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.”

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!