Fading 2007..

The New Year is arriving..

Last year was a good one.

Lots of love and laughter shared.

Good health.. Good boss.. The two things we have least control upon.

:))

I feel blessed. Let me thank for my countless blessings

Let me move on with hope in my heart. Cocooned and safe in the unconditional divine love that is my birthright

Praying for the strength and wisdom to make the right decisions.

For the grace to see goodness in everything
Gautam will be completing his plus two. Hope and pray that his hopes and dreams come true..

WISHING YOU ALL A WONDERFUL YEAR AHEAD..

PS. Thats the pic of Palayam Church taken today at dusk..

my blog was reviewed

http://avidblogreader.wordpress.com/2007/12/06/hope-and-love-blog-review/

Hope And Love’ - Blog ReviewDecember 6, 2007 — Ishq

Hope and love are not the only things, what this amazing lady ‘Anu’ from God’s own country offers to all in her blog ‘Hope and Love‘. It has all the human emotions that a lady can sustain. A doctor by profession pens down her medical encounters and peronal get-a-alongs with absolute charm and uncomparable mixture of reality and philosophy. Most of the author’s blog entries are her trysts with her patients but when it surfaces from a women who has such an ability to put life into each words it touches the inner core of your soul. There are a few blog entries which sent shivers down my spine. Though most of the blog entries are mentionable, the ones which cannot be missed are ’Pandora’s Box’ and one without a title posted on ‘Wednesday, May 30, 2007′. I am impressed the way by which simple relationships and day to today events interpreted with such soulful thinking by the author. The art of writing the personal incidences in form of a story is worth praising. Each entry has a picture corresponding to the titles of the blog entries.
The blog has a dull theme and the appearance is not upto the quality of the writing in the blog entries. The blog does not attract the the visitors until they read the blog entries. The navigation of the blog is simple and similar to other ‘blogger’ themes. The blog started in February of 2005 and has more than 60 wonderful instances to read to your heart’s content. There has not been much activity on the blog recently. The last blog entry was on Nov’24 2007 when I reviewed the blog. I go ahead and give this wonderful blog a 3.5/5. I would offer a few suggestions to the author of the blog:
use a theme which compliments the content which you are writing and also improve the overall appearance of the blog.
update the ‘about me’ section or provide a link to your orkut profile, people will appreciate the blog more, the more they know about you.

Blood guilt.

‘Pregnant..??’

The stricken eyes gazed at me. The smooth cheeks burned.. The full lips trembled.

“Yes pregnant.. About 6wks”.

‘But.. But we used condoms.. Always..’

She whispered.
‘Condoms are not 100% safe.. Didn’t you know that..?’

‘No.’ She stared back.. Blankly..

‘Well, you are pregnant.’ I repeated allowing the news to sink in.

‘Talk to your boy friend. Get married… Fast..!’

I smiled at her.

Marriage… him..? no..’

‘But you are pregnant.’

She stared back her face pale..

‘But we never discussed marriage..’

‘Never..?!”.Why.’

I was confused.

‘Our paths are different.... Our families will never agree. She wouldn’t look at me.

‘Different religions. Different backgrounds. He is a Muslim’.

‘But.’

‘I was now utterly confused.

'We are lovers. But marriage is out of question. It was made clear from the beginning itself.’

‘We used contraceptives. Always.’

‘So you want to have abortion. .

I felt anger bubbling up my gut.

‘Abortion. ? No. Its murder…’

The lovely face was deathly pale.

'You plan to deliver the baby?'

She was silent her gaze fluttered. She looked trapped. Cornered.

I leaned forwards and rested my hands on the table. ‘Aparna you are pregnant. You can’t wish the problem away. The baby is growing every minute’

‘But we used contraception.’

She murmured to herself

‘Contraceptive failure is always a possibility.’ I repeated.

‘Sex should never take lightly. My tone indicated.

‘Confess to your parents. Shall I call them over here? Give me their no:’ I spoke softly. Gently.

She looked as if she would faint.

‘Take your time. Decide what to do.’

‘But abortion is murder.’ She said to no one in particular.

Don’t take a decision now. Think it over. Tell me tomorrow

I had many more patients waiting.

I watched her as she walked out in a daze.

Smart. Forward..Good looking... Professional. ..Self sufficient.. anyone who saw her would credit her being all that.. on first impression..
'Forward' enough to consider sex without marriage

She was now facing the age old problem.

'Women are women. You should have been more careful.'

I wanted to tell her. But what was the point? The damage was already done. She had already learned it the hard way.

She never came back to me. I don’t know what her decision was..

I sincerely hope it was not abortion.

The easy way out.

Murder.

Bloodguilt.

Peace..

Mr Moorthy died. A few weeks back.

His wife came to see me today. To collect medicines for her sons.

Mr Moorthy was conscious almost till his end. The morning he died , he called both his sons to his bedside.. He hugged them and blessed them. His eyes overflowed.

What pains me deeply is that nothing definite has been arranged regarding the sons.

Who will take care of them once their mother too passes away...?

From what I understood, they had expected her brothers to take care of the two sons after taking whatever property they have. But it was towards his end that they realized that it was not going to work out.

She is now searching for some institution which would take care of them.

I felt so sorry for the old woman. Widowed at 72yrs. With not much education or exposure, she is somehow grappling with her life, alone, burdened by her two sick sons.

I told her to do something as early as possible. To arrange something with the help of her brothers. Meanwhile I would also try to contact a few institutions.

May God help her.

May his soul rest in peace..

PS. I had written about Mr.Moorthy and his special family on March 6, 2005.

Self sufficiency

She kept blabbering something. I couldn’t make out the guttural whisper. I suppressed my nausea as the stench of blood, urine, sweat and tears wafted from her, filling my nose.

One half of her face was swollen. She had multiple contusions all over the body, fractured ribs and bleeding from her ears. The right eye looked grotesque. The pulse was feeble and the BP, not record able.

She was in shock.

I started an I/V line, sutured a gaping lacerated wound on her forehead. A batch of tests, painkillers and antibiotics were advised. Neuro, ENT, Surgical and Opthal consultations were ordered.

No, sedation would have to wait much as I would have liked to sedate her.

The bleeding from the ears looked ominous. Head injury had to be ruled out first.

“Sister, tell the bystanders to come to my room.’

I told the sister as I walked out of the ER.

I felt furious.

It took about 20mts for someone to turn up. A middle aged bulky woman. She stood near the door.

‘Come, sit.’

‘No I’ll stand’.

‘No you sit.’

She sat.

‘Her sister?’

‘No, neighbor.’

‘Her husband?

‘The Police is searching for him.’

‘What happened?’

‘Her boy came and called me.’

‘Boy? How old?’

‘ 8yrs’

‘He was in tears. Told that his amma was hurt and crying. I went with him to see what had happened.’

I could feel her panic as she recounted what had happened.

‘ I didn’t find her in the house. Then I found her.. In the verandah at the back. She was lying on the steps leading to the backyard. ‘

‘Didn’t you hear anything?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, the TV was switched on in both the houses.’ She shifted her eyes
‘
Where is the child now?’

‘He wouldn’t come to my house. I left my kids with him’


‘Has this happened before?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘C’mon you must know.’
‘ Oh. Ok. Yes.’

‘You spoke to her about it?’

‘ No’

‘But why?’

‘It’s a personal matter. These things happen’

‘But you never discussed it?’

‘No’

‘She didn’t tell you anything too?’

‘No. She was a very quiet woman’

‘Quiet?

‘Yes. Quiet… Soft ... Timid… Shy… She never spoke about it to me. And I didn’t want to ask her’

‘What about the husband?’

‘ A good for nothing fellow. Drunkard…Involved in Petty crimes. Never gave her peace’ .She shuddered. ‘We avoided him, my husband and me.’


She rose up again. Eager to leave.

‘M’am I’ve to go. The kids are alone. They must be scared and hungry’

‘But some one should stay back.’

‘We have rung up to her father he is on the way.’

‘Where do they live?’

At Neendakara.... They are on the way..’ She repeated as if it was an excuse for her to leave.


‘I have to go. My husband will be here till they come’



‘Ok. Tell her father to meet me.’

The Causalty was busy that day. I got time to talk to her father only late in the night. A shriveled, defeated man. His shabby terlene shirt hung loosely around the frail old body.

‘Ganga’s father?’

‘Yes.’

‘You saw her?’

‘Yes’

‘Understood her condition?’

The sunken eyes beseeched me. The gaunt face looked tired and drawn.

‘Do you think she will survive?’

The softness in my voice made him jerk in pain.

‘To be frank I doubt it.’ I persisted.

I knew that I was driving the arrow in his heart deeper. But I had to be open in this hopeless case.’

‘We will try for the best. . But...’ I left my voice trailing.

Yes I had to be open. Her reports had come
.
She had fractured skull. Intra cranial bleed, ruptured spleen, fractured ribs and Contusion in her lungs.
There were cigarette burns on her cornea.

She was already in coma .It was highly unlikely that she would survive.

‘You know what happened?’

‘Yes.’

‘ You know that she was often being battered?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes?’ I couldn’t keep my anger out of my voice.

‘ Yes. I know that her suffering started the day she married him. She would come to my house and weep’

‘First it was for dowry. Then a scooter. Then whenever he had problems
He was involved in petty crimes. Didn’t have a proper job.’

‘Was she admitted before?’

‘Yes twice.’

He wouldn’t look at me.

‘Once with a twisted arm and once with fracture ribs.’

‘You never reported it to the police?’


‘No’



‘He told he would set fire to her body. Pour acid on her face.’

He paused for a moment and looked into my eyes as if it was a confession.. Then he continued.

‘Last month she came to my house. She refused to go back to him.

‘It was I who convinced her to go back.’ The old man started to shake.

‘You convinced her? Why?’

‘I told her that she must go back to her family.’

I felt the nausea rise up my gut again.


‘Family?’

‘Yes. Her husband and kid’


‘But why?’ I didn’t ask that but it my silence did.

‘My Ganga was a timid girl. I felt that she wouldn’t be able to manage alone. Who take care of her after my death? ? But she has left before me… I can’t bear this…!

He started to sob again.

‘Ok ok.’ please calm down.’ What has happened has happened. You did what you felt was the best for her. Don’t torture yourself... Please. ‘

My heart went out to the old man. I could feel his deep pain. His regret... His guilt.

‘Take some food and try to get some sleep. I’ll tell sister to give you a mild tranquilizer.’

That was all I had to offer him.

Also, I too was tired and hungry. I needed some rest badly.

Quiet. Soft... Timid… Shy..

The words kept resounding in my ears, as I lay sleepless.

Quiet.. Soft…. Timid.. Shy...

Ganga didn’t pass the night. She died during the early hours of dawn.


Quiet ,Soft, Timid, Shy , Ganga.

The words often used to describe a woman


High time it is changed to Bold. Spunky and Smart …

And of course ‘Self-sufficient...’

Sailing..

“To tack a boat, to sail a zigzag course is not to deny our destination or destiny. Just the opposite.

Its to recognize the obstacles that stand between ourselves and where we want to go, and then to maneuver with patience and fortitude making most of each leg of our journey, until we reach our landfall.

The seasoned sailor stays on the same tack as long as it appears to b advantageous and then at the appropriate moment, pushes the tiller towards the sail and swiftly changes direction.
Each separate tack calls for a major readjustment. The bow moves across the face of the wind. The sail swings from one side of the sloop to the other. Helmsman and mate shift position. The land looms from a different quarter.

But if the maneuver is handled fluently, the boat continues to surge ahead with a minimum loss of momentum.

In due course we arrive, if it can be said that we ever fully arrive. The truth is that there are destinations beyond destinations and so the confirmed sailor goes on tacking for ever.”

-Richard bode( First you have to row a little boat)

I'v just finished reading this little book. It’s full of wisdom beautifully told by a sailor with years of experience sailing his blue sloop. He writes about similarities between sailing and living.
I wanted to share the book with you all. Plz read it.

Angel

I was tagged by Geets..

There are 3 rules.

Rule 1. Same as for the last tag

Rule 2 You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had.

Rule 3. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog

I dont have a middle nam.. naturaly I choose 'Angel'

Accomplishment-The satisfaction at the end, for my efforts..

Scanning through the newspaper held in trembling fingers. Seeing my my no:in the list of those who got admission to MBBScourse.. Feeling the bolt of pleasure and excitement explode. Turning and grinning at my mom.. Watching happiness floods and ripples her face as the realization dawns..

The first glimpse of my babies sleeping in my moms arms bundelled in a soft shawl.. Marveling at their petal soft cheeks and curly eyelashes

A patient’s smile when I tell him that he is healed and can be discharged...

A spotlessly spring cleaned house..

The boys gobbling up 'palappam and mutton stew' cooked to perfection..

The first bloom of a jasmine creeper planted ,watered and nurtured by my own hands..

The first glimpse of every new post in this blog..

Nature- My greatest love. The magic the horizons promise.. The soft breeze that knows me intimately.. The serene green meadows dotted with wild flowers. Lazy white clouds of the blue blue summer sky..Ethearal mist floating down a sleeping valley.. Full moon nights. The song of the rain. The silence of the stars..

Nature can sooth me when nothing else can..

Grave stone-A stone put upright on a grave showing the name etc of the person buried there. The sum total of all my dreams, efforts and agonies will be summarized there.. In a very few words.

Energy- My basic necessity.. to work, play and love.. With passion..

Learning-Yea I keep learning.. To trust.. To forgive.. to share.. to let go ..to slowdown... to keep silent or to talk.. To laugh.. or to not laugh.

I leave the tag open.. anyone who wish to do it is welcome.. its very rewarding.. I enjoyed doing it..

txs geets..!!

Human Nature.

Silvie had tagged me a few weeks back. Maybe she has forgotten about it having posted several posts after the tag …

Sorry for the delay silvie,I didn’t get time . I am sure you will forgive this busy woman-doc-friend for the delay.

:))

I enjoyed doing it because human beings always interest me. Also it made me go back and remember the people I love and respect and the ones who have pained me.

FirstI have to name those I wish will take up the tag.

I tag the following people.

1. mm
2. abc
3 .adorable pancreas
4. cool-alien- frm- mars
5. di

I wish to get to know you better sweet hearts..!!

:))

The second part of the tag is about the "Kinds of People I Judge"

I know that I am not supposed to judge others. But being human, I do judge some kinds of human nature.

1. Suck ups-People who suck up to relatives and colleagues with lot of money and social status and look down on people who are not that lucky. In general, people who believe that those with more money and social status is “superior’ to others.

2. People who bring religion, castism and groupism to their work place

3. Manipulators - people who try to manipulate the emotions of others. They use kindness, goodness, guilt, greed, envy, lust, gluttony, and pride, of their fellow human beings to get their way.

4. Those who don’t keep their promises. Some may even give false promise to get their way. It makes you lose your trust in them.

5. Goody goodies and hypocrites

The third part of the tag is about "People and Things I admire" (The best part I think)

1. People with physical handicaps or chronic disease, who get on with a positive attitude. There was this doctor who did PG with me. He was struck by polio while doing his ‘plus one’. He had been a state cricket team player before that. His one leg was paralyzed and he walked with a limp using braces. Also had severe back pain on and off.

I always admired the way he used to join in all the fun never drawing attention to his disability. He was always smartly dressed and smiling calmly. His presentations, depth of knowledge, and language skill were excellent. I always admired the dignified the way he handled his disability.

2. Women who are successful professionally but always prizing their tenderness their feminity. Women who successfully balance their carrier and home. Who can exercise control over their male subordinates firmly softly and effortlessly. I once had a lady boss like that.. she used to be so soft, but firm and clear as to what she wanted. I loved the time I worked with her.

3. People who are disciplined and organized in an effortless manner. Wonder if I will ever be that..

:(

4. People with a positive regard to everything in life and malice to none. Those who live happily whatever their circumstances are making the best of whatever they have

5. People who can get across their message frankly, simply and pleasantly without hurting others..

6. People who can make others laugh a lot. ( And silvie dear, U lead the rest…!!)

:))

A date with the past..

A date with the past..!

Tomorrow I will meet faces long forgotten..

The Friends..The enemies.. The bullies.. The buffoons… The snobs..

I’ll be hugged and pulled back to the past..

We will share what we were, those days.

We will also celebrate what we have become..

But most of all I will meet her.

After a long long time..

A tall skinny girl wearing a starched cotton sari and a white coat. Her huge eyes are lined with kajal.. There is a huge red bindhi on her forehead..

She is walking into the medical college with wonder and pride..

She is to become a doc..!

I can see her rushing from one lecture hall to the next. Chatting and giggling with her friends

Sharing the lower half of a female body with five others.. To cut open , dissect and study the human body, in and out..

Making friends with a bag of bones, the grinning skull given permanent space on her study table.. and wondering if the whole set belongs to the same person..

Recording the action potentials on a rotating drum as the pithed frog convulses desperately..

There she is.. walking to the hostel in the hot sun, blushing as she hears the cat calls from the Male House Surgeon’s quarters..

Sitting and reading in the hostel verandah late into the night..

Walking into the ward and examining a patient.. Embarrassed as the rest of the ward sits and watches her..

Watching the autopsy of a nine year old.. And running out of the autopsy room to retch her guts out..

Walking alone through the dark, sleeping ward to a patient gasping his last breath. Then waiting for ten minutes after the pupils are fully dialated and fixed.. to be sure.. before certifying the death..

Watching the bloodshed and trauma of a normal delivery for the first time and wanting to see mom immediately..

Walking out of the medical college thinking that she owns the medical field only to realize that she has to start from the scratch. Carve out her own path..

That only experience will teach her that the patient’s trust is the greatest compliment and her greatest responsibility.. That the way she talks to the patient is as important as the drugs she prescribes..

That she has to fix her priorities. Find out her own definition of success..

Her own definition of happiness..

I will hug and kiss that skinny girl with the huge bindhi..

I will hug her tight and pat her on her back..

Tell her to move ahead with smiles..

With hope in her heart and love in her soul..

Counting her blessing..

With grit, perseverance and wisdom..

With the confidence that..

Whatever happens she will emerge a winner..!

A long lost monsoon..

The rain had been merciless. Had been the whole night. Beating down on the rooftops. Washing down the dust and grime..

The op was almost deserted. It always was during the first few days of rain. Then slowly, as epidemics of viral fever and respiratory infection erupted and spread, the op would get crowded, the wards overflowing, the staff too falling sick one by one.


My first case was a very draining one..I looked into the worn out eyes of the woman. Her daughter cowered besides her scorched by shame. She wouldn’t look at me.
The rain was gathering momentum. I had to raise my voice to make myself clear.
‘Accept it. Your daughter is four months pregnant. There is no question of abortion now. She will have to deliver the baby.’
The woman stared at me leaned back on the wall, bent her head as if in deep shame, and started to weep.
I glanced at the girl again

Why were women so stupid?

'Yes why so stupid ..?' I wondered again as I drove home that evening.

The wipers wiped off the raindrops falling on the misting windshield. But the rain was persistent. New drops. New patterns on the glass… to be wiped away again and again. I switched on the dim lights of the car, driving cautiously. The wet gleaming roads were skidding. The drains overflowing.

I made a mental note to add more soups in the menu.
Boiling water steeped in tulsi leaves to drink. Panikoorka leaves in the hot bath water…To prevent fever..



I remembered another monsoon and another sixteen year old.. guilty of yielding to empty promises and cajoling lips.

I walked into my house. my younger son was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV.

‘Didn’t go for tuition?’

‘Not feeling well.’

‘Hmm’. His chubby cheeks were flushed. The huge eyes drooping
I stroked his forehead pushing back the long hair. His forhead burned.
‘Ate something’?

‘No.’
‘But you must. Along with your tabs’.

‘Soup?’

“No tummy aching’.

‘Toast and hot milk.’?

‘Ok’
‘As I waited for the milk to boil I thought about Gayathri again.

She kept intruding into my thoughts today... after a long time..

The rain.. the pregnant girl… my son's fever..

I had been in 6th std. It was monsoon..My folks had gone to Kumily to attend a marriage. I had fever. I was to stay back with the new servant girl. Gayathri.

The day passed off fine.

She sat besides me on the floor. Served me hot kanji and pickle.

I felt a bit sick but loved all the attention being lavished on me.

It was drizzling as I slipped off to sleep in the afternoon..

I woke up dreaming that I was drowning in water.

The rain was pattering wildly on the roof. The windows had been closed. The curtains drawn across.

There was no electricity but Aa candle was burning and I was covered with a blanket.

Gayathri looked up from the book she was reading and smiled at me.

‘Chechi called. They will be late.’

‘The road is blocked. Some huge tree fell on the road.’

‘Don’t worry’. The dark gentle eyes smiled at me. Her nose stud flashed in the dim light.
‘I am here. You sleep for some more time’

I closed my eyes. The rain was persistent. Gathering momentum.

It started from the pit of my gut. A small shiver. My core felt frozen .. waves of chill spread all over my body. My teeth chattered. I was shivering.

‘Molu.. Molu..’ I could hear gayathri call urgently. She was rubbing my hands and feet. Running here and there covering me with more blankets.

‘Molu take this..’

I opened my mouth ,she poured hot kanji water into my mouth. The hot scalding liquid scorched my throat pleasurably. I opened my mouth gulping down more and more as I felt it warming my core filling my hunger..

I slowly opened my eyes the dark eyes smiled reassuringly. The nose stud flashed.

‘Sleep’.She whispered.

‘I am here’
She sat besides me on the floor and started to sing.

'What’s that ..?' I murmured sleepily.

‘Narayaneeyamm’

I lay with my eyes closed. Drifting off to dreamless sleep..

‘Molu’.
I woke up to feel soft hands on my cheeks.

‘ Better?’

My mom sat on the bed. Morning light flitted in through the open windows. Raindrops dripped softly the leaves of the guava tree outside. It had stopped raining.

‘Hmm better’. I smiled sleepily hugging her.

‘My son drank the hot milk and ate the toast. I gave him the tabs and tucked him in his bed.I looked forwards to the rainy evening ahead. My hubby was out of station. He would be coming the next day only. The trains were cancelled.

Some tree had fallen on the tracks.

I looked forwards to reading late into night cocconed under the blanket ..drinking coca.. while the rest of the world slept .. the rain pattering wildly on the roof .. the wind howling at the windows..

But somehow I couldn’t read.. I kept thinking about Gyathri..

I adored Gayathri after that. I loved the way her tummy jiggled under the half sari as she ran around cleaning, cooking and washing. Her glass bangles clashing, her payals dancing.

She made unniapams for tea.. sweet crunchy ones..

She gave me warm water steeped in tulsi leaves to drink and mixed crushed panikoorka leaves in my hot bath water ( To prevent fever she would smile at me ).

My uniforms were dazzling and neatly pressed.. she braided my hair deftly..

She would sit besides me singing narayaneeyam as I slipped of to sleep at night.

The sky was over cast when I returned home from school, one evening to find that she had gone.

‘Why?’

My mom would not tell why.

'When would she be back?"

No she wouldn’t be back.

‘Go out and play.’

My mom looked distracted. Upset.

‘Play’?

Didn’t She notice that it was drizzling outside?

I never saw gayathri again.

My confusion about her was cleared years later..

My grandfather had been buried the previous day. I sat watching an old man poking the canvas roof of the pandal from below with his huge umbrella. The pandal was sagging with the previous night’s rain. I watched water flowing down from the sides of the canvas with each poke..

‘Molu’.

I turned around to see my mom with a seven year old girl.

‘Remember Gayathri ?’

‘ Gayathri’?

Memories of a long lost monsoon.. Deft hands braiding my hair.. sweet crunchy unniappama.. The sound of rain gathering momentum… Fever and chills..Hot liquid burning my throat... Nose stud flashing in candlelight… Gentle eyes smiling reassuringly… A husky voice reading narayaneeyam..

‘Gayathri? Where is she?’

‘Didn’t you know? Gayathri died in her childbirth.’

‘Oh..!’

I looked at the skinny girl. Huge lonely eyes gazed at me. Unruly curls framed the cute face.

‘Her father married again…?’ I guessed

‘What father?’ ‘Molu, Gayathri was betrayed.’

‘Betrayed? But you never told me?’

‘You were too young at that time to understand.’

‘She trusted the new police constable. Didn’t know that he was already married. He never returned to the village. She was expecting him to come for her when she came to work for us.

Oh..!’

‘It was too late when I came to know.. she was almost four months pregnant .

Why were women so stupid..?' I wondered again.

I slipped into the bed hugging my sleeping son. His body was cool . The fever had left him.

I lay sleepless hugging him..

The rain was gathering momentum.. again..

Mr. MN is a regular patient in our hospital. A 70 yr old hypertensive and a diabetic, he comes for regular checkup.
Every one abhors him.
Cos of his rudeness.

He picks up a fight with everyone. To the op counter clerk, to the doctors, to the sisters, to lab staff’ to the x-ray technician’ to the pharmacist.

Added to it he has patches of leucoderma all over his body and his snarling face.

Today morning I walked towards my room. And there stood Mr MN commenting rudely about doctors arriving late for duty. The fact that I was a bit late added to my irritation. I walked in head high as if I had not heard him.

The lady hospital attendant walked in looking fraught.
'Horrible man.' He was abusing you very badly.
Before I could reply. Before I could lay down my bag and take my steth out Mr. MN barged into the room muttering loudly about doctors coming late. He sat down on the chair.
I couldn’t trust my self to speak. I just placed my bag on my table and walked out.
To control myself or to teach him a lesson? I don’t know. Maybe both.

:))
I returned about five minutes later. He sat staring at me coldly.

‘Come sit here. I pointed on the stool besides me.’

‘ Oh ! You have only a stool for examining patients? ‘
He glared at me.
I pretended not to hear.

‘Hmm tell me your symptoms.’

‘I have pain abdomen and numbness both legs and feet.’

'Hmm any vomiting?'

‘No. I had told about my pain abdomen to the doc who had seen me last time. He gave me some stupid medicines. I have no relief.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Is your blood sugar under control..? Show me the results.’

He took out the report.

‘That’s the report. Who knows if anyone can trust the lab reports?’

It went on and on. Me asking questions softly and him being bitchy.

I asked him to remove his shirt and lie down on the couch so that I could examine his tummy. Then I examined both the legs in detail. Talking very pleasantly and softly.

Slowly the rudeness started to crumble. He started to wring his hands shyly while answering my questions. His voice became soft.


I came back and sat down.

‘You seem to have hyperacidity
Are you under any tension?’

‘Yes doc. He said quietly.’

He then talked for forty minutes non-stop. Yes he had a lot of tension in his life. His wife suffered from paranoid schizophrenia.
Since the past thirty years.
She doesn’t go out of the house. She is paranoid of every one. Doesn’t trust anyone. Even their grandchildren.

He talked and talked I listened.

Finally I advised the tabs he had to take and the diet he had to follow. In detail.

He quietly listened.

He got up to leave. Reached the door and turned back
He smiled at me.

‘I’m sorry doc. Sometimes I cant help my self. I behave rudely I know.’
‘I understand. Its cos of your family problems. I smiled back.’

The poor poor man.

I had been seeing him for the past several years. But I had not bothered to find out the kind of life he lived.
‘Treat the ‘person’ not the disease.’ I remembered reading somewhere.
So true.

I looked forwards to seeing Mr. MN the next time.

Alone.

Recently during my morning walk Inoticed something. The herbs and grass grow close together. The shurbs stand slightly wide appart. But the trees, the taller and bigger they are stand wide appart.

They stay alone.

Today I came across these words.

'Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone...

Stand together not too near together for the pillars of the temple stand appart.'

-Kahlil Gibran.

P.S. That is another pix of Veli.

The breeze flirted around lazily, playing with my hair, nuzzling my cheeks, pulling at my shawl idly.

The lake rippled and giggled. The flowers danced in gay abandon. The sandy stretch just lay there slumberous.... sedated. The ocean rose up in spray, crashing and roaring deeply.The blue, blue sky smiled serenely.

I felt calm, contented.

I was at Veli. Alone. With my journal and camera.

To be with my thoughts, soak in the nature, centre myself.

I do it off and on. When I need some 'Me' time.

Take a day off and drive to Veli.

Wander around alone, listen to the birds , gaze at the clouds. at the water plants bobbing serenely in the water , kids feeding the pigeons and the geese .
Marvel at the birds that swoop down on the rippling lake in a flash and fly away with the catch.

Take the pix of whatever catches my fancy..

Obeserve my thoughts silently..

Then relax in the floating restaurant, sipping tea, relishing the crisp spicy pakoras and write in the journal whatever i feel like with the roar of the ocean in the background.

The landscaped lawn at Veli is lovely

It includes the figure of a full-bodied woman lying on her back with one hip and knee slightly flexed. Her body is deliciously curved, moulded from warm earth and covered by soft, lush grass.

To me, she is the embodiment of a woman confident with her lush body, relishing her sensousnes, comfortable with her sexuality.
I have seen people especially women watch her surreptiously through the lashes never daring to admire her openly. They gaze secretly and then shift their eyes.
Her unbridled sensuality seem to be a threat and embarrassment. Even men seem to be uncomfortable around her.

I have taken her pictures from many angles, but it never did come out right.Needless to say that I know next to nothing about photography

Somehow, I was never able to capture her mood...her spirit...

That natural, innocent wantonness.

Anyway that breezy morning I decided to give it one more try.

I walked around her with my camera aiming from different angles.

'No. She was evading me'

I walked back about 20 feet and tried to capture her.

'No, I couldn't'.

I had to get her full figure and I could get it only from above her . I looked around.

'No, there was no building around.'

Then an idea flashed. Maybe if I could climb on her flexed knee, I could capture her fully.

I clambered my way up her body and climbed on to her knees,

'Maybe I could make it this time’. I kneeled down, tilting my camera to the right angle.
'Hmmm..... She lay before me ..! Unrestrained..!I aimed to click
'Hey!Hey...!!Come down...!!'
The voice was harsh. I turned to see the security guard gesturing at, me wildly.

I pretended to ignore him and turned back to click once again.

"Madam come down, you are not permitted to climb up there".
His eyes glared at me.

A few women workers had gathered .I had not noticed them.

'She walked around! Then she went away, then climbed on the top..!.'
They reported to the security officer. They stared at me accusingly measuring me from top to bottom, making me feel like a pervert.A shameless, immodest woman.

'But, it’s not written that photography is not permitted.'
'Landscaped lawn are meant to be walked upon'
' Her pose and mood is to be admired'

I wanted to tell them all that but I knew I couldn't reach out to them.

'Okay...Okay.’

I Smiled at them, walking away as fast as i could.Iwanted to escape from those censoring eyes.I didn't want to spoil my mood arguing with them.

As I walked away, I could feel those eyes boring down my back.

Typical attitude of the society towards sensuality and sexuality.Towards sex.

I felt sorry, for the artist who had crafted her so lovingly.

P.S. That is her distorted pix. All that I could capture of her. Maybe the purpose of the geese is for people to pretend that they are feeding them and gaze at her secretly..!

:))

Anniversaries of the heart..

“The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart,
The secret anniversaries of the heart”

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sun rays slant across the dry field coating it copper gold.The earth was dry, ,brown, and crusty. Blooming bougainvilleas blazed here and there. Fluffy white clouds wandered lazily across the sky.

I listened to a group of teenagers playing cricket on the other side of the field. Their shrieks and yell filling the warm summer air. Exams were over..


My mind floated back lazily to those long lost summer hols at my Amminja’s with my brood of cousins and neighboring kids.

Thirty years have vanished.

I can feel the hot summer sun burning my skin. I can hear my uncle talking, my Aminja’s laughter leading the rest.

Those mad days

Hot sunny days, Summer frocks, Lush juicy mangoes, Burgeoning jack-fruits, iced lemonades ,fragrance of jasmines blooming at dusk, summer storms.

Playing Cricket, badminton and football, the hot sun burning our brown, sweating, grimy bodies.

Ice-sticks, red yellow and milky white.. bought and savored secretly from the ice-cream man

Raw mangoes cut and mixed liberally with chilly, salt and coconut oil shared in damp dark leafy corners our tongues burning, our eyes watering.

Watching the thunderclouds build up with excitement and impatience … jumping and leaping around in abandon and delight as the heavens open and the rain lashed across drenching the dry crusty earth.

Balmy summer nights performing plays in the portico as adoring adults clapped and cheered.

Dark- Room pillow fights…

Make believe tree houses…. picnics….swimming, fishing.

The excitement. the wonder ,the love the sharing,the security.

The delights of childhood celebrated those long lost summers.

Captured forever in the fragrance of jasmine,the mangoes, the lemonades, the balmy summer nights. the fresh morning air following a night of summer storm.

One summer and many summers after that, a red rose was found every morning at the bottom of the huge flight of steps that led to my grandparents home . We came to know that it was from a secret admirer. A lanky teenager in the neighborhood who adored a lovely cousin of mine.

This made our summer hols all the more exciting. I remember running down the steps early morning giggling and laughing as we spotted the rose.

We are now spread out in different parts of the globe leading different lives.

But those shared summer hols bonds us forever permitting us to pick up where we had left off on the rare occasions we meet

We are kids again, giggling as we remember this…teasing as we remember that…thoughtful as we remind each other that the lanky teenager still remain a bachelor supposedly pining for my lovely cousin.

The sun had dropped below the rim of land. The boys had finished their game and gone home. A faint breeze cooled my skin .The trees were turning an ominous black.

’ Sweet are the memories you left behind’

I silently thanked my long gone Amminja as I walked back home for accommodating the whole brood with pleasure.

Gifting us beautiful summers.. Holidays of the heart that are remembered every summer..not restricted by the passage of time.

Jal Rekha

The dew that melts away… The waves that crash and recede… The rainbow that fades… The night breeze that plays with my tendrils and silently sweeps away… They all murmur to me.

“Nothing is permanent.”

Nobody is mine forever. There is no ‘my’.

I must accept that I will have to let go at one time or another.

I may share tears, laughter, hope and despair. I may be loved, betrayed, admired or hated… But everything passes.

There is only me and the deep, deep silence around me.
There is only me and his grace that guides me.

Advice

The room was silent and dimlight. The doors and the windows shut. She was alone.

The nurse lifted the net that hung over the bed so that I could examine her.

40% burns.
8 weeks old.

The upper body was exposed. The skin was charred. Cracking and peeling, exposing raw, oozing areas. She had no hair, eyebrows, nor nipples. Contractures were developing on her neck.pulling her lower lip,sticking it to her chin. Exposing her teeth.

Her ears were burnt out.
I called her name. She opened her eyes.
Pain, agony, loneliness and despair stared back at me. Filled her eyes and poured out as tears.
‘How are you?’ I smiled at her. ‘Slept last night?’
I was seeing her for the first time, doing my routine rounds before breaking off from night duty.

Words poured out.
“Sever pain… Itching…Cant sleep… No appetite.. I am fed up… I want to go home.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“My kids are having exams today. She started to weep.”

“Gosh!
She was in deep despair. She needed tremendous psychological support to carry her through her despair and the deep agony that lay ahead.

I had to say something.

“Take it as a test for your resilience… your patience… your strength…”

I smiled at her again.

“ Bear it for some more time.”

She stared at me as if I had gone mad.

“Testing? Suffering? Patience? It has been nearly two months.”

“ I know, but maybe you have to suffer a little while more.”

She kept staring at me as if I didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Accept it. Amma, that is the only way. “

I smiled back softly. I felt like hell. I knew that I must sound like a supercilious bitch with superfluous advice.


True. I knew nothing about what I was talking about. I couldn’t even imagine the extent of pain, suffering, loneliness and despair that she was going through.

I didn’t even have the time, the patience or the energy to sit with her for some more time.

I had more patients to see. Finish my work fast and be home before my boys left for the exam.

My neck felt stiff and sore after the sleepless night. I had to soothe it.

My neck, which had troubled, nagged, pained, frustrated,disheartened and despaired me for the past 6 weeks.

Yes, what right did I have to talk to her about resilience, about patience ?

It was rumored that hers had been a suicide attempt.

Suicide?

A mother with two kids?

I couldn’t imagine it.

But what could I advice her?

After all, Who am I to judge ?

The Magician

‘Outstanding is the new normal and the unthinkable, sheer simplicity!’

At least, it is when Federer is around. He is a stage performer in a play where he writes his own script. A big, well defined tournament, where results reflect not only mastery of the game, but also tests the deep depths of human toughness and endurance. A grand slam tennis tournament. Tough for all, except for Federer that is. He just goes on to win it without dropping a set. As simple as that! The fact that he was not at his best makes it all the more scary. Therein lies the mystique of the man.

In such ambiguous times, the Nadals and Roddicks are not the archenemy, although broadcasters will play up or even come up with a rivalry if need be. In actuality, they are mere props for Federer to showcase his talents. Even as he is annihilating people and bringing them down to their knees, he has a smile on his face and gives a pat on the back afterwards. A sportsman.

Nothing stirs a tennis fan like seeing a cross-court half volley taken in the run by Federer for the opponent can do little but gaze in awe with his eyes wide open. The greatness of the man for me doesn’t lie in the number of matches he wins, but the manner in which he wins them as if he were just killing a fly. Magical.

Today is the day of the sportsman who has more endorsements and fan support. And they will go to any extent to get the same. A player is how he is presented. Anything that comes loose and unpackaged is viewed by the public mainly with condescension and is summarily dismissed. Effect of the media. Not the case with Federer. He commands respect with his game and not by praising the fans. However, the media has been helpful. As Federer his himself said after winning the 2007 Australian Open grand slam,

“Nobody would know how good my forehand was,
if I hadn’t been playing every match on center court.”

A proof of the phenomenon that is Roger Federer. No theatrics. Just the game.

Some believe that Roddick, Nadal and the like are good enough to spring a few surprises. Maybe. But that is all. To even dare to dream about more is not just hypocrisy. Its humour. Roddick’s strokes are powerful but lacks consistency. Nadal’s form is a wave of ups and downs. Yes. Federer is in a league of his own. The kind of leagues of Schumacher and Tiger woods in their respective sports. That few is the number of such leagues in this generation of world sport. Only Bjorg and Sampras can run him close in the open era.

As his opponents try to catch up, the gap seems to widen even more. While they are foraging for scraps of hope, Federer might want to take a break to make tennis a more fair sport. But for now, all that can be done is to keep on trying. Federer might just make an error. Wishful thinking, maybe. Just try and hope for the best. What else could possible be done in this unfair world.

-Gautam

Well, that was my son Gautam.

:))

I was not well for the past one month. Cervical disc disease. Had to undergo rest, physiotherapy and pain. It is said that doctors are the worst patients. It was true in my case. It was a pretty bad one. Kept imagining all the worst possibilities. Prayer centered and consoled me a lot.

I am better now. Will b joining duty tomorrow. I wont b blogging actively for the next 6 weeks.

Love and hugs. Miss you all.

See you later.

:))

Best Wishes..

I sat in the car waiting for the class to be over. It was getting late than usual..Prof M.J’s drone could be heard faintly through the mike. I felt happy that we had chosen this place for Gautam’s entrance coaching.

Expensive yes. Strict too.. But Gautam liked it. And the timings were ok

I remembered those long lost days... Preparing for admission in the med school. Reading… re-reading. Writing…. As if life depended on it...Tutions..Tests..

It had not been so easy for us...

My parents had supported. Vaguely.

Now it was different. Parents put their entire life on hold those two years. Taking the kids to tuitions and coaching centers. In the wee hours of morning. Or late night… the city roads unsafe even for boys to travel alone during such odd hours.


We had chosen this place cos of two reasons. One, Gautam liked it. And two, the timings were ok.

5.pm to 9pm three days in a week. At least the family could sleep..!!

I gazed around. Parents stood in groups. Chatting. Some like me preffered the solitude in their cars.. cherishing the time alone. Lost in their thoughts. Listening to music.

The wind blew in playing with my tendrils. My cheeks felt cold. The December air was misty. Chilly.

I switched on the FM station.

‘Maniyara deepam ananjal pinna karimizhi random nanayaruthe..’
I listened idly as KJ yesudas crooned deeply. The lover was consoling and strengthening his departing beloved. He was begging her... to never permit her deep dark eyes to be wet once the lantern was dimmed on her nuptial night.

I sighed. and leaned back on my seat.

That was when I noticed her. She stood in the shadows. Close to the wall of a house, a few meters ahead. She wore a purple nylon sari. The borders draped tightly… Suggestively… Over her bulges. Her hair was teased into tendrils around her face and loosely plaited,decorated with jasmine flowers. Her lips were painted blood red.

She looked …well….. Ready for action..

I watched riveted as I saw car lights coming up the street. She too saw it and stepped out from the shadows. Her movements controlled. Sure.
The car moved ahead without slowing down.

She coiled back into the shadows with equal ease.


I watched her. Fascinated. Curious. I wish I could talk to her but didn’t dare to.

How did you land up here in the shadows? Ready to sell the softness of your skin. The lushness of your curves. The skill of your lips…?

I wanted to know.

Innocence? Desperation..? Pure greed…?

Do you dread tonight? Or are you just not bothered? Seasoned by your past. Hardened by practice. Shrouded by numbness.

I could see her talking rapidly into her cell. I remembered reading somewhere that life was easier for them with the advent of cell phones. They could do their own networking now..

Do you have dreams..? I wanted to know. Will your kid hate you?

Why does everyone hate you..?

The sound of engines starting up woke me from my thoughts.

The class was over. Boys and girls were coming out chattering loudly. I sat wand watched mutely as she lurked back into the shadows again.. Eager to escape from the car beams.

Why was hr car not coming? Maybe he was waiting for everyone to leave….

Maybe he was parked among us.


‘Mama…!!’

The doors opened and shut forcefully as Gautam and his two friends clambered in noisily

‘Lock the doors.’

I orderd mechanically, Starting the engine

I glanced at her as we moved ahead. She was burying herself into the shadows. Her back to me. her pallav covering her body...

I kept watching her through the rearview mirror.


“Goodbye..Hope your car comes soon. Hope he is good to you. “

I wished silently..



I thought about her again as I drifted off to sleep that night.

“Where are you now..?”


‘Maniyara deepam ananjal pinna karimizhi random nanayaruthe”

“I know that you are not doing this for yourself.” I wanted to tell her.


“Enjoy baby…”

“Continue your good work.”

Positive thinking for prostitutes..!!!.

I smiled sleepily.