MAGIC TRICK.

It was a rainy Sunday evening that day.

The trees swayed rhythmically and the leaves rustled with an air of excitement. The atmosphere was a surreal one.

My dad had a small bottle of whisky for company along with peanuts and chips. We would just watch him sipping slowly while munching on the starters. A small glass of chilled Thums Up used to give us a high those days. After the last drop of the bottle was poured, an oft performed magic trick awaited us.We used to just sit besides our dad to see him perform the trick.

A lighted match stick was inserted through the narrow mouth of the now empty bottle and the flaming stick would just whoosh down to the base with a bigger flame.My dad now would just seal the bottle with his palm and voila! the bottle would stick to his palm. He would then lift the bottle with his palm amidst our claps and cheers. It was a simple science phenomenon of vacuum but we were small then to comprehend such stuff.

After the bottle got over, my strict dad's demeanor would change magically.He would become cheerful and soon music would start on our player. We would sing,clap and dance. It was indeed a wonderful sight to see my dad dance.He would then have his dinner and doze off with a smile on his face. Sunday evenings were bliss for us as the mood in the house used to be real light and easy. The stresses used to vanish. Weekdays were busy with our school and the demanding stressful jobs of our parents.

The earliest impression of alcohol was imbibed by me as a magical one. The magic trick kept on playing in my mind as I grew up.The spirit was regarded as a spiritual potion by me.


Till the age of 20, I never came in contact with alcohol. Boozing was a taboo then and we were scared of our parents. We began with beer and much to our surprise could no palate the sour taste of it. Whisky, Rum and Vodka were no better either, bitter in taste and gut burners.I was surprised to see how could people lap up this stuff.

After many attempts, I learned to appreciate the taste of whisky and could tolerate the bitterness.

The bitter drink used to sweeten my soul.

I used to float and my worries would temporarily vanish into thin air.

It was indeed a magical potion.

I recollected my dad's little magic trick and realised that it was just a precursor of the main act to follow.

The real magic was that it made you forget your worries and sadness.

It uplifted us.

I just smiled and wiped the tears from my eyes.......

DRY FEET--WET EYES.

It was a hot summer evening like every evening in our humid perspiring town.

The kids had all gathered together with their ever concerned parents at the sparkling cool swimming pool.The fluorescent trunks and sun tan lotion applied bodies glistened in the tropical sun. The reflection of the sun rays created a sweet sparkler like effect in the pool.

The wet kids swam across the length of the pool like dolphins to the sounds of their intermittently clapping parents who simultaneously managed to click their snaps with their ubiquitous cell phones.Some chubby kids lazed around the shallow corner like lazy hippos.

A colourful ball was splashed around the water amidst the cheerful laughter of the kids.

A small kid stayed at the fence of the pool with an anxious look in his eyes and a slight anticipatory tremble in his skinny knees. His clothes were non fluoroscent and faded with repeated usage.His sallow eyes expressed an intense desire to immerse himself in the pool.

The swimming coach stared at him sternly and shooed him away from the pool. He got a nod of approval from the concerned parents. The coach proudly ambled around the pool with a swagger. This action was probably uncalled for and certainly a bitter one in my eyes.

The small kid at the fence was the son of a maid who used to work in our building. She always mentioned that her son had an avidity for water and would love spending hours in the small aluminium tub in their shanty. The maid tried to console her crying son that one day he would swim too, probably in a larger pool.

The kid left our building compound with dry feet and wet eyes.

The rains followed soon swarming their shanty with dirt and filth.

God answered his prayers in a cruel way......

LOVE- A LOSING GAME....

Some memories just do linger.
A ring on her slender finger.

Some people break your heart.
They love,meet only to depart.

The hugs and tender kisses.
The promises and near misses.
The sighs and fatal hisses.

The divine hand, plays spoilsport.
A princess locked in a caged fort.

He looked for her, far and near.
She was the only one, so dear..

They found him in a plightful state.
A tragic death,destined by fate.

There is only pain,
Love is such a losing game......

SOAP AND WATER-

All you need in life is soap and water.

I am a keen observer of people and they continue to amaze me all the time.

The chappal bears the crescentic dust shadow in the front just facing the toes, This shadow is seen in people who may have dressed impeccably but are too careless about their feet. The sparkling nailpolish on the toes fades in the company of the lunar dust shadow.

The shoes resemble as if they belong to a nuke infested war zone.Layers of dust and grime adorn them and they had the misfortune of being polished only at the time of manufacture. The socks with holes smell hellish. Sometimes, I have had to leave the room in a state of nausea,me furiously sniffing my eucalyptus oiled hanky.

The toe nails are clawed like demons and apes and they grow without the fear of ever being snipped. A black brown line can be seen sub surface.

People have a weird fixation about scratching their crotches and axillae all the time. It is their favourite pastime. They follow up with a firm handshake and smelly hugs.

I have seen people using their belly button as a storage receptacle. Balls of cotton and hair frequently hide there.At times, I have seen grains also.

People also advertise what they have consumed for meals. Garlic, Onion and Tea flavored breaths are a rage in our town. Nocturnally, meat and cheap whisky rule the roost. The brush and the tooth paste are used seldomly, if at all.Communication with such people should be done with our backs facing them and their putrid assault.

The shirts and the trousers are used again and all over again till the salt layers accumulate like those of a salt pan. They smell like a mix of napalm and tear gas.The less said about the inner garments is better. They would alone merit a single blog.

The face bears so much oil so as to put the gulf nations in a worry. A once white hanky is rubbed repeatedly to polish the face. The eyes and nose are badly in need of a cleaning too. Boogers are blown and wiped on the poor betel leaf spat red walls.

Hairwash is a weekly affair for some and on the other days the smell of sweat,oil and anti dandruff conditioners loom large on us if we have the chance to get that close.

Supersonic farts and burps are fashionably blared by some people regardless of the emotional and olfactory damage caused to the innocent bystanders. Indiscretion is a definition for their valour.

I recently treated a bed bound millionaire lady who was left to die all alone in her home. The sons came to cursorily ask about her well being. She had a bad maggot infestation in her festering bed sores. She was a helpless lady and all I could do is to point my fingers of accusation were at her sons and their wives.

I saw their shoes and chappals and shaking my dizzy head walked out of their room.

I have a healthy disregard for such people in life. I never hesitate to show my displeasure and point out their hygienic shortcomings.

I feel like gifting them soap and water.

GOD.

God.

A single word, yet means so much to our world.

People spend their entire lives searching for him and when death approaches mortals, they see a bright light and claim to see and reach God.

I never saw God in temples,mosques or churches. All I saw were his poor children begging for their daily slice of bread. Had God been present in such proximity, would he have tolerated such poverty and filth around him?

Some fake people who claim to be Gods exist as leeches in our society. I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting a few with medical problems,an affliction of us mortals! They were Gods and they behaved like Gods too but their bodies were made of the same human flesh and brittle bones.

They were all frail humans with the same anxieties and insecurities which were carefully hidden from their blind masses of followers. Their so called healing hands seldom and never cured themselves.


I am yet to see his physical form but have felt him in all walks of life.

I hear him in the innocent cackling laughter of my kids,the chirping of the birds and the sounds of nature.

I feel him in the blessings and wishes of my parents.

I sense him in the love and care of my wife and my siblings.

I see God in eyes of my patients,filled with tears of gratitude.


God is everywhere. God is in every form. He is infinite.

You cannot lock him in domed or spired buildings.

He cannot exist in mortal bodies.

My dad who is no more with us, had a near death experience 2 years back.

He described a sense of levitation along with some dazzling lights during that entire
experience.

Maybe God exists somewhere beyond our reach, in the afterlife.........

A FIGHT WITH GOD.

I was a heart broken person last year after my dad's demise.

I began to doubt the existence of God. A cascade of unfortunate events, resulting in multi organ failure had brought about my dad's downfall. He fought valiantly but God had already made up his plans.

During his mid life, he endured diabetes,heart and kidney ailments with an ever smiling face. In USA, a couple of years back a doctor called him a superman. He was a charismatic person and had his fan following wherever he went.

Why God could not give him an extension for a couple of years started eroding my mind. We all needed him, always by our side for his reassuring support.

I was upset with the almighty. All my prayers and beliefs came to a halt.

I was a devout believer but now I became an agnostic.

I just stopped praying.

After a couple of months or so, I got a home visit call.

A 80 year old man was languishing in the bed for the last 6 months. He had a series of brain strokes.He had become like a virtual comatose vegetable. He had become totally dependent. He had stopped speaking and only uttered indecipherable grunts.

At times, he used to open his eyes and stare at the ceiling. I saw the man and his poignant eyes just begged for salvation.

His soul desired liberation.

I went home and thanked God for not letting my dad suffer. He was a fiercely independent persona and such a state would have tortured him.

I closed my 'now open' eyes and resumed my prayers all over again.

God always has the best plans.

We realise it too late.

TREADMILL OF LIFE.

It was a very uncomfortable day for me yesterday.

The day began with excruciating chest pain which radiated to my left arm and shell shocked me into believing that something was wrong with my heart. I am 40 years old and not growing younger everyday. The stresses of life and genetic factors would catch me up one day.
The echo and the blood markers mercifully came up normal. A treadmill test was planned during the latter half of the day. My family got worried and began crying. I too became a bit worried with their behavior. My thready pulse started soaring to new highs but my spirits were on a all time low.

The morbid fear of heart disease and the resultant disability gripped me lke a python.

My life had just begun and I needed atleast another decade to settle my kids who were still young. They also loved me and started crying.

I began running on the treadmill like there was no tomorrow with a prayer on my lips and a steely resolve to put all the doubts to rest.

The attending cardiologist, after 12 minutes begged me to stop running on the treadmill. He told me that I had run enough to pass the test. I refused and told him to max out the test. My pulse reached a dizzying 170 beats per minute yet I had neither chest pain nor any fatigue. After the test, he congratulated me on my stamina and heaved a sigh of relief. The graphs of the test were normal.

I was overjoyed and my family was mightily relieved. They started breathing again.God existed for me yesterday. When I got down from the treadmill, I sat down quietly in one corner and started crying. The cardiologist was surprised and rightly so.I should have been happy with the results of the test and my tears had a different reason for their origin.

It was a hot summer in 1997 when I was a MD resident in KEM hospital when my dad was seen in the opd for similar chest pain episodes. He was 55 years old, diabetic and a hypertensive smoker with a strict temperament to boot,thus fulfilling all the risk factors for germination of a heart disease.

As he walked on the treadmill, after 3 minutes he had chest pain and breathlessness. His rhythm became awry and his ST segments started rising indicating an evolving heart attack. The test was immediately aborted and the entire cardiac team rushed to the treadmill to check on my dad. He was pretty cool after the termination of the test and was unaware of anything going wrong with him. The HOD implored him to get admitted on the ICU and undergo an urgent angiography.I too pleaded with tears in my eyes.

He was made up of sterner stuff. He asked the HOD to prescribe some meds for him and calmly walked up to Parel station,climbed the overbridges and came home by train. I was a helpless mute spectator. I could never convince my dad or go against his wishes.

He was our Iron Man.
After a week, we could manage to convince him and he underwent successful stenting to his coronary vessels.He later underwent CABG after 5 years in 2003 which gave him further extension of life till september 2011.

He lived like a tiger, enjoying his life fully, smoking and weekend drinking, seeing movies, playing with his grandkids.

His entire life flashed in front of my eyes when I began walking on the treadmill yesterday.

I went home, hugged my kids and cried even more. The tears just never stopped flowing yesterday.