COLOURSCAPE !

The clean white tiles greet me whenever, I enter my hospital, the nurses in their sparkling uniforms say hello to me. The khaki clad ward boys respect and fear me a lot as I am a task master.I dress usually, in shades of blue as it is my favourite colour.The steel grey floor is resistant to the stains and much favoured by our folks.My maroon stethoscope, gifted by my brother is perpetually hanging on my neck to diagnose the ailments of my patients.The silver needles shine, when patients tremble, to take the injections.The black bag contains a lot of life saving drugs. My rosy receptionist is always smiling to reveal her crooked teeth, salvaged by huge pink lips and has auburn brown hair.

The cirrhotic lady came to my emergency room with vomiting of blood, the bleeding was since a last few hours, hence coffee ground in appearance, mixed with the earlier consumed yellow lentils and the green bile.The red cells were used to transfuse her with the cream plasma to save her from the crisis. She had purple ecchymotic patches on her fragile pale skin to suggest a bleeding tendency. She was critical and she succumbed eventually, Nothing could save her!

The deathly white ambulance came with a flashing red light and took her body home.

I attended her funeral in a dark black shirt,carrying violet lilies to offer my condolences and saw her turning into powdery ashes.

I live such a colourful life daily.

Need I be excited about Holi ?

BILLU BARBER & ZEENAT AMAN.

Back in the good old days, Our family, barring my mom used to head to the saloon for a haircut, which was a monthly routine for us.The saloon was a small structure with an asbestos roof which used to heat up during summers and make a lot of rattling noise in the rains.The place was filled with old tattered film magazines and yesterday's newsapers. It was so dry and dull, the saving grace was a bikini clad Zeenat Aman poster in one corner. We used to stare at it on the sly when our dad was busy with his hair-cut.She was truly amazing and evoked muted giggles from us, we were very small and innocent but Zeenat, somehow enchanted us. The main barber was a dangerous looking Billu, who cut hair humming the old sad songs, being played on the antique radio which required a few taps to get started and played at an annoying volume. The hair cut was a uniform crew cut for all of us, followed by a head massage which included fragrant coconut oil to sooth our small homework worrying minds. Our heads looked similar, when viewed from any possible angle.The crew cut was a long lasting economical cut. It was the signature cut of Billu Barber, who had no other style to offer us. The cut hair was swept and put in a gunny bag for export to foreign countries for making wigs, so they used to say.
Last week, I went to a newly opened swanky hair saloon in a nearby mall. It was a posh parlour where the flooring was shiny white and mirrors all around. A leggy receptionist welcomed me and offered me juice,the sexy hair stylist came and caressed my hair superficially to know the texture and volume of my hair. As I sat on the leather remote controlled chair, soft music started emanating from the hidden speakers on the walls.The plasma screen also sprang to life with music videos of skinny white girls dancing in their skimpy clothes. My hair was treated delicately by the stylist and she cut it with a pair of small scissors slowly. As she finished her work,her colleagues came, saw my hair and appreciated her cut like some work of art.They charged me a whopping sum! I was scanning the floor and I hardly saw any hair on it. I was shocked, as there was no difference in my post cut look.I looked the same old guy who had entered the saloon with a lot of expectations.It was a day light robbery! I returned home with dejection and dissatisfaction.
I was missing my old Billu Barber!
I wanted to see the poster of Zeenat Aman!

TEARS FROM HEAVEN.

The blissfully-suckling baby,watching with one eye, left her mother's breast and started wailing and became cranky.The confused mother tried to comfort him in vain. She could not understand the sudden change in her child's behaviour.
The deserted market was filled with shoppers and hagglers once again, the dull-dried vegetables were being watered to make them look fresh again. The fisherwomen too, started to swat the flies feeding on their catch again.
The roads were noisy again with the resumption of traffic, the drivers venting their fury on the horns, over and over again.The groggy city was coming out of the slumber.
The children, nestled in their cosy homes started to trickle down in their building garden one by one.They reluctantly sat on the creaky see-saw and the slides. They looked depressed.
The truant students would probably do their home work today as they had nothing else left to do.They grudgingly picked up their books and started scribbling with an aching heart and sore fingers.There was no escaping today.
The factory machines resumed their slow grind, much to the dismay of the blue collar workers who would drown their sorrow tonight with glasses of country liquor. They would probably fight with their emaciated wives tonight, over trivial issues. The on-leave executives promptly called their surprised secretaries to schedule the cancelled appointments for the latter half of the day, they dressed in crisp clothes with a crumpled tie and unpolished shoes.
The theater and the hotel owners breathed a sigh of relief.
The bars would be full with sad people today.
The senile,bed ridden demented man in his early nineties breathed his last today. His time had come and it was a relief for him and his 'care giving burnt-out' family.
The coloured television screen looked so dull grey today.
Sachin Tendulkar was adjudged 'out' by the sky pointing finger of the satanic umpire, as he was walking slowly, agonisingly to the pavilion-The entire roaring stadium became quiet, like some ghost town. The air had been sucked out of their once screaming lungs.
Some stray rain drops accompanied the batting maestro, in his long walk to the dressing room.
They were Tears from Heaven!
Gods were crying today.

FIRE-EATER!

The procession was noisily ambling along the streets of the city, hundreds of marching people were dancing gleefully to the loud music being played by the huge speakers mounted on the trucks.There were jugglers,clowns and the stilt walkers but the star of the parade was Raja-a fire eater who could blow mile long fires out of his mouth,much to the delight of the crowd.They literally used to halt their march when he used to perform,crave for more acts and he lovingly used to oblige them.He used to collect the single digit notes as his tip gracefully.He had to take care of his family in this big mean city.

Last month, Raja came to me in a breathless and febrile delirious state.He had aspirated a large amount of kerosene in his lungs and suffered a chemical pneumonia. The kerosene was his constant companion in his fire breathing acts,used to be stored in amber colored beer bottles usually carried by his small son.He used to take big swigs and blow on burning torches to enthral the crowds.That day was very unlucky for him. He was put on a ventilator in an ICU and treated aggressively with antibiotics to make a slow recovery.I strongly advised him to refrain from such acts in the future and told him to change his hazardous profession.

He confessed that he knew no other skill to survive in this city and crime was not his favoured choice either as he was a conscientious god fearing person.He had a sense of dignity in his way of life which made me feel proud. He considered this pneumonia as an occupational hazard and called his friend to set an appointment for the next fire eating act.He had to offset his loss during hospitalisation and immediately took a discharge.

While leaving, I asked him whether he was afraid of fire,

He said yes, much to my surprise.

He confessed that the 'raging fire in his belly' was the worst fear in his life and not the real one. I stood there, stunned!

I saw him the other day, during a procession with his child- breathing fire again!

QAWAALI-APPLAUSE.

Last week, I went to the airport to receive my parents and it was a busy night out there. There was the renovated arrival lounge with hundreds of people waiting for their near-dear ones to come to Mumbai. Some were carrying bouquets of flowers. Anxious parents were waiting with a searching gaze towards the terminal. The drivers were waiting for their frequently flying bosses to come and spoil their brief vacation. A few burkha clad women were awaiting their gulf settled husbands, who would come for a week and return next year.
They were waiting like a prowling army, as soon as the fresh batch of passengers emerged from the terminal, they attacked in full fury! I could hear the cries of 'fresh meat' in the air. The white people wore skimpy clothes, hence a larger surface area was available for the attack. They were hungry since a long time and their bellies were grumbling. They kept on biting and sucking plane cooled- sweet blood of the foreigners with impunity.There were noise of incessant clapping all around the airport.Everybody was trying hard to swat the probing mosquitoes away! The plump mosquitoes were having a feast at the arrival lounge.
After the initial bites, we realised that constant motion by moving your limbs up-down and sideways like an aerobic instructor was the only way to dodge them but they just left us all alone when the foreigners arrived, who were well bred and lived in non polluted lands and a richer blood flowed in their veins! The white skin attraction was not limited to human beings alone, even mosquitoes were influenced by the skin color and readily rushed towards them.Our blood was of a less palatable appeal to them! The whites were unused to this persistent attention and painful adulation, began smashing them with their bare hands clapping away to glory, high and low like some Qawaali singers. This provoked the mosquitoes further and fresh reinforcements were called in by them to bolster their attack.
The government has spent crores of rupees on the airport renovation but sadly, has not been able to tackle this mosquito menace. A few blower fans could shoo them away, but who cares? This is the recurrent theme of all government related projects where basic facilities like hygiene and sanitation are overlooked. I could see paan stained gutters all teeming with mosquitoes at the arrival lounge.It was a sad sight for me and an object of ridicule for the whites who wanted this all dirt, portrayed in their tabloids.
Seeing them clapping fevently, I thought maybe they were practising to be famous Qawaali singers, rehearsing their part to get a feel of India and the mosquitoes were government secret agents who had the onus of acquainting Qawaali to the white tourists.
Maybe, the claps were the sound of applause from the whites who were given a great welcome by the mosquito army along with the stench and the heat.
The whites were applauding-- Wow India Wow ! Keep It Up.
My parents came after a full 24 hours flight across three continents all the way from USA, they were looking less tired than me.
I was clapping the mosquitoes, headed their way!

MADIRA- NECTAR!

Madira-the sweet nectar of the heavens! was a bar opposite our medical college in Mumbai, a favourite hangout for unabashed fun-frolic, worshipped by the students as an evening temple.It was an average unpretentious stuffy smoke filled bar with middle class of boozers nursing their grief away.We could not afford any other costly bar with our pocket money.
The crisp naans,cut into small triangles were like biscuits,the green boiled chana with a dash of lime,topped with chillies and freshly cut onion rings were relished by us like horses.The butter chicken used to slide away in our eager throats and the dry fruit special biryani was licked off the plates. Of course,the madira-whisky was served in tall fingerprint smeared glasses with opaque ice cubes which matched the dim dull atmosphere.We would smoke, non smokers used to always cough in this stuffy place.A juicy paan completed the feast and we would head to our hostel.
A slow walk would be halted by our full bladders, we would liberally piss on the roadside whistling, with our hands in our pockets looking at the starry sky so as to fool the other people walking on the road.Sometimes, they would also stare up at the sky eagerly, blissfully unaware of our bladder emptying on the road! Some drops used to fall on our shoes as this 'hands free' act could not control the direction of our rapidly running stream.We then used to literally 'fall' asleep in our rooms snoring away to glory. A sound contented sleep!
One day, it rained very heavily to waterlog our college road upto the knees.Such a bountiful rain demanded a celebration and we rushed in our shorts,clutching our money in a small water proof plastic bag. Money is paper, not flesh and bones like us and cannot survive in water but our economy is monsoon dependent! We could not understand this paradox, but drenchingly rushed to the bar.The bar was crowded and bursting at the seams.Our favored waiter served us whisky outside the bar, the raindrops falling in our glasses further cheered us. Heavens were pouring a few drops of nectar in our glasses, signalling divine participation! Food was served inside though.
We left our hostels in 1999 with a very heavy heart, all this years of friendship would soon fall apart with our marriages and careers. Life goes on, we had to move on ahead in life.
We would miss our Madira bar very badly.
Last year,a few of my old college friends came to my town and we spontaneously decided to head to Madira bar to relive our college memories. We drove all the way to reach the place and caught our favourite table. A decade had passed by,the place looked so different and aged. The chairs were creaky and the leather on them antiquated. All the staff looked unfamiliar, it was being run by a new management now. We were very disappointed and in unison, walked out of the place without having anything.
We never wanted to shatter our old, precious-cherished memories.
The old Madira was firmly etched in our hearts and could not be erased.
Some old memories are better left alone, they may not resurface in a favourable desired way!
Time changes everything.
It is better to carry pleasant memories of yesteryears.
I do not want to change them in this coming years of life.

THE SUNSET POINT...

I have a home with a decent East-West view, it offers splendid panoramic views of the sunrise as well as the sunset when the sky is splashed with colors. God paints the sky using the clouds as sponges to spread the lovely hue! The West side balcony is lovingly called as The Sunset Point by my family and friends.The East side balcony is my mother's nursery garden and we don't dare disturb her delicate plants.
It has a maple wood flooring and a big platform for Chaitra to play with her friends noisily. The blue swimming pool with the splashing kids and the lush green lawns with the elderly grannies, gossiping about their family and house maids can be seen from my balcony.We can see the small kids playing in the garden sandlot attempting to build castles with their tools. As we see straight ahead,the Yeoor hills stand like a green spectacle. Sometimes, small waterfalls are visualised during the rains.The phenomenal view keeps our eyes pleasingly busy! As the sun dips down the Yeoor hills,the horizon becomes a luminous hazy border of purple-pink and scarlet red. I fail to understand why people pay exorbitant money,travel to faraway lands to see this sight when they can enjoy it without spending a penny from the cool confines of my home.
You could just sit there with hot cups of tea or coffee for hours together without getting bored for a moment.The guys could enjoy a beer or whisky with soft sad ghazals playing in the background on my stereo.The night time arrives with cool hill side breeze ruffling your hair. The sad unused neglected fan has become lethargic and pleads for some exercise but stays calm all the time.
This is the best spot of our home-The Sunset Point!
Mercifully, no building tower has dared to come up and obstruct our magnificent view.
I pray to god that this view prevails for a long time to come.
I believe that this divine place could solve any tussles between lovers without any words being spoken. The view alone, would compel them to forgive each other!
Hold On ! Please Hold On.
I sincerely do not recollect the last time when I saw this view in my wife's company or alone. I must have sat once or twice in the last three years since I bought this place. We are so busy that we never get time to sit and lovingly talk to our own family. Our evenings are busy with the never ending agony of our patients who demand our unfailing attendance and attention. We also need them equally to fill our big hungry bottomless stomachs. Money, a lot of money could only buy such scenic apartments with a view.
Our careers are still in the morning rising phase, yet to attain the noon peak and after many hard years will set down in the evening of our lives!
When we retire, our sunset phase of life will begin.
You will see me and my wife, holding our wrinkled hands together, sipping hot cups of tea at The Sunset Point of my humble scenic home.

THE HOME-COMING !

Vijay was very happy to receive his parents at the airport, After all, they were first time visitors to the great country of USA! The land of hope and fulfilment. They were happy to see the tall towers and big sprawling malls on the journey home. Everything was huge about this country. The clean concrete roads also added to their amazement. They finally reached home and were glad to see their son's progress in life. The gadgets and the modernity available were too good to be true. Back home, their native town used to face crippling power cuts for hours together. A fan used to whir noisily to give them solace from the oppressive heat. Really, the luxuries in one country were necessities in another one. A big socio-economic divide was glaring at them. They had a difficult time, adjusting their body clocks, but soon were active and ready to explore the great American adventure.

They roamed all over the country with their son and his family. They saw the space centres and the amusement parks. All in all, they had a nice time in this foreign country.Vijay always wanted to give them the comfort and spared no effort in their hospitality.Soon, the time to go back home dawned, last minute shopping was squeezed in the already overfull bags.

On the day of their departure, Vijay grimly thought about his life full of materialistic pleasures and luxuries, but he had no long term parental support over here in this foreign country. He, like all other sons in this country required their divine presence over him. Maybe, they would just sit idly in and around his home, but that would be also comforting and secure. A child requires his parents to be around him all the time. An adult grown-up man also requires their presence. A trivial enquiry or a mere suggestion are cherished by him.

We all love our parents!

His parents boarded the plane with tears in his eyes, they were longing to go home and carry on their daily routine existence. America was for the youth and not for the old aged people like them who had no work over there. They were accustomed to their laid back Indian life.

A fresh water fish cannot survive in the sea water and they returned home to their native town.

I share the plight of the illustrious NRI sons who have everything, except their parents with them. A sense of desolation always persists and makes them feel incomplete. However they are not at fault, as foreign lands recognise their talent and pay them handsomely.At the same time, Indian parents cannot adjust to the weather and culture, so return back in a timed hurry.

The back and forth journeys continue from both sides to enrich the relationship.

Vijay's father arrived in his town and after a short nap, started attending to his farm which was missing him since a long time.He kissed the mother earth of his farm and lovingly spoke to his bullocks and started tilling his farm. A plane was flying overhead, and he smiled looking at the heavens. He was happy to be back home!

HAIR-LINE !

I pamper my lustrous,voluminous dark hair with shampoos,conditioners and sera.The gels hold them in an impressive array,never a strand out of place! I change my hair style depending on the mood and occasion.I admire people with long hair and pony tails but my serious medical profession does not allow such liberties and eccentricities. I am constantly under the scanner of my patients who want me to be serious looking all the time. I have to be formal. Short hair suits me fine. Also,the city heat demands their short length.
I got a shock of my life when I saw my hair line recede by approximately a millimeter,my hair had started a march of slow death and the drumbeats of their doom started beating in my heart. I would soon search for them like a farmer searching for green grass in an arid land! A major cosmetic calamity was on the way. I grimly visualised my comb's tearful funeral in my mind. Certainly, all my near and dear female fans would join the funeral,weeping their hearts out for my hair.
Then, I met Pranav!
Pranav had presented to me with multiple swellings in his neck-lymph nodes which on biopsy revealed the dreaded disease-Hodgkin's Lymphoma-a type of blood cancer which required cycles of potent anti cancer drugs-Chemotherapy. They would bombard his delicate immune system leading to fatal infections. Sterility would prevail casting a grievious doubt on his future progeny, Nausea would be his constant companion and Hairfall would be least of his worries.He was a young college student with ambitions and dreams, Now the main objective uppermost in his mind was Survival! As the chemotherapy began, his hair rapidly fell off and soon he became bald but took it very sportingly and wore his favourite football club's bandana! His hairfall did not bother him any longer and he accepted his new look in a positive way.
Hs parents used to cry though at times in his absence, silently cursing the almighty for their darling son's plight.
Neither the disease, Nor the chemotherapy failed to wipe the smile off Pranav's face! His will power and a positive attitude killed the disease.Soon, he was in remission-cure stage.He feels that his bandana makes him look so cool! I agree with him all the times.
We worry about minor problems when major battles are being fought by our patients.
Since then, I have never looked at my receding hairline.
I salute Pranay and his never say die-spirit!

PRIMITIVE REFLEX !

Mansi had gone to her cousin's place to stay for the weekend in Khar, it was a nice cosy bungalow with trees laced all around it.They even had two pet doggies, much to Chaitra's delight.The trees gave shelter to squirrels who used to go up and down on them all through the day.One fine cool morning, Mansi saw an injured squirrel lying on the porch, It was probably attacked by a small cat who frequently used to sleep in the porch.It was in a very bad shape and looked thirsty. Mansi has a very loving kind heart for all animals, she really cares for them and could not bear this squirrel's plight.She immediately got a bowl of water to nurse the squirrel. As she kindly tried to comfort the squirrel by taking it in her hands and caressing the poor creature, The squirrel bit her on the hand and scooted away! It was a primitive reflex,-fright--fight--flight!
It was a very small wound but I was concerned about Rabies which can result from innocent looking bite or even a scratch from the mammal. Mansi was immediately put on Anti Rabies shots for immunisation.She had to take five painful injections on her arm which were not even soothed by ice application or pain killers!
An act of kindness and compassion was misinterpreted by the small animal, it did what it could, under the given circumstances.Attack was the best form of Defence! A primitive reflex in the small brain of squirrel thought of Mansi as an aggressive intruder,who would harm and attack!
We as human beings also behave like the squirrel at times.
We tend to rebel against our parents and teachers as we think of them as intruders who mean harm, All they ever want is, us to be safe and sound.
We misinterpret their noble thoughts and actions.
We have a larger brain compared to the pea sized one of the squirrel !
I hope and pray that we never misinterpret our well wishers again.
We have evolved intelligently and can wish this primitive reflex away!

OVERSIZED SUNGLASSES.!

Bhola gazed in the mirror for a long time and ran away from his native town to try out his luck in Bollywood. He was a big movie buff and a carbon copy of the great stammering superstar-Farrukh Khan! He thought that a stuntman body double role would be easily offered to him in the new action movie which was being shot in Mumbai. A few passengers commented on his similarity with the great Farrukh Khan which swelled his chest and triggered a smile to reveal his brown stained teeth.He even could stammer like the superstar! He dreamed about the stunt role and later visualised himself returning to his hometown with Over sized sunglasses! He would then wave at his near and dear ones proudly and taking his sunglasses off in a classy style.
As he entered the studio, he was amazed to see a long queue of Farrukh duplicates waiting to meet the assistant director for the coveted role. He wondered about the divine power's ability to make so many identical clones, that too of Farrukh Khan! He somehow impressed the assistant to land the role of a body double in this action movie climax which portrayed Farrukh Khan bravely battling raging fires of hand grenades and bombs to rescue his damsel in distress. This was the costliest scene in movie history and he felt proud to be a part of it. His joyride was about to begin. Bhola got ready and looked confident for the scene, Initially, he got scared but later he thought about the adulation in his hometown when he would get down from the train with his Over sized sunglasses! That thought really excited him.As the shooting began with a deafening explosion, he started to run towards the heroine jumping and dodging hand grenades in a skillful way, but midway, he lost his footing, slowed down and a hand grenade misfired to explode in his face! He imagined the claps and sounds of cheering audience before collapsing on the ground. All he could hear in reality was the constant ringing in his ears and a dull aching pain in his eyes.
A studio member left him in a municipal hospital and after a few days was discharged to be sent back to his native town.
As he climbed down the train-People saw him wearing his Over sized sunglasses! They could even see blood stained tears trickling down from his empty eye sockets!
Bhola would never be able to see movies again!
He took out his foldable white cane and started trudging home. . . .

A VIOLENT-INE DAY !

Kajol was a very pretty lissome patient of mine who danced in bars for a living and it made no difference to me as I treat every patient of mine with equal compassion and respect,regardless of who they are and what they do in their personal lives.She was once admitted with me for a failed suicide attempt-she had slashed her wrists badly out of depression but recovered soon to go back where she never wanted to but had to as she had no other option in her doomed life.She was depressed because her poor parents had pushed her into this line and were only concerned about the monthly money orders which she used to send home in some remote village in Bengal.

The bar was a nocturnal one where night turned to a day of brilliant shimmering lights where high and low people came to booze and blow their ill gotten money away, leaving behind their grieving wives home. Sleaze had no class divide! The merry making would continue till the wee hours, leaving the dancers exhausted to their bones. Mornings were meant for sleep but the afternoons were reserved for trading their bodies. She was an unwilling victim in this trade and had no escape route, all she did was for her younger sister Komal and her so called parents.She cried bitterly but had long buried her desires of leading a normal respectable life.She even had to endure the beatings doled out to her by the sadistic bar owners.

She fell in love with one of her customers who promised her the moon and she hoped that he would take her out of this ill fated sad life. They had decided to elope on the Valentine's Day !which symbolised love and hope for her, the big day came, but not her lover! She was dejected and felt sorry for her plight. As she returned back to her bar, she was shockingly informed about her lover cavorting with some other girl in a neighbouring bar. She had had enough of this life and wanted her misery to end. she could never be loved by anyone in this whole world but she wanted to change that.

The day after Valentine's Day, she was found in a mangled state on the railway tracks lying peacefully. She had celebrated her Valentine's day eventually, At least God would love her!

A solitary cop supervised her funeral. There were no roses or garlands on her body!

Komal was getting ready for the train to Mumbai. With tears in her child-like innocent eyes, she reluctantly boarded the hell bound train. The bar had found a replacement and would never miss her elder sister! She now belonged to the nocturnal dark side of Mumbai !

AMAR-AKBAR-ANTHONY.

A 'Good Morning Sir' ! warmly greets our ears when we enter our tennis court in the morning. They are our ball boys, a group of three brothers who save our backs by always throwing the balls to us while playing tennis.They do it in their inimitable style in weird arcs, loops and angles but save our trouble and time-They are our ball saviours! with colorful attire,white socks under over sized shoes.Their white teeth contrast the dark tanned sun burnt faces.Their plugged ear phones emit loud Hindi music.They come from broken families with step parents and a bad past of abused childhood.They themselves have lost count of their step brothers and sisters. Believe me, they do not know their caste or creed!

They are secular, going to temples,dargahs and sometimes wearing a visible cross on their deflated chests.Religion does not concern them.Daily Bread is their sole primary objective!.

They have only a pair of dresses, but are hygienic and clean -- from the daily washings in the afternoon, before resting a while to catch their breath. The evening batch of players leave at around seven pm and these ball boys rush to their home in Azad Maidan-CST by ticket less train travel . A small shanty! at the mercy of the corrupt municipal corporation, which is their only humble abode. After a quick meal,they rush to Metro cinema to assist car parking and earn handsome tips from the car owners,they pray for a big banner release with house full shows to boost their earnings and earn a well deserved can of beer which is sipped like sweet nectar from heaven! They frequently get free movie passes to be enjoyed whistling and cheering on the first rows of the cinema. After the late night show, they return home to sleep under the vast canopy of dark hazy Mumbai sky with the stars as their companions and an occasional full moon to add to the color. A sound sleep indeed! to sooth their tired bodies.One night turned out to be the most terrifying one when our city was under terrorist attack,they hardly slept fearing for their lives but survived by hiding behind the trees near their house.They got over it and the next night, were deeply asleep in their dream world.

They are very bold and fear nothing except poverty.

Early morning hustle-bustle wakes them up rapidly to endure another day of tiring work. They bathe in the public bathrooms and again travel ticket less to reach our tennis court. Not a single ticket checker even bothers to ask them, as their faces look so poor and frail that hoping them to have tickets would be a wasted thought, they only check tickets when they know that the guilty offender will be able to afford a small bribe and my ball boys don't fit their criteria!

They aim to become markers one day to earn more money and respect from the players and coaches. A marker can coach beginners and play with the veteran players with dignity.Their attire also changes to all time classic traditional white. They are trying hard to learn the game, practising against the walls venting their angst and fury on the poor hapless ball !

I wish the best for them and posssibly help them all the time, I understand their pain.

After all, they are my Amar- Akbar- Anthony ball boys!

GET WELL SOON !

January-February are relatively cooler months in our Mumbai season, You can see the Nepali sweater sellers on the roads busily haggling with the customers. The wardrobes are searched high and low for the hidden sweaters and they are worn proudly by the shivering people. I have never worn a sweater in my life! Probably, my adipose tissue does not necessitate one. I have braved the cold winds overseas without chattering my teeth. Maybe it is the over heated core of my emotions trapped in my body which keeps me warm all the time.I enjoy the brief winter season in my town, sweat less while playing Tennis and feel more energetic and bouncy compared to the rest of the season. Any way, that is not the topic of our discussion today.
These months really try our patience as they impart good health to all the people around the town, Our take home statistics take a massive beating! The average foot fall dips by a quarter or so. We get depressed as suddenly our workaholic status is dented and we suddenly get some free time for ourselves which never has been experienced before in the year.We get confused. Its like a child with an unwanted vacation! I try and catch up on my family during this time, watch my Chaitra's study progress and play with her in the afternoons much to her amazement.She has become used to a Sunday Dad ! I go for shopping with Mansi to replenish her already overfull ? wardrobe. I catch up on my parents and extended family adding to their happiness.I get bored at times talking to normal healthy people !
How strange is our so called Noble Profession!
We depend on plight and misery of sick people.
Do we pray for health all around the world, all time like -- peace and harmony?
Some professions rely on other peoples' suffering.
I,unfortunately belong to this profession.
But I atleast wish all my ailing patients ---Get Well Soon!

INTRUDER !

Chaitra and Mansi started shrieking loudly when they saw the intruder. The screams were now about to shatter our glasses and crystal ware when I ran from my bedroom to confront the intruder.He was a black and a scary one! I was surprised to see them shivering, perched on the sofa holding hands and hugging each other tightly. It was after all an ordinary rat! Seeing his size and a long tail to match his sharp spiky whiskers, I climbed on the sofa to join their yelling.Our house was under attack! We all were scared now and were thinking about the plan to drive him away. I armed myself with a broom and a stick to scare him but he was running like a rat possessed, helter- skelter and in circles taking a survey of our rooms like some prospective buyer in fast motion.I was eventually tired of this whole exercise and gave up.We all locked ourselves in the bedroom and slept off holding hands with a silent prayer on our lips.We all wanted him to go away to a far off place.
A plan was hatched and I bought a trap, kept a juicy cheese piece to lure and capture him.The very next day he fell for it and was caught,Sweet Victory for our family! We called our watchman and asked him to leave the rat away in a safe distant place so that we could sleep in peace.The battle was won,the enemy captured and treated with dignity. War ethics demanded that!
Mansi is a big animal lover and dead against violence. Even, the captive rat was fed soft bread crumbs lovingly by her and Chaitra. Mansi is also against Ratol, a rat poison which damages their liver and causes internal bleeding. I see a lot of suicidal patients taking this poison and getting admitted in our ICU, running a catastrophic course for long periods.We really put a lot of efforts for their recovery.
The rat is Lord Ganesha's official carrier and considered very holy by all of us, We lovingly call him Mooshaka! His entry in the house always brings good news to us, Let us be hopeful !

INDIA SHINING !

I frequently come home late at night,I park my car in the basement and board my elevator to reach my floor but the lift always stops at the lobby level where my watchman peeks to have a look inside the lift, smiles at me and then the lift ascends home.
Whatever time of night, he is always awake with eyes wide open! After all, he is our protector and is always up and alert all through the night for our safety.
Hari is our watchman, a frail but strong individual with a crisp blue uniform and an ever smiling face, saluting in a military stance to instill a sense of security in our minds.
Our building has around twenty watchmen who patrol the premises day and night with a baton in their hand.They are very poorly paid and hence appear weak but their resolve is steely and commitment strong enough to scare the mightiest of invaders away.I respect them a lot.
Their tiffins are very small like the ones of school children and consist of Dal and Rice,Vegetables when carried are proudly shown and shared around the group.They deserve a better pay which is not possible as the security agency takes away the cream and they are left with a small sum which hardly suffices them.Some even work double shifts to make ends meet !
During festivals,they expect money from us and some of our residents generously donate but there are many perverts who do not share this sympathetic feeling and are stingy misers. I pray to God for them to suffer.I frequently get fresh Chicken or Egg Biryani for them while coming home from a restaurant to boost their physique and morale. Some people give them left overs which they accept,but with an heavy heart.I strongly disapprove of this but am helpless.
Some are graduates, but unfortunate enough to get a job elsewhere,and are fated to do this job.
As I see their shiny small tiffins, I remember the phrase, India Shining! and walk away dejected, avoiding their gaze.
I know that these people will never lay down our lives for us but at least they act as the first wall of defence against intruders and keep us safe and sound.They keep a watch on our kids playing in the garden.I feel proud of them when they brave the bitter cold winter or the summer with needling mosquitoes, never complaining or grumbling about their duties to us.
So, next time when you visit my home, please acknowledge the salute offered by them!
They will feel better and as an escort,smilingly guide you to my home.
They just need a nod of recognition.
Will you do that?

S E 7 E N !

Dear God,

I have been wanting to write a letter to you since a long time,I was a student then, I was always greedy for marks and never wanted to relinquish my topper tag which was achieved with sheer hard work and hours of concentration. I lust for good books, music,movies and company which keep me happy all the time. I take pride in my dearest parents' ability to bring me up and make me the person who I wanted to be, Also I am proud of Mansi as she balances her home with her career, slogging all the time. I envy the silver haired people who are through with life and have happily left their struggles behind for the younger generations.They are playful like small children and smile toothlessly like them. I am like a sloth on Sundays when I catch up my week's sleep and enjoy the day with my family as they miss me a lot on busy working days.I eat like a glutton whenever Mansi makes food at home,It makes her feel better when I praise her cooking. Otherwise,I have to face her music! Some people bother me for no reasons,They hurt me and make me cry at times.They are my rivals and foes who feel criticising me helps their cause.That is not the case though. I sincerely advise them to start worrying. One fine day, They will face my wrath!

Please forgive me for my se7en deadly sins!

BITTER PILLS!

Jay had bought a new bike, It was like a black stallion and roared while taking off like a plane! He was the cynosure of all feminine eyes and we were like plain cattle in front of him.God had always provided for him and his rich, corrupt dad would spend for him without any limits or hiccups.We were in awe of him,we used to dream about the bike and the equally beautiful cute girls holding us during the ride.Tightly!.My deflated ego emboldened me to confront my Dad for demanding a bike from him.

He was a strict disciplinarian and ruled with an iron hand.All my pleas fell on deaf ears and I sulkingly walked out of his room after a heated argument.I thought of him purposely denying me the sole pleasure of my teenage years! The rosy dream of a bike and the girls were cruelly snatched away from me by my dad.I was resigned to my fate to travel by the Indian Railways where the rush would knead your body and give a free massage! Of course, I took in my stride with a smile but I told my Dad that I would never forget this incident.He surprisingly smiled and in a loving manner patted my head.I strongly resisted and did not approve of this non reactive mild behaviour from his side.

We always misinterpret our Dads during our youth. We never understand them.

After a few days we heard the news of a shocking accident in our small town. Jay had collided with a truck and met his death.We were all shell shocked! Leave aside his bike, he was a nice, harmless fellow student who never deserved this cruel fate.The witnesses said that there was no major bleeding, but the brain was oozing out of his badly compressed crushed helmet.We prayed for his soul to rest in peace.We skipped our dinners that day.When Dad came home that day,I rushed and hugged him.He was aware of the accident and comforted me.His bitter refusal of letting me own a bike had a deeper meaning! He always wanted me safe and sound.I was too precious for him and he would never put me in any danger.

I, as a doctor give 'sweet coated bitter pills' for my ailing patients, My Dad always believed in giving 'bitter coated sweet pills' to us in our childhood and growing years.The bitter coating used to be misinterpreted by me, Actually, the inner sweeter and truthful advice always helped me and made me a nice caring respected doctor, to competitively stand and surmount all the difficult challenges existent in the world.I made my Dad proud of me! All his years of hard struggle and the caring efforts he took in our upbringing have finally paid off.

Now also, I frequently seek his advice on important matters, I involve him as his grey hair have seen more summers than mine. He is truly my Guardian Angel !

SOUL CURRY !

It was a lazy Sunday,yet I was running from the market to my home getting lemon and mint- coriander leaves for my mother.She was making her signature dish,Malvani Chicken Curry! It was our special dish for eagerly awaited Sundays.The flavour was so captivating that it watered our gaping mouths.Our bellies would rumble in hunger, the aroma was inhaled very fervently by our building friends who would hope for an invitation from us to savour the fare.I used to skip break fast to build up my appetite on Sundays.Such was my mother's curry power!
My mother is a Gujarati Brahmin who has never even tasted an egg, leave aside chicken in her whole life.How she could concoct such a delicious finger licking curry was beyond our wildest imagination. At times,the invited guests would stare in disbelief! I was her curry taster and never had any additional seasoning or flavouring to suggest as it always tasted perfect! She made the best curry in our whole world.We used to sit in a row like obedient school kids awaiting generous portions of her divine curry.We used to get a sweet dish for her to accompany her vegetarian diet.She would gladly watch us devour the meal, probably that filled her stomach, so typical of mothers all around the world! My friends in college would sing paeans about the curry.
I stayed hungry happily at times, just to watch them finish my lunch-box.
Everybody liked the curry! It would transport you to Utopia.
I became a vegetarian since last six months. It was my conscious decision and changed my entire personality.My feelings of anger,envy and insecurity have all mellowed down now. I have now become more compassionate. Probably,my mother's gentle Gujju genes were being activated now.The person to approve and appreciate my decision of vegetarianism was my own mother. She was happy for me now.Mansi also shared the same feeling.Chaitra and her Dada are the lone rangers now.Maybe,my daughter will learn the secret recipe one day.
Somewhere in the distant future....
I was on my death bed waiting for salvation, my family was gathered around me and hugging and kissing me as if there was no tomorrow. Chaitra who was in her late forties, asked me if I required any juices or soups.I was preparing myself for the last supper that day.All my life was being visualised in a series of flashbacks.
I told her to make my mother's chicken curry!
I wanted to be in a Utopian mood before turning to Ashes!
I wanted to meet my mother soon!

SCARFACE!

I had a bad time in September in view of a big scar on my face which resulted after surgery on my cyst, the scar preceded my arrival anywhere and I was constantly reminded about it by my inquisitive patients.My life was drowned in sorrow and I lost my self esteem. My family was also very upset, used to monitor the size and shape of this hideous scar daily.I became a recluse.
Eventually it faded into oblivion for the world but it changed me from within.
I was teasingly called Scarface by my friends.I would cry bitterly looking in the mirror which seemed to magnify it, much to my horror.
But it taught me a lesson.
I started to think about the unfortunate people whom we encounter daily in our life who were born with scars or marks, the victims of burns and blasts and other disfigured faces who were pulling on their lives regardless of the cold stares at them.
God was so unfair to them.
They would be worrying about their job interviews, marriage proposals or party invitations which they would never attend.We need to change the way we look at them, they should be treated equally and without any sympathetic stares.We need to change and not judge people by their size,shape and colour. We need to look into their pure hearts and souls.
God will give them the courage to be normal, if we change our way of perceiving them.
Why can't God pick up a knife and scalpel to shape these people's lives?
A temporary scar turned my world upside down,what would be their world like?
I have no answer to this question.

ROSES! ANYONE?

I heard a soft knock on my car window at the signal that day. A sweet girl with well oiled hair and a toothy smile asked me if I would buy her roses.She was only about seven years old but had a good sales pitch.I promptly bought a bouquet from her and rolled up my windows.I could see her hurriedly walking to a lady who was feeding a small baby,probably her mother.Some words were exchanged and she came back on the road to search new buyers for her roses.

I was knowing that these kids used to hang around at grave yards where roses were laid on the tombs of dear departed ones.As the mourners returned back,the kids would steal the roses and wash them and arrange them neatly to sell them on roads!

Still,I bought the roses which would probably be never carried home and would wither down on the back seat of my car.I bought them to give her the joy which could not be achieved by giving her just the money, without the roses.She was too proud to beg. She was a righteous rose seller who eked out a humble living.She saw nothing wrong in stealing the roses from the grave as she reasoned that they had served the purpose of the mourners who never knew about this recycling of roses.

I frequently buy such stuff from traffic signals be it a small toy or a drawing book or an already read novel or a duster napkin for wiping my clean car! I feel happy to see the smiles on these small entrepreneurs who chose this strange path for a living.At least they work hard and are self reliant.You can see a micro business centre at the traffic signals.

So, next time when a small cute girl comes knocking on your car window selling roses, Please buy them and see her walk off with a sense of pride !

YOUNG AT HEART ! UPDATED.

CHANDAI !
That's what I call my lovely Nani since childhood.I share a unique bond as I spent the first five years of life with her in view of my working parents.I was pampered, not spoilt by her. I cried a lot when my parents took me home back then.
She suffered Pott's spine in her youth,was bed ridden for a year however imparted Literacy to a few lucky people in and around the family. How noble of her!

She walked with a mild limp but never used to take support of any helping hand for the same.She was always independent and had a strong will power to boot. I really considered her as my moral pillar of strength and still take her advice at times for ethical issues.
Few years back, I fulfilled her wish of flying and took her to Singapore for a vacation. She really enjoyed the sights and we later took her to a cruise also to balance air with water. All the staff used to take special care of her and used to be beside her like bodyguards.She used to always accompany us to shopping malls where she used to quietly sit in a corner without getting tired. She never used to say no to anything !
Last year she suffered a fatal infection of the brain, Viral Encephalitis. She was critical in the ICU for a month or so,everybody saw her with a prayer on their lips and consolation for the family. It is very difficult treating one's own relatives and I was also under a lot of pressure to perform miracles for her. She could not see me lose any time and slowly started to improve and rise like a phoenix from the ashes.She came out of the hospital with a mild memory impairment, entertaining for me as she daily used to wish me in the morning for my birthday or my marriage anniversary. I readily used to take the money cover offered by her as I used to in my childhood.That got over pretty soon and normalcy was restored.

However after a few months, she sustained a hip fracture and was again bed ridden! She was always a care taker in our illnesses and now she requiring care,was simply not acceptable to her. She got depressed but our joint efforts healed her and got her back on her feet.She uses a walker for support though.
Her spirit is really indomitable!
Every morning she craves for the morning newspaper and magazines, asks me to put old hindi songs on the music system for her and watches a lot of television soaps.
Last month we took her to a restaurant for a party and she was all smiles and excited like a child wearing a new saree which made her look so pretty! She still relishes the latest bollywood movies and watches them uninterrupted. Last week she personally supervised our cook to make a delicious Undhiyo for us. She pesters me repeatedly to take her with the family to Lonavala for a short trip.
So far, she has never told me that she is tired of life.
Everyday is a new day for her!
Looking at her enthusiasm,
I understand the meaning of 'Young At Heart' now !
We love her a lot and want her to be forever with us.

UPDATE- 28/12/2010.

My granny had been bed ridden since the last few months. She used to sleep most of the time and had to woken up for her small feeds. She reluctantly took liquids and would vomit if we forced her. She was sinking day by day. Her days and nights were slowly merging together. Her once favoured and avidly watched TV serials would just play on, without a single glance from her.She was in her own world.

Hospitalisation was strongly rejected by her, We respected her wishes. She wanted to be with us all the time, away from the pokes and jabs and the drips.

She told me one day about a place where she wanted to go, It was a small house by the lake with the trees swaying gently to the breeze. The butterflies would dance around the colourful flowers. I denied existence of such a familiar place in my memory. But, she assured me about such a scenic utopian place.

Yesterday, she breathed her last. Her wrinkled hands held mine at the time of death.

I was always around her when she needed me, but this time she had made up her solo plans.

She had begun the journey to her Paradise.

Her late husband, my grand dad was eagerly awaiting her with flowers in his hands and a tear in his eye.

SWEET REVENGE !!

It was the best of times for Rajesh ! His years of hard effort had finally paid off.
He had managed to secure admission in a prestigious college in USA,with an education grant and a scholarship. His days of struggle were over finally. Rajesh came from a modest background.
He grew up in a small chawl with many siblings and hard working parents.
Everything would change now!
The day of his departure was like a festival in his small chawl,his neighbours garlanded him,fed him sweets and wished him well.
His siblings were excited as they would see an airport for the very first time in their lives.
However all was not well with his parents,they were very upset as they would miss their son.
His parents were trying hard to stem the flow of tears.
Rajesh was also equally affected but the joy of going abroad prevented him from crying.
He had bigger, better things to do in life.
He made a customary call after reaching his destination.
He excelled in his college and pretty soon, grabbed a job in a premier software company.
Meanwhile, his aged parents' health started deteriorating gradually and they requested him to come and see them and their sorry plight.He had almost forgotten his roots and got irritated by their request,he said he was very busy and his company could not sanction his leave. He lied.
He promptly sent some dollars to them to wash his guilt away and stayed back with his job.
Where had all the love gone ? Where had all the respect gone ? Why this detachment ?
His conscience was now corrupted with the dazzling lights and amenities in the city.
He had conveniently forgotten his parents' struggles which made him reach this level.
He even forgot the way how they reared him from a frail child to a healthy youngster.
His parents were at a loss of words, frequent enquiries about him would further sadden them.
They did not want his mercy dollars,they wanted him to see them. His mother wanted to caress and put him to sleep like she used to before when he was a child.
Grief loomed large in their small house.
His father's ill health necessitated hospitalisation, very soon he breathed his last.
Rajesh was shell shocked but still denied to come down to India for the last rites.
This was the last straw for mother and she gave up, breaking all her relations with him.
What prevented him from coming down was a big mystery to his family.
Human behaviour is sometimes so unpredictable.
Disowning ones' own parents is pretty common nowadays.
Shravana, who served his parents like a slave is restricted to our mythology books only.
Many seasons later, Rajesh had become a big executive in his company,married an American girl and stayed happily in his big glamorous flat with two kids.
But God was watching over him.
His health started suffering due to stress and he developed medical illnesses as a result.
Gradually his kidneys gave way and a Transplant decision was reached for him.
The doctors tried hard to get a kidney match for him but failed to locate a donor for him.
His health deteriorated further and slowly he slipped into a semi comatose state.
A few weeks later,a recharged Rajesh walked out of the hospital after a successful transplant.
He resumed his duties and was back on his feet. One day, he casually asked his wife about the origin of his donor kidney. His wife casually replied that an old lady from India was suggested by their friend as a donor match for Rajesh who fulfilled all the transplant criteria.
She also did not accept any dollars,except travel tickets from them for donating her kidney!
He was shocked to hear her name. He collapsed on the bed and sobbed incessantly.
Rajesh's mother was greeted warmly at the airport by her kids and neighbours.
She was tired from a long flight and told everyone about her nice time, spent with her son.
As she reached home and showered, She applied an ointment on a long scar on her back.
She had fulfilled her duties as a mother!
Rajesh's guilt would stay with him forever!
As she garlanded her deceased husband's photo-frame, she could see a faint smile on his face.
Their son would live again.
The parents had forgiven their son.

A CITY SNAKE!

It was a dark rainy night when my staff called me to inform about an admission in my hospital, I was groggy and reluctantly reached the place. A patient named Hari had cut his hand with a knife and came,bleeding profusely in an agitated state.He was an Oriya migrant working in Mumbai since last month. He did not understand any local language, hence communication was very difficult.I tried to ask him the chain of events leading to this but it agitated him further.He was brought to the hospital by an equally confused employer.Maybe he had a fight with someone was his possible conclusion. Hari was mentioning something about a bite but was not sure and the wound examination did not reveal any bite marks.Something was amiss and my intuition prevailed, forcing me to stay back in the hospital. I called up Mansi telling her to sleep off as I would be pretty late. We gave him all the first aid measures and put him on saline. By this time Hari had become relatively calm and settled. After an hour, the lull before the storm ended. My staff told me that Hari had started frothing at the mouth and was becoming breathless! I was expecting some catastrophic event and all my fears came true. I immediately intubated him and put him on a ventilator and ordered for Anti Snake Venin vials. My hunch was right, the poor Hari was a victim of a snake bite and had cut his hand to let the bad blood flow! It is rare to see snake bite cases in our concrete jungle city.Most commonly we encounter banana traders and handlers with snake bite where the snakes camouflage in the stacks of the yellow green ones. Hari was a building labourer and probably bitten while asleep in his slum.Strangely nobody including Hari had seen the snake which had made matters difficult for us.Any way now I heaved a sigh of relief as the diagnosis was established. Now the headache started as his employer started grumbling about the cost of treatment and pleading that I transfer him to a municipal hospital to facilitate free treatment. I was livid with rage! We were fighting a battle to save the patient in these odd hours of night and all he could think was about the money part. How insensitive of him ? I told him that it was not possible to transfer Hari in such a condition anywhere without endangering his life. I took a stand that if he was not able to afford the cost,I would spend from my pocket to save Hari. This embarrassed him further and he pledged his full cooperation for the treatment. I was happy to hear that. It took four days of aggressive treatment to get Hari out of the woods. On fifth day, he was hale and hearty,off the ventilator and started having juices and soft diet.But, he was confused and clueless as on the first day! He had no spatial orientation.Later we explained him the sequence of events, yet he could not remember seeing any snake in his vicinity. A day later, he went home walking with a twinkle in his eyes and a big smile on his face.

He had decided to stay back in Mumbai. After all, survival was possible only in this city.Had he been bitten in his native town, Death would have been the only outcome!

I decided to share this story with you all for the fact that sometimes,Intuition leads the way in diagnosis.If I had decided to go home that day,Hari's resuscitation would have been delayed.I must also thank his employer for full support. He could have left Hari alone and walked off home shrugging his shoulders, avoiding any responsibility.It was great of him to stand by him in his bad times.He had been a good Samaritan indeed!

COCOON!

Chaitra was all geared up that day!
It was her first day at the nursery school and she had been waiting for a long time for the same.
She had a bright yellow colored bag,a transparent water bottle and new shiny shoes which were matching her red dress.Her hair clips also were a contrasting pink in colour.
She was very happy and readily sat in the car with me and Mansi to go to the nursery school.
Judging by her enthusiasm,it appeared as if she would imbibe all the education in one day. She had been taught her basic manners of addressing teachers and her fellow students like a parrot.
We entered her class,she was greeted warmly by her sweet teacher.
As we were leaving, she started to call us and started sobbing. she looked so helpless!
With tears in her eyes we left hesitantly and waited outside the school with other equally depressed parents. All we heard was wailing inside, hoping that it was not our crying child.
After an hour, we received Chaitra with swollen eyes and a tired face just waiting to go home where she could snuggle with us and feel secure and comfortable.
She complained immediately on arriving home to my parents that we had left her all alone in the school at the teacher's mercy. She promptly made a decision of skipping school the next day !
Children are so sensitive and need their parents to be around all the time, they want to be inside our cocoon of love and shelter all the time. Any way, Chaitra, next day woke up smiling and asking her mom about time of the school,her dress and her tiffin contents!
She had no recollection of her previous day in school and looked forward to go today.
This time there were no tears from Chaitra, Mansi was extremely upset and was trying hard to suppress her tears. I asked her the reason.She said that one fine day I would realise.
Somewhere in the near future,
The music and the celebrations were just getting over.
The sumptuous feast was being relished by hungry guests and well wishers.
Chaitra was leaving us in a fancy car, walking with her bridegroom hand in hand!
Her entire childhood and her fun filled life flashed in front of my eyes.
I remembered her first day of school !
I just hugged the now older Mansi and cried.
My sweet bird had left her nest to fly away!
Our cocoon would be so empty now!