HOW I MET YOUR FATHER...

Kids, it was the summer of '85 when we first met. Yeah, yeah i know that u have heard all about our' girl meets boy, boy proposes, girl disposes so on and so forth natak ' so often that now it has become ur favourite bedtime story! (read may 2010 POST ) You fall asleep even before it starts!

So, today i am telling u a story about 2 kids who never met their father.

It was a routine antenatal consultation. Lata, a sweet, simple 21 year old, newly married, came with her husband, 12 weeks pregnant. Both were shy, eager to follow advice and were sent off with instructions to eat well,put on weight and follow up after a month. 3 months later, Lata walks in, now 6 months pregnant along with her mother. Gone was that sweet, quietly content look. In law troubles,i guessed, having been witness to many such stories in the past. Was i wrong! 2 months earlier, her husband was crossing the road near Sion hospital when a truck knocked him down. He died instantaneously. The next two months were a nightmare as Lata was blamed for her husband's bad luck and she was forced to go to her mother's house. No time for grief, sorrow is a luxury for girls like her who have to carry on with the business of living. Her old,frail mother and she almost appeared uncaaring but for the catch in her voice and arms protectively clutched around her tummy.

Amita was 7 months pregnant when a weekend trip to Lonavla changed her life forever. Their car met with an accident, she broke her leg but her husband was seriously injured and put on the ventilator. Her every visit to my clinic thereafter was chaotic since she was accompanied by both sets of parents, her brother and sister ln law. Her husband succumbed to his injuries almost a month later and every time i checked the baby's heartbeat, there was a fresh wave of sorrow.

Both mothers delivered with me. Lata had a baby boy and she held him with tears streaming down her face. Amita had a baby girl, the spitting image of her father. One could sense that both sets of grandparents were going to fight for her.

And so were born two kids who will never meet their father!

(all names changed)

THE LONE RANGER

“Only one mosquito counted in Mumbai during a mosquito census conducted by the municipal corporation”, screamed newspaper headlines last week! This census was conducted in the wake of an epidemic of Malaria in the city which, in the monsoon, is the norm. So, what’s the fuss? I wonder what was done with that pesky, insatiable, one-man army mosquito. Surely it should have been captured alive and inducted in a hall of Fame [or is it Shame?]. Perhaps Mme Tussauds would consider making its wax replica for display. It definitely deserves a mention in the Guinness Book of world records as the world’s most bloodthirsty mosquito! Maybe, just maybe, the Indian Army has borrowed it for a secret mission involving chemical warfare, Mumbai ishtyle.

Somehow, the article brought to mind an anecdote involving a 70 year old man and his 24 year old wife. They had come for consultation since the wife had not conceived even after 3 months of marriage, which, in the gentleman’s eyes, was an adequate period of time for the job to get done. He disclosed that his 2 former wives had become pregnant in the first month of marriage itself and had provided him with a dozen kids. I don’t think even he was sure of the exact number! Unfortunately, both had died at an early age, hence the remarriage so that there was a woman in the house to care for the large brood.

On seeing my shock, the wife smiled sweetly and said, “I am very happy. He treats me with respect.” On being told that, at his age, it may be some months before his wife conceives, he stormed out of my clinic muttering under his breath something about dumb doctors especially of the female kind! I watched their departure with a disturbed mind.

Exactly a year later, the couple walks into the clinic with a baby. The wife was a picture of radiant motherhood. The old husband had a triumphant smile on his face and had come to gloat. That night I had a terrible dream of a heavy downpour where on closer look, each raindrop was actually a newborn baby wearing a wrinkled, grinning face. YUCK!!!  I woke up in the morning determined to erase this episode from my mind. A movie, I thought, would do the trick. No prizes for guessing which one I saw……..

…………“Buddah Hoga Terra Baap” [a recent Bollywood flick which literally means “Your dad may be old but not me” a colloquial slang used in a mildly abusive vein]

Oh God! No more nightmares, I hope!

OF BARKING DOGS AND FLYING PHONES

Lost my fourth cell phone today and spent the entire day without one (for a good cause and not my fault, really). This brought back memories of my early years in medical practice when we were wholly dependent on the landline. A list of all possible landline numbers was given to the on-duty sister who would diligently call on each till she could locate me. For movies, there was a friendly panwallah, with a phone, just outside our local theatre, who would be given our seat numbers, so that, in an emergency, he could notify us. Thus, in blissful oblivion, passed many years till pagers came into our lives.

Pagers became instant status symbols and we wore them clipped to our jeans/kurtas like a fashion accessory. However, the umbilical cord binding us to the landline could not be severed as yet, since, we had to rush to the nearest phone when the pager blipped.

Finally, the cell phone arrived. With freedom in our hands, our lives changed drastically and today, I wonder, how we ever managed to survive without one which brings me back to my saga of lost phones.

The first one was left behind in an auto, when I must have kept in on the seat, while paying the fare. How the second got lost remains a mystery! One minute it was in my hand as I am rushing to the hospital for a delivery and the next minute it has disappeared! Must have dropped it, I presume. The third phone was left behind at Datta’s [a famous batatawada stopover enroute Alibaug, a seaside getaway ].We had almost reached, when the hospital nurse called on my husband’s cell to inform us that my cell number is no longer available, which in lost cell phone parlance means stolen/never to be seen again. We had become quite the experts by then!

Till, finally, today’s story. I am, as usual, rushing for a delivery at five a.m. All is quiet except for the pounding of my feet. A stray dog suddenly emerges barking from beneath a parked car. I freeze, hit the panic button and throw my phone at him. We stare at each other in shock, he retreats unhurt beneath the car and I sheepishly retrieve my phone from a puddle of rain water, knowing, that once again I will have to make the trip to the now familiar store with a demand for an instrument which is easy to use and inexpensive so that there is no heartburn when it gets lost, as it will, eventually………

P.S.  New APP for cell phones:-

   Only compatible with cheap instruments!

   Can be used as a missile against barking stray dogs.  YEAH!!!!

CONFESSIONS OF A WORKAHOLIC DOCTOR-MOM

“Oh no,not again,”

My daughter cried in vain.

Another cancelled movie date

“Your work,  I really hate”.

I sat her close,wiped those tears

Some partly mine,some partly hers.

“A doctor’s job’s not nine to five

’tis a reality show,24/7,live.”

Making plans is just a token

When duty calls,they’re soon forsaken.

Dinner,movies,romantic flings

Take a backseat when the phone rings.

“So,why not quit,” my daughter says,

When only work fills nights and days.

Is it money, Is it fame

What pushes you to play the game?”

I paused to take a closer look,

At the writing in my Life’s book.

The answer lay there,a trifle odd

“In my work, I see God.”

A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF LIFE

It is my policy, as a busy obstetrician, never to carry work home. But could I help it if a pair of crows decided to set up their bedroom/labour suite/nursery just outside my bedroom window!

We had been observing them painstakingly carrying twigs, twine and leaves to build a nest. It was an architectural marvel; strong, with high walls, a cushioned floor, well protected from rain, wind and sun by the branches of a nearby tree. One fine day, we saw 4 spotted eggs in the nest, with Mama Crow perched on them for hours on end.

Papa Crow, the anxious dad- to- be, kept watch on a nearby branch, fiercely protective, warding of curious, unwelcome visitors [including yours truly] with raucous cries.

Finally, D-Day arrived on 22/06/2010 and one of the eggs hatched to reveal a pink blob of flesh, barely alive. We christened it ‘Crowlet’. The proud parents kept even stricter watch with Mama Crow warming it all day long.

Day 2 dawned with Crowlet showing some signs of life, actually opening its mouth for food.

On  Day 3, a black fuzz appeared and constant demands for food kept Mom and Dad busy.

Day 4 was a windy, rainy day and we applauded the foresight of the crows in making the nest walls high enough so that Crowlet remained snug and dry. Such a glutton I had yet to encounter, mouth always open in readiness for doting Mama to drop in some food.

Day 5 was sunny in more ways than one. Crowlet appeared much stronger. Mama Crow and it appeared to be bonding and of course, it was still greedy! “There is not much difference between human babies and Crowlet” , I thought.

On Day 6, we ran to the window, half expecting to see Crowlet with sprouted wings ready to fly. The nest was empty! No Crowlet, no Mother Crow. Only Father crow perched on his branch,gazing at the empty nest,ready to bite our heads off if we even came near the window.

If only trees could speak! What happened to our 5 day old Crowlet, in the course of the night, we will never know. It has been 6 days since; Father Crow has disappeared. The nest still remains. Who knows, maybe some other crow will spot it and claim it as his own. After all, this is Mumbai city, a squatter’s paradise! And Life, even with ‘ Empty Nest Syndrome ‘ does go on……….

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST?!

The 3 most commonly asked questions immediately after the baby is born are:

A] Is it a boy or a girl?  

B] Is he/she ‘normal’?

C] Is he/she fair?

The first 2 are easy to answer but I cringe each time I have to reply to the third, often giving a stock answer,

“Looks just like your husband”; hearing which,

 some look happy while the rest appear a mite dejected! Some desperately ask whether the baby’s appearance is likely to change in the next few days!

Jokes apart, this oh-so-Indian obsession with skin colour and good looks is downright annoying. How boring would the world be if all were cast in the same mould of tall, slim and fair or tall, dark and handsome.

To find beauty in the mundane, the trick is to forget all stereotypes and look closely at the whole picture, with one’s heart as well as eyes.

To illustrate, look at these pics of a butterfly perched on my son’s finger and a moth on my living room floor.

Delicate, colourful, shimmering radiance

Versus

Earthy, dramatic, powerful flamboyance

Beauty or Beast??????

You decide. After all, it’s different strokes for different folk!  

LOOK UP! IT'S SHOWTIME, FOLKS

I walked out of the hospital bone tired, only to be greeted with thunder, lightning and gusts of wind. Dark clouds, pregnant with moisture, hung low in the sky. It was unnaturally dark and eerie. I looked at my watch to check the time; just 5-00 p.m.!!! 

The last time I had looked at the sky was at 7.00 a.m. when the day had dawned, bright and sunny. Thereafter, a difficult delivery, an emergency C-Section, a waiting room full of patients, inpatient rounds and a busy afternoon surgical list had kept me indoors for 10 long hours.

As I walked home, the skies opened. Within minutes, the road resembled a river and I was soaked to the bone. My spirits lifted and I had to restrain myself from dancing in the rain, my age and profession playing spoilsport! All around me, I could hear people cursing the vagaries of the Mumbai monsoons. By the time I reached home, it had stopped raining. Twilight had descended, bathing the sky and air with a translucent, pale pink hue. The world shimmered in its radiance.

Slowly the light dimmed and night fell.

I mentally applauded Nature’s theatrics and remembered a poem I had penned almost 30 years ago………

                               

KALEIDOSCOPE

The sky

                Like

A lover

                Shivering

With passion

                 Boiling

With rage

                 Spitting

Fire and hell

Wild, Wanton, Beautiful.

Her fury

                 Soon

All spent

                 She

Weeps softly

                 Tears

Each drop

                 Falls

Jewelled, Bright, Pure.

Through eyes

                 Wet

A smile

                 Peeps

Shyly pleading

                 Reconciliation

Sweet laughter

                 Breaks

Rainbow-hued, Joyous, Gay.

The sky

                 Like

A lover

                 Quivering

With joy

                 Unsurpassed

Of giving

                 Receiving

Hope and Life

Union, Bliss, Fulfillment

     

What a Drama Queen!!!!!

World Theatre at its best!

Happy Birthday To Me ........................

26/5/10

Got up in the morning feeling happy and excited. Laughed aloud, looked at the beaming face in the mirror and wished myself,"Happy Birthday".

You may not believe it but even after 48 years of life, 22 years of medical practice and 18 years of motherhood, Birthdays still excite me! It's not as if some special celebration has been planned for the day, but still it feels like a celebration of life.

I look out of the window to see the sunrise and feel blessed with the gift of life, love, health and joy. My husband and kids will soon awaken to smother me with hugs and kisses. My Mom will definitely come to gift me a painstakingly chosen greeting card penned with words of wisdom, pride and love along with a carefully folded crisp Rs.100 note. My sisters will have bought me a gift and will be planning their day around mine. My mother-in-law will remember me in her prayers and my father-in-law will wish me in his booming voice, a trifle embarrassed because he had mistakenly wished me the day before! My little niece, Kiara, will soon arrive to cut my birthday cake for me as she is the self proclaimed cakecutter for all family birthdays! Friends will soon start calling and......

........The phone ring interrupts my thoughts and duty calls. I rush to the L.R.[read labour room]. My patient delivers a beautiful baby girl. As I hand over the newborn to her mother, she looks up at me with a smile on her exhausted face and says,"Happy Birthday, Doctor. I hope my daughter grows up to become just like you." I am overwhelmed! What could be a better gift than this? 

I told you- I just love birthdays!!!

Sometimes a look, is all it takes...

The first week of gynaec residency! I was in a mess. Somehow, the theoretical knowledge I had gained during medical school and internship did not suffice to cope with the rigorous demands made of a lowly first year resident.

A municipal hospital in a busy city like Mumbai is like a crowded railway station at rush hour. Patient admissions, discharges, paperwork, blood collections, dressings and a million other odd jobs vied for my attention. Day and night merged into one.

The busiest days were Mondays and Thursdays which were the O.T. (surgery) days. The O.T. in municipal hospitals works like a busy conveyor belt with patients being wheeled in and out. In the midst of this cacophony, I noticed the quiet efficiency with which a junior anaesthetist was doing his job. I looked up to see a pair of intelligent, warm, brown eyes meet mine over a surgical mask.

Thereafter, every O.T. day, our eyes would meet and exchange smiles before both of us got immersed in our work. I was fascinated by the precise movements of his hands, the look of intense concentration in those eyes and his confident body language when a difficult case was on. Very soon, Mondays and Thursdays became my favourite days of the week and that special pair of eyes my anchor in the mad,mad world of first year residency!

When it was my turn to operate independently, at the start of every surgery, I would look into those eyes and be filled with confidence.

Today, 25 years later, the story remains the same. My eyes meet my husband’s eyes, still an intense, warm brown; I pick up the scalpel and begin surgery.

I know, all’s well with my world…

My very first Blog .. Yippeeeeee!!!! :D

Hey! I'm so excited. My very first blog. I wonder if anyone is gonna read it. Whatever!! Its fun to write. You maybe wondering whats with the handle "Dr.Aunty". Well, that's the name I am most often called by. It started with the neighbourhood kids calling me "Aunty" and their parents calling me "Doctor". Presto, one fine day I was Dr.Aunty. A doctor who is like an aunt or an aunt who is also a doctor. Its a warm feeling.

"Aunty" such an Indian feel to this suffix. While in other countries it works as a prefix like "Aunt Susan", in our country there is this tendency to add an "Eee" to all female relatives like Kaki, Masi, Mami and now, Aunty.

The great thing about this profession especially my specialty(Ob-Gyn) is that you become a part of your patient's family. You celebrate births and console the bereaved. Jobs, maids,pets, meals, clothes, travel plans and even bedroom tales are unhesitatingly shared with complete trust. This is why i love my job and never grudge the long hours i spend at work.

Bye for now. Keep pushing, Good-luck.