When a loved one was dying in India, the advice I gave to my family was not what they expected | Ranjana Srivastava

As his body faltered, he was fed by a tube, hydrated by a drip and pumped with powerful drugs. But he needed love and pain relief

Twelve months ago, I received a call familiar to many migrants with relatives spread around the world. Bare Papa was gravely ill in intensive care in our Indian home town. In Hindi, Bare Papa (pronounced Ba-rey Papa) means Elder Father. He was a father figure to my dad after the boys lost their father and an anchor for our whole family.

My cousins reported that Bare Papa was looking worse every day. There must be a diagnosis, I pressed. We don't know, they said glumly, in a story that is repeated across so many hospitals around the world. One glimpse of him on a video call and I sensed trouble. He was listless and gaunt, one limp arm hijacked by an IV. Take me home, he groaned through parched lips.