THE OSTRICH EFFECT.

It was many years back when I was driving down a narrow alley and a car began honking from behind asking for a way. The alley was jam packed with hand carts and hawkers flanking on both the sides. I had no space to let the other car get ahead of me. The honking continued incessantly. As I reached the end of the alley, the car occupants rushed up to me in fury and told me to roll down my windows.They looked like political goons, They started abusing me in their choicest expletives regardless of my unintentional obstruction of their car.I started trembling from inside and immediately, without a word sped from the discomfort zone. Their point being proven, made their chests swell in pride. Swaggeringly, they sat in their car. My soul was exceedingly suffocated. I could have retaliated and matched their abuses word for word but I chose to exercise self control and kept quiet. Silence at times, gives you peace.

I avoid confrontations and baseless arguments. I withdraw into myself and totally become oblivious to the ongoing bitter conversation.I try to recollect my favorite song of the day and silently hum amidst the fracas, or I recollect the better times spent with that person and smile from within, Nobody knows this secret methodology of mine. The person who may end up with a hoarse voice after the senseless berating will never get any response from me.I have retreated in my shell. The harsh words begin bouncing off the shell. The vocal cords soon get tired and ease off, The displaced anger also soon calms off and sanity prevails. I, then come out of my shell and try to communicate with the person.

In my life, Unfortunately, I encounter unpleasant people and situations all the time.

The ostrich is a tall bird which can sense danger at great distances in view of its height and big eyes.It immediately curls up into a ball like structure and it looks like as if it has buried its head in the sand. The predator fails to notice it as it just looks like a small lumpy sand dune from a distance. It just walks on by.

I also bury my head like the ostrich to save me from such aggressive hostile people and unpleasant situations in life. I do not have the time, courage and willpower to bang my head on walls.

The winds of discomfort blow over and I feel free all over again.

WHY ARE WE?

It was a Sunday that day and early morning when I zipped off in my car to take rounds in the hospital, Chaitra usually used to accompany me on holidays to the rounds.
The traffic was sparse and I casually jumped a red signal at a crossing. After a few seconds I saw a traffic cop in my rear view mirror, hot on his heels, atop a bullet bike. I slowed down and parked the car. He started berating me for breaking the signal and lamented about my negligent attitude.His mocking behavior shocked Chaitra who could not understand the ensuing argument between us. She started crying.
Children are taught to be scared of cops and they usually panic when their dear ones are being interrogated by them. She was no exception.
Normally, a doctor is leniently let off by them but this cop was adamant and was venting out all his repressed anger on me. I was trying to gain his sympathy by constantly pleading and asking for forgiveness.
He demanded to see my driving licence.
I scanned my wallet but it was not there, I had kept it in my wife's car!
His eyes beamed with further vengeance but a wry smile appeared on his face.
I got the message and curtly handed him a 100 rupee note.He was happy now and all the venom had been diluted with this gesture of mine.
I was immediately let off with a stern warning not to break traffic rules in the future.
Chaitra was a mute spectator to this whole ruckus and kept quiet all the time in the car.
As we reached home, she just asked me one question.
'AjjuPapa' Why did you pay money to the cop?
I had no immediate answer but that question rattled me and shook the earth beneath my feet.
An innocent child saw a seemingly normal day to day act but thought of it as a wrong one.
I had failed my daughter that day.
I vowed to make amends.
I always blamed and everyone for rampant corruption in our country.
The weeds of corruption were watered by people like me.
The donors were equally responsible as the recepients.
Guilt pervaded my soul.
I now wait patiently at all the red signals, even in the dead of the night.
My little child could bring about a much needed change in me.
Such small changes in every person will definitely make this world, a better one.
Children communicate with your soul. They never lie. They are never afraid of the truth.
Why are we?

STIFF UPPER LIPS.

We often take our son Prithvy to restaurants for week end dinners.
He is 17 months old and has recently developed a penchant for literally running amok. He waddles normally while walking but as soon as he runs, our hearts begin to flutter as he is yet to achieve his balance. We run behind him to protect him from falls.
Whenever we are at a fancy restaurant, he won't be seated for long in his seat.He will pester me for taking him on an indoor stroll inside the restaurant.
He will carefully stop at each and every table and offer his smile. The patrons usually pinch his cheeks and smile back at him, often asking me about his name. A cursory polite conversation begins and often I end up giving my visiting card to them. Many people click his snaps to keep them in their pleasant memories. Prithvy obliges them, often cackling with laughter. Not even the hotel manager of the hotel would match his concern.
Last month we were at a temple, All the devotees were sitting on the floor praying fervently for their wishes. Prithvy surveyed the whole lot and roamed about, sitting in laps of people whom he liked. It was a random act but he gladdened everyone who smiled back at him.
Mansi asked me one day,
When would he learn to sit at his table? When would he stop running around in circles in the restaurant? When would he stop smiling at strangers?
I said that it was a short matter of time before he began to develop his social etiquette and emotional intelligence, worldly wise manners!
I wondered about our stiff upper lips.
We, as adults would never behave like him, smiling at strangers and mixing with them freely without a care in the world.
We always judge people.
We always suspect people and their motives.
We never trust our loved ones. We always doubt their actions even if they are good.
We have our own reasons and experiences too.
Sometimes, I wish we never grew up.
The world would not be such a paranoid one, then.


I

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. 2011.

2011- It was around 10 pm in the evening when my mom called me, worried, saying that my dad had stopped eating mid meal and was just fidgeting with a bolus of rice in his hands. He had become incoherent too. I rushed immediately from my opd and also told my mom to call my friend Gopal who stays close to my house. By the time I reached, Gopal was trying to balance and wake up my dad who had lost his postural tone and looked like falling on one side. I went to his room and checked his sugars which were alarmingly low. Hypoglycemia had set in rapidly. Soon, he just became comatose and unresponsive. Panic set in. I immediately made a glucose solution but my dad was not in a position to swallow. We decided to shift him as fast as possible to a nearby hospital. Waiting for an ambulance would mean further waste of time and increase the chances of brain damage. We just lifted the chair with my dad on it, somehow huffing and puffing reached the basement and my dad slept on Gopal's lap in the back seat of my car.
my dad's breathing became laborious and Gopal started sobbing uncontrollably. I didn't pay any attention and drove as fast as I could breaking every signal in sight.
As we reached the hospital, dad had become cold and clammy and not a single vein was visible in sight for cannulation. My team of doctors tried in vain to secure an IV access but to no avail. Gopal who had worked in Pediatrics immediately found a vein in the leg and started IV dextrose on him. As the drops fell from the bottle, a glimmer of hope kindled in me. After 200 ml of the dextrose, My dad regained consciousness. He calmly asked about his whereabouts. We were mightily relieved and I just hugged Gopal and cried.
He saved my dad that day.

Gopal had actually trained under me for 5 years and done me proud that day. He runs a clinic and does his practice in a calm and composed manner.

During my dad's hospitalisations, he used to stay overnight at times to relieve me. He is a real selfless friend and has always supported me and my family in times of crisis.

He even designed and printed Prithvy's birthday cards for his party. Everybody liked the cards and kept them as souvenirs. He is an organizer who can arrange people at the drop of a hat.

Cometh the moment, Cometh the man.
I go abroad at times knowing very well that my parents will be taken care of by him, in case of any problem.

He is my best friend and probably a brother in my last birth.

I'm blessed and fortunate to have a friend like him.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

It was the summer of 1984 when my dad had a fall from our terrace and sustained multiple fractures in his right lower limb. After a month of care and multiple surgeries in a hospital, the difficult part of rehabilitation began. My mom, a physiotherapist was an asset to him for recovery.
Mr Kumar was a childhood friend of my dad who was a huge 6 feet tall giant, weighing about 300 pounds but with a child like heart. He loved my dad a lot. After his job hours, he used to rush to our place on a bullet bike to help mobilise my dad who was incidentally heavy too, those days. He used to physically lift my dad up to the terrace and help him walk with a crutches and then a walker. After a period of intensive exercise for a period of 2 months, My dad walked again without even a stick for support. I thanked Mr kumar from the bottom of my heart. Had it not been for his dedicated efforts, My dad would have never walked again.

He shifted his base to his native town laced with sugarcane fields. We used to go at times to spend our vacations there. At mornings, he used to jump on us kids and intentionally fall upon us to crush us to an awakening. We all used to laugh and tickle him to get him off our meek frames. He was an excellent cook too and personally used to supervise the proceedings in the kitchen at times. His appetite was awesome. His belly was like a big pot, filled only with love for everyone.

As time elapsed, We grew, Our families drifted apart and a solitary phone kept the relation alive. A few years back, Mr Kumar succumbed to Diabetes and Heart disease in his native town. I cried, along with my dad. My dad rushed for his rites. He had lost his childhood friend, a true friend who had stood by him in his adverse times. A gem of a friend.

I'm also blessed with friends who have cared for and supported me in my tough times. They have kept me alive and kicking in my bad times.
My dad was relieved of the crutches by his friend.

My friends are the crutches who support me in every walk of life.

THE WAILERS

It was a cold evening that day.
The mourners had gathered in their pristine crisp whites.
An air conditioned hall was booked for the event, Everything was arranged well. The liveried butlers with their aluminium trays of water glasses. The brown china clay mugs with the steaming flavoured tea and coffee for the high class mourners.
A stage was adorned with a mike and a few musical instruments, Soon the wailers came and assembled themselves on the stage.
A few obituaries were read about the deceased person whose garlanded frame was placed on a table atop the stage. A few incense sticks were slowly fuming, giving out a floral fragrance.
The wailers soon started playing sad songs which accentuated the glum mood of the hall. A few tears from the front seated row brought out more despair from the lead singer. The lead was empathising with them and probably sharing their grief,a stray tear drop welling in her kohl lined eyes. A sombre mood could not stop the mourners, seated in the back rows from stealthily conversing amongst themselves.
After an hour or so, the sad songs stopped playing and the wailers started packing their bags.
A few concerned condolences with the near ones brought the proceedings to an end.
As I was walking down the stairs away from the hall, I eaves dropped casually on the wailer group. They were hastily counting the notes and looked in a hurry to reach else where.
They were about to perform at a pre nuptial henna function. They would sing songs of joy and dance with the crowd of revellers. All the sadness would be left behind.
The mourners would also follow the same patterned behaviour.
We all really live in a make believe artificial world.
When I die, I do not want any ceremonisation of my death.
Don't call a band of wailers to falsely empathise with my near and dear ones.
Let me die in a dignified manner.
Let me rest silently in contented peace.