HEY YOU, MR. FACELESS TERRORIST....

13/7, 7.30 p.m. I was in my consulting room when news of the bomb blasts trickled in. Within minutes, the reception area wore a  deserted look as all the patients rushed home. However, I had to wait it out. A patient was in labour and it made no sense to go home till she had delivered. I switched on the television only to turn it off minutes later. Burning cars, injured bystanders, the screaming and shouting……… it was just too depressing.

I walked into the labour room. Here, once again, shouts and screams filled the air. The soon to be mother was in the final stage of labour and bearing down. This, I could handle! Within minutes, the lusty cries of a healthy 8 pounder could be heard. On a day filled with death, it felt good to celebrate life. Joy erupted in the labour room.

As I walked home in the light drizzle, I thought to myself, “This is courage! Nine hours of intense labour pains to bring life into this world. Hey you, Mr. faceless terrorist, planting bombs to kill innocent people is an act of cowardice. If you have the guts and truly believe in your 'cause', be a man. Come crawling out of whichever hole you have hidden in and face the families of the dead victims. Till then, you are a coward and not to be feared."

Life can and will go on.

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!

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…