Published on: October 29, 2025

A Personal Reflection on WHPCD 2025

In late August, when Dr. M.R. Rajagopal told us he wished for every one of our care seekers to be invited to this year’s World Hospice and Palliative Care Day celebrations, not just a few; the invitation committee meeting suddenly felt much larger than the four walls it was held in. We were looking at nearly 4,000 care seekers in our database, each deserving of that personal touch, that warm acknowledgement that said, you belong with us.  

In the weeks leading up to the big day, the entire Pallium India family came alive with a shared purpose. Planning meetings stretched into evenings, phone calls multiplied, and to-do lists seemed endless. Yet no one backed down. Leadership, staff, and volunteers all moved in sync, driven by love and commitment. Behind the scenes, an entire community worked in harmony. Every logistical challenge was met with quiet determination and creative problem-solving.

The mammoth task of inviting nearly 4,000 patients was completed in record time, thanks to volunteers, staff, and home care nurses who personally went door to door. They didn’t just hand out invitations; they carried warmth with them, letting every careseeker know that this day was for them. Our social work intern Meghna and physiotherapy intern Sharanya took on what can only be described as a herculean task, calling hundreds of careseekers, confirming details, and patiently listening to every anxious voice on the other end. My SIPC volunteers from ACE College of Engineering, my fierce, tireless, and endlessly kind team, called almost a thousand contacts in just a few days. It wasn’t easy, but their energy kept us going through long afternoons of ringing phones and scribbled notes.  

Funds were raised, materials arranged, and logistics ironed out in what felt like impossible timelines. From housekeeping to senior leadership, everyone pulled their weight. There were moments of fatigue, yes, but also laughter, shared meals, and an unspoken understanding that what we were doing mattered deeply. This event wasn’t built in a day. Rome wasn’t, and neither was this. It was built with countless small acts of care, endless cups of tea, and moments of quiet reassurance exchanged between tired colleagues who were running on little more than adrenaline and love.  

Looking back now, I still find it hard to believe that I was one of the people coordinating an event of this scale. Over 1,500 care seekers and caregivers gathered at the Veli International Convention Centre in Thiruvananthapuram on October 11, 2025, and somehow, despite the chaos and exhaustion, we pulled through. I say “we” because there’s no version of this story that doesn’t include everyone who made it happen. Still, there I was, alongside Shijo Kurian Thomas, my work companion through it all. We spent nights planning, editing lists, rechecking logistics, and managing the chaos in ways that felt deeply human. There were times we simply looked at each other, exhausted and wordless, and smiled because we knew we were organising something that mattered. I don’t think there was ever a day when we went back home by 5.  

The day itself felt like watching a dream unfold. The Veli International Convention Centre was filled with colour, warmth, and laughter. Careseekers arrived with their caregivers, and volunteers and staff moved swiftly to make sure everyone was comfortable. The chaos and exhaustion felt so much lighter, brighter, and more meaningful because of the fifty incredible students and faculty from ACE College of Engineering and the seven wonderful ones from the College of Engineering, Trivandrum. Words fall short when I try to express how deeply grateful I am for my SIPC volunteers. They were the strength, the soul, and the heartbeat of this year’s WHPCD celebrations.

They were everywhere, placed at different corners of the venue, yet always ready to run wherever help was needed. Many of them were stationed at the entrance, helping careseekers get down from vehicles, shifting wheelchairs, and making sure everyone arrived comfortably. Others were in the dining area, supporting the serving of food, ensuring that every careseeker was attended to with warmth and dignity. They were quick to take initiative, never waiting to be told twice. Every time they saw us doing something, they would rush over, ask how it was done, and then simply take over.

I remember one of the SIPC volunteers asking me, “Show me what to do when we go to the bathroom with a careseeker.” I showed him, step by step, and he nodded and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it from here.” And he did with so much care and respect. Moments like that moved me deeply because they reflected what true compassion in action looks like.

All through the day, I found myself calling them from one part of the venue to another, and they never once hesitated. Whether it was setting up chairs, moving supplies, or helping a care seeker find their seat, they were everywhere at once, cheerful and tireless. Watching them work reminded me that compassion can be learned, nurtured, and passed on like light.

By the time we packed up that evening, my body began to protest. My fibromyalgia had been simmering quietly for days, waiting for me to stop, because I was artificially postponing it through strong medication. I knew the flare-up would come, and it did the next morning. I spent two days bedridden, aching and exhausted, yet strangely content. Everything hurt, but my heart felt lighter.  This wasn’t just an event. It was a community that worked, stumbled, and stood together. Everyone, from housekeeping staff to senior members, gave everything they could. We put our care seekers before ourselves, and in that act of collective compassion, we rediscovered why we do this work in the first place.

There are moments from that day I still replay in my mind a caregiver’s smile, a volunteer’s kind gesture, Shijo’s reassuring nods from across the venue. These small things made the day so much more than the sum of its parts. When I think about the chaos, the laughter, the pain, and the beauty of it all, I realise this wasn’t just about organising an event. It was about holding space for care, connection, and community. And for me, it was a reminder that even when the body falters, love and purpose can carry you through.