IRON MAN.

The breathless patient was wheeled into the ICU under my care in our town's super speciality hospital. He was a portly, semi bald man in his late sixties. He was diagnosed with Fluid Overload syndrome due to Chronic Renal failure and Heart failure. After instituting the necessary treatment, he started improving in a couple of days. However on the fourth day, he acutely became breathless and eventually started gasping for breath only to stop breathing. The Blood Pressure started dropping and alarm bells on the monitors started ringing in a frantic urgent manner.It was a CODE BLUE alarm! The entire ICU staff mobilised around the patient and made efforts to revive him. I intubated the patient and put him on a ventilator. An immediate bed side dialysis was started along with various tubes inserted in the body for monitoring and administering life saving medicines. It looked like a war zone out there with me marshaling all the forces around this critical patient. The nurses and the junior doctors were all running helter skelter under my command. Eventually after an hour of resuscitative efforts, The patient showed some signs of improvement and stability.

The next equally important part was to appraise and counsel the immediate relatives about the grim condition of the patient.

I went to the waiting side room where a group of relatives was silently praying with anxious sallow look in their eyes. As I entered the room, I immediately hugged my mother and burst into tears. The critical patient was my Father and I could not bear to see his suffering. I am a very calm and composed person when I deal with such critical cases and my counsel always allays the fear of the relatives of the patient. But,this time I did not say a single word and just burst out crying. Seeing me in such a state depressed my relatives and they too joined the crying. I understood the pain the relatives go through when their patient is critical, but was not ready to experience the same. Later in the evening, my brother flew in from the states and hugged me and cried. In the night time, however my father had regained consciousness and achieved stability,much to our relief.

My father is called the "Iron Man" by us in view of his disciplinarian approach and military strict demeanour. The advent of grand children in his life has softened him now. He lives for them, so he says.

The grand kids always playfully roam like proud and fearless tiger cubs in front of the tiger, we still behave like meek lambs in front of him.

The Iron Man however fought all his demons in the ICU and walked back home the next week. My daughter Chaitra and son Prithvy were all agog with excitement to see him after a 10 day period. They just leapt over him, hugging,caressing and kissing him. The now softened Iron Man too cried in joy.

All the time, My dad was sure that I would make him alright, his eyes told me that. I was his guardian angel in the ICU and made sure of an early and uneventful recovery.

The "Iron Man" may be rusty now with age and one fine day will eventually crumble. Death is an inevitable part of life. I, as a doctor very well know that and so does he.

Till then, my kids say, Long Live The Iron Man !

TOLERANCE.

A few months back Chaitra came back from her school with swollen eyes, She looked depressed that day. I asked her the reason for her sullen face. She hesitatingly showed me her forearm. I was shocked and tears welled up in my eyes. You could see the whole dental imprints of a rogue child in my daughter's forearm. A classmate had bitten her. The fang marks were angry red and gave her considerable pain, Yet she suppressed it. We immediately took her to a pediatrician and gave her tetanus shot along with an antibiotic dressing.
The bite was unprovoked and my poor child had to face the brunt. She remained stoic and bore the pain. She did not complain to the teacher or the bus attendant. We were amazed at her tolerance. She did not even entertain the thought of retaliation also.
We were Maratha Warriors by caste and her lack of reaction took us by surprise.
I normally retaliate with my venomous tongue if anyone tries to get smart with me or hurts me. My friends and relatives are scared of my verbal lashings. They never dare to cross my paths in view of fear. My wife also reacts accordingly. Nobody can take us for granted.
Why my daughter did not hit back was the question persistently troubling our minds.
I mustered courage to ask her the reason.
She plainly said that she could not hurt anyone.
She also asked me a question,
Papa, Why do people hurt other people this way?
I had no answer to her query.
The entire world is strewn with hurt people, battered wives and children. War torn nations with their daily list of casualties. Terrorist attacks on the innocent civilians.
Collateral Damages.
Do we have answers?
I do not want my daughter to be so tolerant and a meek lamb like person.
Do you?
I want her to hit back. I want the repressed classes to retaliate and lead a revolution.
It's only a wish.

HAPPY DIWALI.

When travelling along the central track by train, you can see the green mountains on one side and the creek on the other side with the salt pans. In the rains, small waterfalls emerge from the crevices of the green mountains. During summers, the mountains appear brown and dusty. But the sight to behold is during the festival of lights-Diwali ! The hutments along the slopes of the mountains are decorated with the colourful lanterns which look so beautiful from a distance.
As if God has planted neon lights on the hills. This sight lasts for a few days. Then, the whole mountain looks dull all over again like the lives of the poor resident people eking out a humble existence. Getting water from the base is a herculean task, leave aside provisions or medical facilities. The old people pant their way to reach their homes. They get fresh air though, free of cost. This air infuses their troubled lives with hope. They come daily to the city, hunting for work with dreams in their misty eyes. Diwali is a festival of hopes after all.
This Diwali, the municipal officials razed the mountains for a sprawling residential commercial complex. They used dynamites to blow up the whole mountain. A booming Diwali for the poor, soon to be homeless folks.

The rich kids were celebrating Diwali as if there was no tommorrow. A long garland of red coloured crackers was bursting and was making the kids jump all around in joy and cackling laughter. Some kids were watching from a distance. As soon as the revelry was over, The watching kids slowly and stealthily advanced to the site of the burst crackers.
A few crackers were unburst with their fuses intact. They were slowly scavenged by the kids. A plastic bag was used to fill it with the unlit crackers.Their Diwali started on the streets, albeit a little late in the night. They were happy with the left overs.
After all, Diwali was a festival of giving and sharing.

It was an institute for the young unfortunate population in our small town. They used to impart vocational skills to them. This Diwali, they made lanterns for the whole town. They were in all shapes and sizes, delicately crafted by the nimble sensitive fingers. Some were fluoroscent in colour, screaming for attention. One by one, all the lanterns were lapped up by our small town folks. The young people who made the lanterns were happy to earn a small side income for the festive season.
They, however could not understand the meaning and significance of these colourful lanterns. These industrious people had never seen light, all their lives. Diwali was a festival of sounds for them. Their sights had been cruelly snatched by the almighty, a long time ago.
Their white canes with a ringing bell slowly led them to their lantern lit homes.