TISSUE PAPER

There were huge banyan,tamarind and palm trees lining the walls of the asylum, It was like an oasis in this urban concrete jungle. You could hear the silence all around. It was an unforgettable experience for me. I had gone to see Madhu, a close patient of mine who was confined to these walls of the asylum. He had exhausted all opportunities to lead a normal existence like us by his recurrent suicidal attempts. The asylum was the safest place for him on this entire planet. A team of psychiatrists labelled him as a schizophrenic and treated him with their full vigour and might, but only to burn their fingers on their thoughts of recovery for him. He defied every one and continued his suicidal attempts, much to the chagrin of the treating doctors. A decision was made to confine him to this asylum, much to his displeasure. The asylum segregated patients according to their age, sex and health. I saw some cops outside the ward guarding some criminal patients. They looked bored and tired. Probably, this duty would not yield them any revenue as the criminal patients had nothing to give them except their woes and verbal abuses.
The ward was gloomy and a faint smell of urine pervaded all around.
I went with a packet of assorted sweetmeats and lots of snacks for him. As he saw me, he rushed limping towards me with a smile of recognition like a small child. He pounced on the goodies. Repeatedly, he was asking whether the sweets were for him only and no one else.I reassured him. He grabbed the sweets and did not bother even to unwrap the tissue paper. and gobbled them as if there was no tomorrow. He reminded me of the urchins , permanently settled around temples who swarmed on benevolent devotees for their share of goodies. He was happy to see me as his lone visitor. After sampling the snacks, he carefully kept them in his alloted locker far away from the gaze of the equally hungry ward inmates. He was scratching his body vigorously with his long, helpful unkempt nails. Scabies, probably. He pleaded me to visit every month and rushed to his bed. His bed was occupied by some other patient, he did not bother and slept calmly on the adjoining floor. I saw the patients, some were young and educated and looked out of place in this ward.
The sister and the robust ward boys were highly appreciative of Madhu and predicted an early recovery for him.
One day he would be rehabilitated and cured of this malady, but, where would he go?
His relatives had already given up on him and never even bothered to visit him in this asylum.
I don't think, Madhu will ever escape from the asylum.
He is safe and sound here.
He does not want to swim in the ocean of madness of our material world.
Madhu did not bother to wish me goodbye, he was sleeeping peacefully on thee floor like a child.
I came out of the asylum wiping my tears with the tissue paper.

3 TALES.

SANGITA-
Sangita was a high society girl who mingled a lot with high flying guys who would treat her at fancy restaurants in town. One day she and her motley group went to a pizza joint to fill their half full stomachs, She was wearing a leather mini skirt under an Armani shirt, naturally her oozing sexiness was appreciated all around, by the casual glances at her by each and every one. He was sitting opposite their table and was slowly sipping the freshly brewed coffee while staring at her. It appeared as if he was looking through her. Sangita was very uncomfortable and squirmed in her seat to divert the man's attention. How could an ordinary middle class man have the temerity of staring at her? was the constant thought eroding her empty mind. It was a different matter in the night time, when she used to spread her legs for the Calvin Klein underwear clad friends of the high class. She stared rudely and lashed out the choicest expletives at the man. However, there was no reaction from the man. He was unmoved. She was agitated and rushed to the manager to complain about the still staring man.
When the waiter gave the bill to him, he paid and slowly ambled across the restaurant to the door. He had a smile on his face and a fold able white cane in his hand. He put on his dark glasses on the road.
THE SAD FACED HUNK-
He occupied almost half the dining table at the fancy restaurant, He was of a muscular built and the muscles were ripping out of his body hugging T-shirt. You could see the greenish veins like small sea snakes under his skin in the arms. His appetite matched his looks and the waiters were prompt in attending to him. His stature demanded respect. His arms could strangulate a bull, leave aside ordinary human beings like us. He exuded power and was the centre of attraction in the entire hotel. The girls were secretly dreaming of a date with this hunk. We were naturally jealous of him and constantly compared our frail arms with his and sulked.
I noticed despite all this, his face was sad and hid some bitter memories, a linear scar ran along his face from the ear to the lips, probably a combat scar or so. You could see the sadness in his sallow eyes. As he cleared the bill, he walked slowly across the hotel with two of his never parting friends, who were always by his arms. The crutches were sturdy and never wilted under his heavy body. His glorious days of courage and valour,while fighting for his country were only a small part of his distant faded memory.
THE ODD COUPLE-
They always used to occupy the noisiest table at the restaurant, oblivious of the surrounding cacophony of the road side traffic and the bustling public. The adjoining hotel kitchen with all the clanging of the utensils never detracted from their prized table. They used to sit quietly holding hands, sipping tea and feeding small morsels to each other from their plates. Their silence was a bit of bother for me and I wondered if their love and mutual admiration was so strong so as to survive this acoustic assault. This generation threw a lot of oddities and probably they were one of them.
My curiosity got the better of me and one day, I asked the waiter about the odd couple. He just made a gesture with his hand, first pointing the tongue and later his ear, and waved a signal of nothingness with his hand. I was shocked and moved out of the restaurant, smiling vaguely at the deaf-mute couple.

MOTHER'S DAY GIFT.

She was a frail girl, probably a day old when she was left with a small cloth wrapped around her, at the doorstep of the orphanage. Nobody knew her origin, she had been dumped perhaps, by an unwed reluctant mother. This was common occurrence for the orphanage authorities and they lovingly took the wailing baby under their shelter. They named her Meena, in view of her fish like beautiful eyes.There was no official naming ceremony, nor were any sweets distributed in the neighbourhood. The orphanage was always devoid of funds, the entire city wasted money on bars and other luxuries but always avoided donating for a noble cause like this.
Each and every one shirked this responsibility.
God gives birth and is bound to provide till death, somehow the orphanage used to survive and take care of its unfortunate inhabitants.
Soon, Meena grew up and became a good student,who could stitch clothes for a living and started dreaming of a future. Amol, who had grown up with her became the centre of her attraction. The marriage was conducted in the orphanage with restricted pomp. There was a rare sweet dish in the meals which followed the ceremony. Everyone lapped up their meals heartily.
They branched out, rented a small room and began their blissful married life. He too, was an expert tailor. The lady luck smiled on their lives for the very first time and soon their business flourished. They shifted to a 2 bhk apartment with their chubby son. Their son got the best education and became an engineer. He got a decent job, married and life went on so on and forth.
Many years later, Amol passed away after a protracted battle with cancer, Meena became a sad widow who would frequently cry, remembering her past struggles to conquer life with him. She went into a depressive shell and shut herself from her son's family. Her son could never understand her turmoil as he had been provided, all through his life. He was never deprived. His wife was perpetually annoyed at the sulking mother in law and frequently used to berate her. Meena used to silently endure the harsh words.
Mother's Day was around the corner and Meena's son asked her about the gift for that day, He always used to spend on her this day, Meena with tears in her eyes, asked for her gift.
She was shifted to the old age home as per as her wishes.
She had come alone in this world.
She wanted to leave this world alone.
She always waits at the window on Mother's Day, She cries, looks heavenwards, wondering when would she embrace her unknown unseen mother.

THE RELUCTANT ATTENDANT.

Sanjay had bribed the municipal officials to land a job in this hell hole, it was a much despised job but his graduation degree failed to secure a job for him, any where in this small town. He wanted to provide for his needy family and happily grabbed this job. He had a small broken but mended wooden chair and a granite platform as his office desk. A small locked chained aluminium tiffin box with a slot to collect coins was provided to him by the authorities.This would be his piggy bank. He used to sit on the chair from morning till night, busily counting his coins in the heavy box. The foot falls would never cease, such was the demand of his facility. All classes of people, young and old alike would use this place to empty their putrid bladders and foetid bowels. It was after all, a common public toilet. He would sit there, dreaming about a job in an air-conditioned office, in a cleaner hygienic surrounding.
People in this city, spent half of their lives dreaming.
I once went to this public toilet and came out in an unpleasant state of mind. The entire filth of this city used to gather over here. Beggars, Tramps used to patronise this place like swarming ants on sugar. It was like their second home after the foot-path, used to provide shelter during the rains. Cockroaches and Flies loitered here, The entire place was reeking of stench which immediately could trigger nausea in a sane individual. The state of urinals was very sorry, I think they must have been cleaned only during the inauguration.Years and years of the yellow rain had left precipitates on them which were beyond cleaning now, the only hope was changing them. The corrupt government had other things on their agenda, though.
The toilet used to be a hang out for the closet homosexuals in this city, they used to silently wait for their partners near this place. The rich and the poor gays mingled freely over here. The toilets were used on the sly for their illegal activities. Of course, a handsome 5 rupee tip used to be given to the attendant for his wilful over sight of such activities. Sometimes, prostitutes used to ply their sad trade over here in the night time.
The nether world inhabitants, who were shunned by the society found solace and comfort in this haven.
Life had to go on in this mean city.
Sanjay started losing his appetite. He is still continuing the same job as of now,but looks dull and emaciated. He would carry out his job, life reluctantly.
He is the reluctant attendant.

DARK CIRCLES.

My patients often call me late at odd hours of the night and they are surprised when I pick up the phone after a couple of rings, I answer the call coherently with day time like alertness. Of course, if there is an emergency, I rush to the hospital in a jiffy. It's not a big effort for me as I have trained myself to sleep like a dog in the night with my sensor ears, awaiting distress signals all through out the night. This parasomnia has a long history.

My brother suffered from Bronchitis during his childhood, It was really a testing time for us when he used to get his wheezing spells at around mid night hours or early dawn when the smog used to envelop our small town. I used to sit and massage his chest with balms and pray to God for an early relief from this attacks. Sometimes, I used to rush to call our family physician for giving him medicine shots. I was alert and always at his service during these nocturnal distressing spells. At the age of 12 years, my brother got fully cured of his ailment and my sleeping pattern improved, temporarily though.

Then, I entered HSC board and my studies assumed a nocturnal pattern, I simply could not concentrate during the day hours with the noise and distractions around. I decided to study from mid night till 6 am daily, I used to enjoy it under my faithful night lamp, the world was so different and quiet at this time. I then, used to rush to college at 7 am and rest during the boring lectures till 2 pm. A strong Nescafe with cardamom seeds used to keep me awake like an owl in the night. I topped my college in HSC board, way back in 1990.

My residency programme in Medicine was cut out for my night life, We used to be on call through out the night and frequently used to be woken up during night times when the patients would realise their pains and complaints. Sometimes, we used to sleep in the ward side room to avoid frequent excursions from the hostel to the ward. It was all fun though, we used to sip coffee from the nocturnal bicycle man and smoke cigarettes outside the campus. Of course, during emergency on call days,we hardly used to sleep a wink at all. Patients used to come from far away places at this odd times. We used to be fresh as daisies.

Now, My new born has to be looked after in the night, he also chooses to be a nocturnal person like me, bawling all through out the night. He has inherited this from his father! I help my wife all through the night happily.

My evolution as a doctor, had the recurring underlying theme of being awake and alert at night times.It will continue to be so in the future also.

I enjoy a good siesta though, in the afternoon for an hour or so.

So, when you see the dark circles around my eyes, You know the reasons.

The dark circles have illuminated a lot of lives around!

SWEET LIES-BITTER TRUTH.

Children never lie.
They slowly acquire this ability, when they grow up in this make believe world.
They are never bothered about the consequences of telling the truth. We as grown ups always try to hide it under the mat, We are and will be scared of the skeletons in the closet.
My neighbour had lovingly made a dish for us and it turned out to be sour, we promptly washed it in our kitchen sink and forgot about it. After a week, she casually asked Mansi about the taste and Mansi told her that it was delicious and everybody enjoyed the dish. Chaitra who was eaves dropping blurted out blatantly that the dish was never consumed by us and was washed down the drain, much to our shock. Our neighbour was crest fallen and she did not warm up to us ever again, at least for a month or so. I did not scold Chaitra. I did not want her, to lie ever. She continues her truth telling habit all the time, embarrassing us at times.
Children remind us of our lost innocence, every day of our life.
I sometimes lie to my wife, over praising dishes cooked by her painstakingly, as I realise the effort she takes to do so in her busy professional life. A word of encouragement goes a long way in nurturing a relationship.
She is a good cook though.
She reads my blogs and will read this one too!
Lies pervade our lives. The lovers lie about their clean past, The office people lie about their illnesses to bunk work. The rich people lie about their losses to evade taxes. The shop keepers lie about the prices of their shelf expired products. The husband lies to spend some time with his paramour. The in laws lie about the defects and diseases in the overaged ripe bride, ready to marry an equally matched alcoholic, out of work bride groom.
We as doctors also lie to our patients at times, A young girl asked me, How long would she live with her terminal illness? I was faced with a dilemma, I chose to tell her the lie that she would live to be a sweet woman with children and would live for many decades. She passed away the next week, as expected. My guilt knew no bounds. I had given her momentary happiness, but she would be watching me from heaven and wondering about my false hopes and dreams.
Many cancer patients' relatives never allow the patient to become aware of the dreaded disease, Such patients are always in the dark about their illness and often change doctors to effect a cure. I am of the opinion that the adult patient has every right to know about the disease and its prognosis, It helps them plan the rest of their short life better.
Lies buy us peace of mind.
That effect is however temporary, though.
The ugly and the bitter truth always surfaces.
Let's face the truth.
Let the light shine through.

THE BUS CONDUCTOR.

It was around late evening that fateful day, when I waited at the bus stop to go to a friend's house for a party, The cabs were on strike in view of the hike in diesel rates. Surprisingly, there was only a sparse crowd at the bus stop. May be the people of the city had retired early, that hot summer day.
A cosy couple caught my eye, they were very intimate with each other and probably would continue their public display of affection, in the same vein in the rear seats of the bus. They looked the type of couple who stayed in a small flat with their joint nosy family and were making the most of the privacy available to them. Such was the plight of most married couples in this cruel city. I wondered about their silent sex life in the night with their family members sleeping next to them, they would have to be indeed, quiet and very careful.
How they procreated was beyond my comprehension.
A sweet girl in her early 20s was waiting patiently, as she did daily for her evening livelihood. She had a garish lip-stick on her thin lips. Her dress sense was also very loud and inviting. The sweat in her underarms was staining her silk blouse profusely on this hot day. She was frantically speaking to someone on her weather beaten cell phone with a heart shaped pendant attached to it. Soon, a car came and a corpulent elderly man took her for the night. Some money exchanged hands before she reluctantly sat in the car. Her sustenance for the next day was insured. May be she would be seen at the same bus stop again, waiting for other people's cars to ride her night away.
An elderly man was smoking a cigarette rapidly as if it would be his last one, Later, he was seen violently coughing blood stained phlegm, caring a damn about the hygiene of this newly constructed bus stop. We had already ceased to exist for that coughing old man. Strangely, the other people standing there hardly noticed his plight. All the eyes were patiently waiting for their bus which would transport them to their dreary destinations.
Lastly, I noticed a blind man with his white cane, asking everyone about the arrival of his bus, he was worriedly seeing the time repeatedly in his braille watch. He carried a big box of incense sticks which gave fragrance to this bus stop's humid atmosphere. The blind man used to sell these incense sticks at the nearby foot over bridge, was worried about losing his clientele. He had a job to do and agitatedly, was cursing the drunk delayed bus drivers who were depriving him of his daily bread.
I boarded the bus along with the crowd and sat on the front seat, The conductor was hurriedly giving tickets and collecting the coins and small notes for them silently. I was stretching my arm to get his attention, surprisingly he was ignoring me. I did not want to travel ticket less, just because of his oversight. I got up and confronted him with a 5 rupee note in my hand, As he saw me, he smiled at me and denied the note.He told me that the ride was on him. I was surprised and sat down on my seat, soon he came and called my name. I was shocked.
How could he know my name? He sat next to me and reminded me of our school days, when he used to sit behind us in the back row. I slowly, but surely recollected his name. He was a bright student, who never saw the face of college because of his adversity.He had to start earning at an early age to support his family. I could not bear to see him, in this conductor's attire. We had the comfort and the support of our parents, hence we could study medicine up to post graduation level, without ever bothering about the finances.
I got down at the next traffic signal.
I returned home.
I hugged my parents and my eyes poured tears like the oncoming monsoon rain.