Monday, March 22, 2010
my lil friends...
This blog is dedicated to my little friends whom I’ve met during my pediatrics ward roster. Taufiq, Barun, and that another girl whose name I’ve forgotten. I think about them, those unassuming kids, their innocent, delightful smiles, and the way they brave all the adversities that their lives, even during their short stay in this world, have bestowed upon them. I will remember how baby taufiq kept tugging at our stethoscopes, there were at least 6-7 of them placed on his chest. I will never forget how he recognized me the next day as well, and put his arms out, wide open, asking me to pick him up. I will remember dear lil barun, who took my pen and wrote his name on his hand and smiled each time we were doing the vocal fremitus test on him. Then that lil girl, whose name I have forgotten, she asked for a chocolate and gave me a big smile when I got her one the next day. These lil kids smile even when they really have no reason to be happy about. Congenital heart disease, tuberculosis, acute leukemia….to name a few miserable diseases they suffer from. Maybe, ignorance truly is bliss in their case. When I look at them, I feel happy and sad at the same time, and I say an earnest prayer for all of them, asking god to look after them, such that the smiles on their faces are preserved for ever.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
just jotting down...
I stood in my balcony for a few minutes just a while back. It is 11:45 at night. Outside, it was dark and very peaceful. The roads were reflecting the orange-ish light of the streetlamps, and the silhouettes of the trees on the roads in the dimly lit parts made for a very poetic atmosphere. Peace and calm was what I was searching for. And I wish I could stand outside forever. Sometimes I so resent the company of people around me. People, gadgets, loud noises, cluttered up rooms…I feel claustrophobic. I long for solitude and a soothing music in the background. Today is one such day.
I despise the way she can be so demeaning at times. I hate her prim n proper ways. I hate the way she is so sure of herself, so sure that whatever she does is good. I hate her nagging, her attitude of a control-freak..i should not be saying all this. N that is what I hate about myself..
A lovely rabindrasangeet is playing on my laptop. It soothes my distraught nerves..
O.P Ghai’s paediactrics is lying open in front of me. I haven’t studied much since the morning. The to-do stuff keeps piling up and I can never reach my target. I don’t feel like studying now. I have a ward-ending after 4 days. And I’ll effectively get half an evening to study for it next week coz of previously decided engagements that I’ll have to fulfill in the coming days.
I lost my temper at my sis. I apologized to her later on. I love her a lot. But I am bad to her. I hide a lot many things from her. She talks to me a lot. She wants me to do the same, yet I don’t. I wish I could write to her.
I despise the way she can be so demeaning at times. I hate her prim n proper ways. I hate the way she is so sure of herself, so sure that whatever she does is good. I hate her nagging, her attitude of a control-freak..i should not be saying all this. N that is what I hate about myself..
A lovely rabindrasangeet is playing on my laptop. It soothes my distraught nerves..
O.P Ghai’s paediactrics is lying open in front of me. I haven’t studied much since the morning. The to-do stuff keeps piling up and I can never reach my target. I don’t feel like studying now. I have a ward-ending after 4 days. And I’ll effectively get half an evening to study for it next week coz of previously decided engagements that I’ll have to fulfill in the coming days.
I lost my temper at my sis. I apologized to her later on. I love her a lot. But I am bad to her. I hide a lot many things from her. She talks to me a lot. She wants me to do the same, yet I don’t. I wish I could write to her.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A long pending blog..
The miseries of old age affect me a lot. It is not that old age is synonymous with gloom, but it is undeniably very commonplace to find old people burdened by darkness on all sides.
A gradual deterioration of life is what all 60+ people have to face- death of their spouse, infliction by some crippling disease, staying alone away from their family, sour relations with their children and an abysmal generation gap between their grandchildren, all this and more in any order by combination and permutation.
The end result is that most of them, being relegated to the darkest corners of the house and the lives of their immediate family members, eagerly wait for their impending death. Some who have it lucky set off for the heavenly abode without having to live through the pathetic state of extreme debilitation, while others remain bed-ridden- their bodies shriveling up, cheeks shrinking and their eyesockets getting hollower, and mental faculties gradually degenerating.
All this is a compilation of what I have observed in my family as well as amongst my relatives.
I wonder why the end of the journey has to be such a bumpy and rough ride. May be it is like what I have heard most elderly people say- shaara jeeboner paaper phol- the fruit of all the bad deeds during ones lifetime and this I often believe is true.
There is a lot that one has to take in his/her stride when one grows old, there’s a lot that one has to learn to let go. Often it is the inability or unwillingness to do this, that makes growing old such a painful process for some people. And well, the faults of their kin just cannot be ignored. I donot want to get into the rhetorics here. It is not that I feel scared of my old age because honestly, I find it difficult to imagine myself as an old woman- there’s still a long way to go. What draws me to old people is their loneliness, their helplessness which unfailingly become their companions in the last leg of their lives.
What made me write this blog?
My sick grandma called me to her room today and put 200 rs in my hand and said ‘I couldnot give anything to you on your birthday.’ She was seriously ill due to a herpes infection on my birthday. Although she had been in the hospital on that day, she had not forgotten to wish me. 4 months had passed since my birthday and she had not yet recovered completely.
‘Let me show you some photographs’, she said. She brought out an envelope from under her pillow. It contained around 9- 10 old photographs of different family members. I was there too, in two of those photographs, one when I was in class 4th and the other when I was in class 9th. Tears welled up in my eyes., not because of the photographs, but because of this sudden picture I formed of my grandma in my head. I saw my grandma, too sick to get up from the bed and walk around, and who is not able to sleep properly due to pain at night, looking through those photos in her lonely moments, reminiscing all those years that had gone by, remembering all those people she had known, thinking of all changed times and ties- the weight of innumerable memories gathered over 85 long years suddenly seemed inhumanly wearisome to me.
A gradual deterioration of life is what all 60+ people have to face- death of their spouse, infliction by some crippling disease, staying alone away from their family, sour relations with their children and an abysmal generation gap between their grandchildren, all this and more in any order by combination and permutation.
The end result is that most of them, being relegated to the darkest corners of the house and the lives of their immediate family members, eagerly wait for their impending death. Some who have it lucky set off for the heavenly abode without having to live through the pathetic state of extreme debilitation, while others remain bed-ridden- their bodies shriveling up, cheeks shrinking and their eyesockets getting hollower, and mental faculties gradually degenerating.
All this is a compilation of what I have observed in my family as well as amongst my relatives.
I wonder why the end of the journey has to be such a bumpy and rough ride. May be it is like what I have heard most elderly people say- shaara jeeboner paaper phol- the fruit of all the bad deeds during ones lifetime and this I often believe is true.
There is a lot that one has to take in his/her stride when one grows old, there’s a lot that one has to learn to let go. Often it is the inability or unwillingness to do this, that makes growing old such a painful process for some people. And well, the faults of their kin just cannot be ignored. I donot want to get into the rhetorics here. It is not that I feel scared of my old age because honestly, I find it difficult to imagine myself as an old woman- there’s still a long way to go. What draws me to old people is their loneliness, their helplessness which unfailingly become their companions in the last leg of their lives.
What made me write this blog?
My sick grandma called me to her room today and put 200 rs in my hand and said ‘I couldnot give anything to you on your birthday.’ She was seriously ill due to a herpes infection on my birthday. Although she had been in the hospital on that day, she had not forgotten to wish me. 4 months had passed since my birthday and she had not yet recovered completely.
‘Let me show you some photographs’, she said. She brought out an envelope from under her pillow. It contained around 9- 10 old photographs of different family members. I was there too, in two of those photographs, one when I was in class 4th and the other when I was in class 9th. Tears welled up in my eyes., not because of the photographs, but because of this sudden picture I formed of my grandma in my head. I saw my grandma, too sick to get up from the bed and walk around, and who is not able to sleep properly due to pain at night, looking through those photos in her lonely moments, reminiscing all those years that had gone by, remembering all those people she had known, thinking of all changed times and ties- the weight of innumerable memories gathered over 85 long years suddenly seemed inhumanly wearisome to me.
thoughts of a confused soul..
I am trying to arrange my thoughts here. I have been feeling very confused about my life for the past few months. This state has had an insidious onset with gradually progressing severity, with the complication of chronic depression setting in, and yes I forgot to mention radiation..well it is radiating into other relationships which are getting adversely affected.
The salient features or the doubts that have arisen are:
a. Am I in the right profession?
Now when I ask this question to myself, my first thought is, to simplify matters- like what can be defined as a ‘right profession’. Now I confess, the following thing might seem to be an infringement of copyright of a certain mr. ranchoddass chanchar- the right profession is when you are actually doing something that u enjoy doing, and that something should also provide you with a livelihood.
b. Now comes the next question- what am I good at, that can also be my profession?
Now some people are born talented, like they have a talent that sticks out a mile, and they don’t have a difficulty making a choice..like Mr. Shankar Mahadeven who quit engineering to be a singer and a composer. Then there are some people who have this amazing grooming that nurtures their talent to the point of that becoming their profession, like Ms. Shreya Ghoshal, who used to live in some godforsaken land and who used to hence travel many kilometers to train in singing..and who now has no doubt abt the fact that she is doing what she is destined to do.
Why am I just quoting the examples of singers? I dunno, but that bears no significance here. Now I belong to the third category of people who donot have any horridly blatant talent, but who aren’t duds at the same time. I can write, can take good photographs, am good at ‘managing’ or ‘organizing’ stuff, I can sing, and may be do a couple of other things as well. The point here is I am not extraordinarily talented in any one of the above mentioned things, such that I can say with conviction – ‘all right, this is what I want to do in life’..
I also understand this,that not all hobbies can or rather, should be turned into a profession.
Having said all of this, my question remains unanswered. I don’t know if I m good enough at doing something that can be my profession.
While I am still at this question, I’d like to make a couple of points.
1. I am sort of good at handling emotions, trying to figure out what is going on in someone’s mind. I have noticed that I keenly observe emotions, mind games, thoughts more minutely than anything else..i might miss a big hoarding on the road. So at one point of my medical sojourn, I had thought (I am not sure if I should be using present or past tense here), that I should think of psychiatry as my profession.
2. I like the ‘organizing’ aspect a lot. I like making plans and implementing them. I like bringing about changes. I liked working for the college fest; I like the ‘behind-the-stage’ challenges and excitement. I had hence thought of shifting to medical administration.
c. The next question is- why am I so dissatisfied with studying medicine?
Now there can be two reasons- one, I am not meant to be here.
Two, may be I am making a big deal of the study pressure. Maybe I am scared, more than what is required. I look at the brilliant students around me and assume I am not going to ever make it, or be a good doctor.
The fact is I am being promoted every year with okay grades, and there are many students who are of my league and perhaps I may not be the number one doc, but I will treat my patients well, and I will have a decent life. The problem is, I fail to see this logic most of the times and more importantly I tend to treat this logic as rubbish whenever I am scared or depressed.
During such weak moments, I tend to emphasise more on reason no.one- I am not doing what I am supposed to be doing. May be I should have tried out my luck somewhere else. May be I should have given documentary film making a try.
d. now this question is nothing but rephrasing question. b, am I really doing what I should be doing? Will I make it as a doc? Am I making a big deal out of this?
This question still remains unanswered. Maybe in the course of life, I’ll find out. If I am lucky, I’ll be a doc 10 years down the line. If I am not, may be I’ll be driven to the point where I’ll have to quit this profession, and try out something else.
The salient features or the doubts that have arisen are:
a. Am I in the right profession?
Now when I ask this question to myself, my first thought is, to simplify matters- like what can be defined as a ‘right profession’. Now I confess, the following thing might seem to be an infringement of copyright of a certain mr. ranchoddass chanchar- the right profession is when you are actually doing something that u enjoy doing, and that something should also provide you with a livelihood.
b. Now comes the next question- what am I good at, that can also be my profession?
Now some people are born talented, like they have a talent that sticks out a mile, and they don’t have a difficulty making a choice..like Mr. Shankar Mahadeven who quit engineering to be a singer and a composer. Then there are some people who have this amazing grooming that nurtures their talent to the point of that becoming their profession, like Ms. Shreya Ghoshal, who used to live in some godforsaken land and who used to hence travel many kilometers to train in singing..and who now has no doubt abt the fact that she is doing what she is destined to do.
Why am I just quoting the examples of singers? I dunno, but that bears no significance here. Now I belong to the third category of people who donot have any horridly blatant talent, but who aren’t duds at the same time. I can write, can take good photographs, am good at ‘managing’ or ‘organizing’ stuff, I can sing, and may be do a couple of other things as well. The point here is I am not extraordinarily talented in any one of the above mentioned things, such that I can say with conviction – ‘all right, this is what I want to do in life’..
I also understand this,that not all hobbies can or rather, should be turned into a profession.
Having said all of this, my question remains unanswered. I don’t know if I m good enough at doing something that can be my profession.
While I am still at this question, I’d like to make a couple of points.
1. I am sort of good at handling emotions, trying to figure out what is going on in someone’s mind. I have noticed that I keenly observe emotions, mind games, thoughts more minutely than anything else..i might miss a big hoarding on the road. So at one point of my medical sojourn, I had thought (I am not sure if I should be using present or past tense here), that I should think of psychiatry as my profession.
2. I like the ‘organizing’ aspect a lot. I like making plans and implementing them. I like bringing about changes. I liked working for the college fest; I like the ‘behind-the-stage’ challenges and excitement. I had hence thought of shifting to medical administration.
c. The next question is- why am I so dissatisfied with studying medicine?
Now there can be two reasons- one, I am not meant to be here.
Two, may be I am making a big deal of the study pressure. Maybe I am scared, more than what is required. I look at the brilliant students around me and assume I am not going to ever make it, or be a good doctor.
The fact is I am being promoted every year with okay grades, and there are many students who are of my league and perhaps I may not be the number one doc, but I will treat my patients well, and I will have a decent life. The problem is, I fail to see this logic most of the times and more importantly I tend to treat this logic as rubbish whenever I am scared or depressed.
During such weak moments, I tend to emphasise more on reason no.one- I am not doing what I am supposed to be doing. May be I should have tried out my luck somewhere else. May be I should have given documentary film making a try.
d. now this question is nothing but rephrasing question. b, am I really doing what I should be doing? Will I make it as a doc? Am I making a big deal out of this?
This question still remains unanswered. Maybe in the course of life, I’ll find out. If I am lucky, I’ll be a doc 10 years down the line. If I am not, may be I’ll be driven to the point where I’ll have to quit this profession, and try out something else.
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