Trust, Virar.” After frantic research, I returned the call on his helper Sonu’s phone and asked Grandpa, "Why?” The answer was a simple: "I can. I will!”
I was sure that with his boundless will power climbing the 1,400 steps up a mountainside in the light rain would be an easy task, though Sonu might quit if asked to do it again! (This feat earned Grandpa the title of "Zend the conqueror” in the local evening newspaper, Afternoon Despatch and Courier.)
"And you, my (grand)father, there on the sad height,/
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray./
Do not go gentle into that good night./
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)