Hum Tum?

It was after college hours, sitting lazily on the benches in the canteen with a bunch of friends, over a cup of coffee and some savories. He was a friend's friend and she was just introduced to him.She had had a bad day. There was constant chatter n laughter in the air, but she was oblivious to it. Suddenly he pushed a piece of paper towards her. It was an artist's version of a withered leaf in the form of a lady. She was surprised and looked up at him. He signed under his work and smiled.

A few days later, the group was planning on going to a nearby waterfall and a farm house owned by one of them. He was the only 'indirect' friend invited. During the trip, he found all sorts of excuses to come and talk to her and she was trying hard to be polite. By the end of the day the battle was won by perseverance. He finally got a five minute one-to-one conversation with her. Well, it wasn't much of a conversation... for most of the time they sat quietly next to each other...until she asked him when his next exams were!

She was seeing him everyday after that, she din't realize until it was almost a week. Someday he would come down coz he needed the mutual friend's bike, the next day, he would come to pick his friend up, the third he would come as a he was passing by the college, another day, there was some function in the college… so on n so forth. She was slowly getting familiar with him and he noticed that she was less guarded after each of their meeting. By the end of 2 weeks of numerous ‘by chance’ meetings, he finally mustered up the guts to ask for her number. Phone number was always a delicate issue, but this time she gave it without thinking twice.

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between him n her. She hardly had time to do anything other than her course work, but whenever he called up and asked to meet, she would make the time for it. For him, she came before everything else. They spoke for hours. They sat next to each other...quiet...staring into the open, but felt refreshed at the end of it. She could bare her heart in front of him without the fear of being judged and her support was all he needed to realize his interests and accomplish them. He listened to her girlie talks and gossip and she checked out gals for him! They were friends…the best there could be.

Everyone was doubtful of the true intention of their relationship. They questioned him. They questioned her. His friends constantly teased him. Her friends teased her. But they were all ignored.

Years passed by. The bond had grown stronger.

He was her backbone and thought she was the same to him. But, with time, she had become his every breath. She was now the center of his being. He wanted a sort of permanency in the relationship. The friendship was permanent she said.

He smiled, looked at her for a long time, trying to sink her face into the depth of his memory…. and walked away…..

That was the last she saw or heard of him.

handicapped

There is a music competition on television that I watch very often. I love the songs, the competitors, the host, the judges and the atmosphere created by the program. The recent series was on children.In the episode I am talking about, these kids had to sing their parents' favourite song. A small trivia on the parent-child bondage, then a clipping of the child and his/her parents, the parent says the choice of song, the child is questioned on what he/she dreams of giving his/her parents and the song begins.

Every time a new contestant came up, the ambience was getting more n more emotional. Parents wet eyes gleaming in the light, host teary, judges in tears, contestants, somehow holding the lump in the throat yet singing very much in tune and of course..your's truly with a whole box of tissues...streaming with tears!

Each child's dream was about buying a car, a house, of winning the national award for singing, of doing playback singing and getting rich, etc. One of the contestants, the most loved one and more on the mature side of his age, was blind. He sang like a canary and somehow, no matter what he sang, there was an extraordinary soul added to the song. It touched you, beckoned you to understand the lyrics and appreciate it, conveyed the meaning of the song in each word and in it's entirety. Even if you have seen the picturisation of the song, he could take you to a different world with your own imagination. His voice came from his heart and touched yours straight. This isn't out of a soft corner for he being blind, that I felt all this. But as they say, when God takes something from you, He gives you more in some other way. And God gifted this child with a powerful soul.

His dream for his parents was what touched me. He had two of them. One was to drive a car with his parents as his passengers from home to a restaurant where he would have dinner with them with his first earning and the other was to earn enough to be able to take his mother to all the seven wonders of the world.

Everybody on the sets was stunned by the simplicity of his dreams yet seemingly difficult. It made most of them realise what resources they have and how they are wasting it.With tears rolling down and blurred vision, I stared at this 11 year old boy,dressed in funky clothes provided by the sponsor, jet black eyes rolled up looking directly into the lights of the studio and not flinching, head postioned as if to look up, straining his ears to catch any sound at all. He patiently waited, rolling his eyes all over as if pleading for someone to see for him and tell him what is going on, until his patience ran out. He finally, addressed the host and asked what was happening. The host gave him a hug and said everyone was waiting for him to sing. And with a "oh"..there came another marvellous rendition.

Who ever said these human beings were handicapped? It is we, the so-called normal ones who are handicapped....coz we don't appreciate the simple gifts of life or derive happiness out of things that appear routine for us......until it is taken away from us one day!

luck shining...

The travel from college to home was an hour and a half long involving two bus terminals.
Everyday this travel brought in a new experience. Everyday I met a new daughter, a new mother, a new sister, a new daughter-in-law , a new mother-in-law,a new friend. For the whole hour, I would share, directly or indirectly ( read overhearing) their emotions on one or more events of their lives. I witnessed friends preparing for exams, daughter taking her mother shopping, the mutual cursing club of the mother n daughter in law,a marriage proposal being accepted n rejected.. just plain interactions..etc.

During one such travel, as I stood comfortably and wore my ear phones listening to the radio,a group of air force cadets got in. Why do I say airforce..well, their headquarters was en route.The HQ stop always had my head turning and eyes wandering. I would know even in sleep when the bus zeroed in to that stop!I always had a fascination for these cadets, not army, not navy..purely the air force!! Please don't ask a why!!

Well..it was their day out and they were just getting back after all the fun. Inspite of the radio, I could hear them. From their conversation, it appeared as though they were late or had taken time beyond their norms.As the journey progressed, the conversations got shorter and were quieter. One of them was standing right behind me.He was tall, seemed well built and goodlooking. Not that I had turned around and checked him out, but got an obscure glimpse of him from the corner of my eye.

After a while, I heard " what are you observing ma'm?". It got me thinking on how could there be a lady amongst them, when all I saw entering were guys. I waited patiently to hear the "ma'm" answer, so I could try and locate her position. Instead the question was repeated and this time with an additional " I know you can hear me, inspite of the ear phones". My heart skipped a beat! Was he talking to ME? yeeeeaaahhh!! I was thrilled. Blood rushed to my cheeks and I turned around startled. He was charming just as I thought. He had that factor that could send a girl dizzy with his thoughts for the next four days. A factor I can't describe or name, but I am sure all girls are aware of.

Hoping against hope that my hair was just right, my face not too oily or sweaty and I was not looking as tired as I was feeling, I managed a feeble smile. He smiled back flirtatiously." nothing much... just people and their reactions". " What do you get out of observing them?" " Well..just speculate on what their thoughts are and be a part of this very moment of their life!". By now, he was peering into my eyes and I wasn't very comfortable with that, though was elated! " what do you do?" " I am doing my dentistry"" how about you?" " I fly planes........................" I frankly din't hear a word he said. I kept staring at him and noticed that his eyes were constantly into mine all the while. Confidence oozed out of him. His mouth crinkled into another of those flirtatious half smiles " You haven't registered a single word I said! I am sure!" I blinkedand steered my eyes away. My heart was now pounding. I swallowed helplessly.Oops!! How did he know that? He wasn't supposed to make out!! I cursed myself for losing my senses and control.

" well..my stop is here. It was nice talking to you. You have a beautiful pair of eyes. Hope to get another chance to look into them!" Another killing smile and off the bus he was. Our eyes locked one last time as the bus moved. He waved and I smiled back.

Well, the next half hour of the journey whizzed by. I was not in this world. Nothing around me seemed to catch my attention.I was mesmerised by the recent events and was thanking God profusely for making my day. My face seemed to have a permanat smile stuck to it.It must have been that one rupee coin I gave the beggar or may be that biscuit I fed the dog with, that I was rewarded for.

I got down at my stop and walked towards home with a spring in my step.After a long, tiring day..what a refreshing encounter it was! Did I say I was tired? May be I was..who remembers!All I remember is that face, those eyes and those parting words. That was one day I remember having slept peacefully.

Another of those ' why 's..

"What do I wear today?" sing song tune of my roommate uttered every morning for the past 5 years we stayed together!She then would just grab the dirtiest and most wrinkled pair of jeans lying around, randomly pick out a top out of her closet,run the 'darn comb' (as she called it) along her hair,stand in front of the mirror for the next fifteen minutes and see herself in all angles and out she goes! And here I am busy for the past one hour, fresh after a bath,picking out a comfortable crisp shirt, a crisp pair of jeans, hair neatly in place, looking at the mirror and wondering what else to do to make the pathetic sight in front of me more presentable! After pondering on the possible methods and finally deciding on one, I realise I am running out of time and chuck the idea.

As we walk to college together, a few friends join us and there comes the first comment " hey Priya, you are looking so pretty this morning!!"Then they look at me and give me a smile which reads a "Hi"! They don't even lie to me or say something similar to just make me feel better! I look at my roomie,scan her from top to bottom and decide that she actually is looking pretty!

They say hardwork is a sure way of success. Whaaaaaaatttt? The person who said this definitely din't think of the above situation! Yes, I know..it is the inner beauty that matters at the end of the day. But it is the obvious beauty that attracts someone to actually assess the inner beauty!
So there...

Why are some people made such that anything they wear looks good on them and then why are there the other kind of people who no matter what they do, end up looking ordinary!! And if this dividion has been made, then why am I part of the latter kind?

...beyond time and words

Very apprehensive I entered into his present. I din’t know what to expect. I din’t know what he expects from me. Yet here was a knot that tied our lives together. With my hands in his, as I looked at his face, there were hopes of a future that was lively, colorful, peaceful. It was a new beginning for both of us. As he looked back at me I felt waves of similar thoughts touch me. His eyes filled me with a feel of acceptance. There was a readiness to share himself with me. I wasn’t sure, if I was ready. I guess it would take me time. But the warmth in his eyes was very reassuring. MY life had now begun.

I never had imagined that things done in routine would ever amuse me. But surprisingly they did. I found myself standing still and smiling while I watched him button up his shirt or sip his coffee while struggling to reach the sports page of the newspaper. What was so amusing…I still don’t know! Watching his eyes follow me as I went about doing my household chores, his shifting his place while reading the newspaper, so he is always around me, a comment on the happenings of the world thrown in the air, inviting me to share my opinion, all just to start a conversation…showed me what he felt for me. When he stopped following me, I would look back with my eyes searching for him and he knew I felt the same.

Life went on. We had children. His business underwent ups and downs. We shifted houses and places. We saw our son almost dying in front of us and heaved a sigh of relief as he recovered. We have celebrated festivals, seen big buildings come up and spoil the serenity of our house, seen prime ministers and presidents come and go. Still, every morning I watch myself smile as I see him buttoning up his shirt or sip his coffee while struggling to reach the sports page of the newspaper.

Today, as I go for a walk in the park with him, I feel his pace slowing. His walks are getting shorter each day. His breathing is strenuous, but his grasp over my hand is as tight as always. The brightness in his eyes as he sets them on me is still the same. He still shifts his place to be constantly around me, still throws a comment in the air to start a conversation. Yes. MY life has been lively, colorful and peaceful as I hoped it would be. I have shared my soul with him. I have been part of his soul.

As our days come to an end, I hope to die with my hand still in his grasp.

.......My granma’s reply to me, when I expressed my fears on getting married to someone I don't know at all!!

7 pm phone call...

It's 7.00 pm. The phone rings. My mother calls out for me saying my friend A has called up. I hold the reciever for 20 seconds against my ear, put it on hold, fetch my timetable book, read out the next day's schedule and keep the phone down.

This run of events like today,occurred yesterday, last week,last month, last year n the year before that too. It began occuring from 1990 and continued till 1996. A was my classmate,neighbour and ahhh.. best friend. Before the 7 pm phone call, we were in the sandpit playing ice pice (I Spy),catch n co n stuff of the kind. A wrote the timetable along with me when 'teacher' dictated it. But the 7 pm phone would still come. A lost the paper..every year.

The turn of events that stopped this was when I had to leave town and change my school. A was no more my classmate, no more my neighbour...... still my friend but not in touch. I missed the 7 pm calls.

Then fate had more in store for me. I returned back to my old school. A was again my classmate n my friend(not my nieghbour though!). But the 7 pm phone calls din't come. A now had learnt to keep the timetable sheet carefully.

One evening, we finally spoke about the contorversial 7pm phone call.

A : My mom said I used to call you up everyday for the time table. Did I?
Me: yes!
A: I don't remember doing any such thing!
Me : * smile*

Alas.. I miss the 7 pm phone call...

Lost traditions..

Mom is bengalee and Dad is telugu-kannadiga. So, I get to celeberate a lot of festivals and some festivals twice!!

As a child I remember the hustle and bustle that would start two-three days before 'the puja'.... the shopping for fruits and sweets and flowers, taking out the silver vessels from the safe and washing them, the careful cleaning of the sanctum sanctorum of the diety, every nook n corner of the house being swept of dirt, the crefully prepared sweets and other delicacies.The morning of the Puja, everybody is woken up early and made to have a bath( despise early morning bath!!), wear fresh new clothes ( my favourite part!) and then as a kid I was allowed to do anything that 1. would not get me or my clothes dirty 2. would not hamper the arrangements made.

I always waited for the chanting and sanskrit slokaas, the elaborate procedure of the Puja to finish, so I could just get back to playing, after of course the 'prasaddam'. Not being a food fad much, I disliked the forceful eating of the numerous delicacies made. ( I could eat one or two..but not all) I loved the evenings when all the ladies in the 'pattu' saris would come home and I was made to wear a sari too and serve them. I would end up serving just one lady and either the sari would fall off or I would trip over it!!

It's been ages since I have been to such a Puja, smelt the burning oil and incense, worn those traditional clothes, walked on the wet front porch, the mango leaves brushing past my head, heard my granma humming while making the arrangements, felt the excitement in the air, seen the beauty of the idols, tasted the sweets dipped in home made ghee.

Yes, I miss the festival food. I miss the chants and slokaas. I miss the early morning hustle and bustle and yes the early morning refreshing bath! I miss the look of my home all dressed up. I miss the tradition.

Life suddenly seems to be confined to a whole lot of smart tactics to get somewhere....acts that slowly are leaving me hollow!

....ahh!

Sometimes as I look out of the window, I see myself walking by....smiling and radiant. There is a fullness in me, an all encompassing happiness, a certain peace and feeling of fulfillment. Then I lose myself.
What remains is me.... a restless,dissatisfied mind and an empty heart.
'I am happy'... I say to myself. But my eyes betray my words. What is gnawing at me? What is it that I am looking for? I have everything in life that people pray for...yet there is something missing. Looking for that missing piece in the puzzle of life is the goal of life they say. But can someone tell me what does that missing piece look like?

People say I love drowning in the negatives of life. I say, I voice only the negatives of life. It helps thinking loud and clears my thoughts. This is just one of those phases and a voicing of that phase!!

'kewl'

I was out with a "friend" whom I had never met until a week back! We were out one fine sunday morning with no plan on mind. As we drove about and finally landed at a coffee place, we got into a 'tell-me-about-u' chat. Not knowing anything apart from his name and that he was an alumnus of my school, there was a lot to know.

As we got into the 'know-me' session, we were judging each other. I was assessing if his principles and philosophies of life are the same as mine, ( If they are, it essentially means that they are right!!) and he was checking out if I was 'kewl' (cool)!! (I found that out by asking him.) That aroused a thought. Who defines what is 'cool'? What is 'cool'? Things that are'cool' to me may not be so for someone else. In that case, is it that I am 'uncool' or is he?

Ultimately, we just let the judgement be and realised that we were actually comfortable in each other's company, so we should just go ahead and have some fun! And that was what we did. I thought that was 'kewl'!

Mel...

Mel as I call her, was my desk partner in school. I was new to the school and she had been recently shifted to this section. We were thus both new to the class. She had a few good friends in the class,but they already had partners. So it was evident that she had to take the only place empty, which was, beside me.

The period (as we referred to lecture hours then) began as soon as she settled herself into the desk which definitely was small for her. So we just exchanged smiles. Throughout the period, she kept turning back to appraise her good friend on why the change, how it happened and what each official in the process told her..the usual lengthy girlie description of anything small that happens!! Finally it was break time, she smiled and said " I am going to the canteen. Would you like to join?" and I politely declined. (There were too many boys there and I was scared!!) When she came back, she asked me the ususal set of questions that gave an identity to kids in school....parents' occupation,where I stay and which bus do I come by,who in that bus does she know?

For the next two years we were partners and had become friends..good friends.

Then she broke a news that changed the course of our friendship. She had recently shifted to the same campus as mine. Now, every evening was spent with Mel. I hooked her onto sports, we would play badminton in the local club,something she never dreamed she would get herself to do. We would take long walks in the dry, hot desert weather even in the peak of summer!A lot of heart to heart talks, exchange of positive energy and all those inspirational things between friends happened seated on the floor of the front steps of my place under the moon and stars, until either of our mom's high pitched call was heard!!Weekends were spent at each other's place.. studies,fun and all. Between us, I was the moral police and she was the adventurous teenager. For every small thing I was her biggest advisor.

Years have passed by.... we were seperated and reunited.... thanks to "further studies"! She has matured with time and so have I.

Today as we meet,....it is the two school friends who share their secrets and two adults who do the friend, philosopher, guide act.

This post is to celeberate you Mel!

Popsy-pops!!

The phone rings. I pick up and say " No.Yes.yes.No." The questions asked "have you had your breakfast?" "Are you doing your course work?" " Do you plan to have your breakfast in a while?" "have you had your bath yet?" the person on the other siode of the line..my dad!! expression on my face..bored!! I have had this conversation with my dad every time he calls up, ever since I left home to become independent!!

Staying away from him I realised that behind these fixed questions was a heart that missed the child in me and behind those bored monosyllable answers was a daughter who missed her dad. I missed him. Missed all the times I slept off on the couch and he would gently place my head back on a pillow,the smile and a pat that I always got when I lost a badminton match at the local club, the drives he would take me out for when he wanted me to open up with my bottled feelings, the long quiet walks, the philosophical chats, the laughter watching the Tom& Jerry show together, the hiking and adventures we took together, the times we pulled mom's leg and stole a smile from each other, the times I argued with mom and he would just wink at me while verbally supporting her..unforgettable and exquisetly warm memories.

As I am getting older and realise that my days at home are numbered, I can't help but think how much this man means to me. His constant concern,thoughtfulness, warmth, unconditioned love, pride in me and the feeling of peace wrapped in his arms...are some of the few things I will miss.

We are not very vocal when it comes to exchanging these emotions. But I know, he knows and he knows that I know!!

Refreshing old times!

The last thing I ever thought was getting close to my schoolmates. Surprised? well,that's how my school was. Schooldays forced a divide between the two genders due to the system of the institution I studied in. It was sinful to look,talk or even walk the corridor of the boys and vice versa. Who exactly determined these rules is not known, just that nobody seemed to defy them.

Years have passed by now. I made a lot of boys my friends on the way,some of them very close. Yet, something about school friends intrigues me. Something about them, inspite of the lack of familiarity, doesn't give me a feeling of strangeness. There is a trust that seems to come easily and naturally.

I met up with one such friend yesterday. We clicked from the time we set eyes on each other. It din't take a minute for both of us to have excited animated discussions, catching up with each other's life,pulling each other's leg, relating to the ups and downs of life, just feeling comfortable in each other's company. This is not restricted to just this friend of mine..but all my schoolmates. A certain warmth and comfort is exuded between us.

In a new place, these friendships have made me feel at home. I guess , there is magic in the friendship!

My ' white' world...

I can never stay still,even in silence. I dance....dance to the sound of silence,the rythm of my heart beat,the rythm of the clock ticking, the rythm of that music that constantly runs at the back of one's head,unconsiously. No..you can't see my hands in the air or my body swaying. But I dance.

Once on a rainy day,standing by the window,watching the leaves dance as the droplets fall on them,the blades of grass swaying vigorously and the branches of trees swinging wildly, I descended on my dance floor. An instrumental piece played on the santoor,running inthe background, dressed in white against a backdop of white... I began my creation.

Working with simple flow movements of my hands, I began depicting the 'moments' of water....

A drop growing into a trickle,flowing into a healthy stream,collecting more volume,flowing more forcefully...... now a river..slashing against rocks,forming waterfalls,flowing rapidly to join the calmness of the sea.

I saw a pattern of life that converges into the concept of these moments.

The drop- genesis of life,Birth ;
Trickle-childhood ;
stream- the brink of youth ;
river- adulthood brimming with zeal and energy, moving steadily ahead to conquer the world ;
calmness of the sea - The peace of mind at the later stage of the life cycle that comes with an understanding of the magnanimity of life and it's various colours.

I dance. No, you can't see my dance floor. You can't hear my music. You can't see my movements. But I dance.

wise words!!

A poster put up in a coffee shop that read:

'The difference between a failure and a success is someone who does a thing NEARLY right and a someone who does it EXACTLY right'

..loved it..thought would share it..

I've lost it... completely!!

I am just days away from travelling to a whole new place, a place people dream of going once in their lifetime (most people I know, do). And I am nervous as hell!! Not because of the elation I might feel setting my eyes on the country or travelling to the place..(wish it was that way!!) but, coz I am going there to give the biggest exam of my career so far.The stakes are high , the chances pretty grim and the preparation waaaaayyy below satisfaction!

What a way to visit a new place.. that too on a tourist visa! I really don't know what I am touring, but I do know, at the end of this trip I would be getting out of a roller coaster ride!! Call it paradox of life!!

If that's how I am positioned.. then what am I doing here typing away to glory!! That's a question I asked myself a little while ago and my conscience beckons me to get back to books, so off I go!

Did anyone mention "Have a nice trip!!" ????

clueless!

Well, I have been preparing for an examination for about 2 years now (from the day of deciding to take it up till date)! I am supposed to know all the rules and all the loopholes to get through this harrowing process (read applying, required documents,procuring the papers,and the details of the exam itself..a multiple choice type). But guess what..I actually don't!! I am just 2 weeks away from the d-day and I have no clue of what is going on!!

There is a syllabus.There are boundaries of how much I am supposed to know. But as I got started working on the subjects,I realised that the borders are undermined. So there is more depth than it appears from the top! That leaves me clueless on how much I know or how much I don't!

There are many skills other than just knowing the subject that should help in the exam, like the analytical power and the eternally helpful, power of elimination! But solving more n more questions got me at my wit's end to eliminate and the analytical power, I cannot always trust. The choices are just too close!! So, I'm back to square one....clueless!

The other preparation involved,less stressed on, but equally important, is the physical preparation and setting the frame of mind for long hours involved in the examination! My God on earth (mother) takes care of that, feeding me with sumptous food,so I am never at a derth of energy to 'think' (duh!) and those eats that 'enhance' memory and intelligence and what not. The result of this is that everytime she fills me, I end up snoring for the next 2 hours... studies, exams and all tricks neatly forgotten!! The moment I wake up, a glass with the most obnoxious drink and an equally scary colour is brought in front of me...one of the 'enhancing drinks'. I look at it with a question mark...will it help/won't it help... I am clueless!

The examination center is another important factor. An acquainted place is obviously easier to deal with. My center is not only in a new place but incidently on the other side of the globe. I have visited the place once or twice in my geography class though! So, examination center...clueless!

Then there are people who whenever I pick up the phone ask me "so, how is it goin'?"

Excuse me...if you know exactly what's going on.. I think you'll already know the answer to that one! But the very fact that you are asking means you don't!

Well..welcome to the gang...I don't know either!!

mess!!

If you are an atheist, don't read this!

This is a story of a little boy who was sitting on the floor resting his head on his mother's lap. Everytime he looked up at her, he saw, threads in all colours going in all possible directions, crisscrossing and overlapping, creating a big mess.

He could no more watch the threads running in such asymmetric fashion and finally asked his mother, why she was so painstakingly working to only create a mess? She smiled at him and said "Son, you are looking at this embroidery from the wrong side." She turned the frame and showed him the beautiful bouquet of flowers she was embroidering.

When you feel messed up in life and don't seem to have anymore patience, just hang in there.... He is creating a beautiful picture of your life!

Inhospitable!

This is an article by Shobha DE that I came across. For all those medica students and wannabe doctors..is this what we wanted when we joined?


"Almost everybody I know has a horror of hospitals. The worst thing you can do to an elderly person is to say, "Sorry, no more home care... you'll have to be moved to a hospital." The sound of that dreaded word (hospital), is enough to freeze the staunchest heart. It's a universal phobia, and yet, in India it see-ms more exaggerated. Senior citizens would rather spend their last few days at home than have their relatives book them into an impersonal hospital, even one in which their chances of survival are far higher. Why are Indians so hospital-phobic? The reason is as much cultural/emotional as practical/rational. Basically, hospital care in India is regarded with suspicion, even hostility. Though our physicians and surgeons are amongst the best in the world, virtually everything else is suspect. Doctors may do their job with honesty and integrity. But what about the others? The problem starts with money. A friend underwent such a traumatic experience recently, he's still fuming. A relative who'd suffered cardiac arrest over a weekend was refused admission in the hospital closest to his home. Reason: he couldn't produce Rs 50,000 in cash, on the spot. Hospital authorities left him gasping on a chair, while desperate relatives beseeched them to accept a cheque.

Their pleas that cash would be produced the minute banks opened on Monday, went unheeded. The patient would've died, had my friend not offered help (read: cash ) at that late hour.... Since the good Samaritan is essentially a New Yorker, he mentioned how such an inhuman approach during an emergency would never take place in America. Most hospitals in India adopt the opposite approach. They project such a ruthless attitude, one dares not fall ill. Countless parallel rackets flourish under the noses of doctors. Patients are not just short-changed but frequently cheated. Sub-standard and expensive medicines are demanded at all hours. From a strip of 10 or 20, only four or five capsules are actually administered. What happens to the rest? They are promptly pinched by ward boys/nurses and sold outside. Nearly every medical facility that ought to be included in the astronomical rates, comes at an extra. And even to avail of those on offer, one has to provide chai-pani paisa to lowly staff. It appears as if these semi-literate fellows are the ones who actually run the hospital, such is their clout. The gate keepers behave like bouncers at night-clubs, using their discretion to "allow" visitors after visiting hours.

Everything comes at a price, including getting the dearly departed to leave the premises with dignity. Procedural forms and bill settlements can take hours, while mourners are roughly herded out to make room for the next patient/victim. Over-worked surgeons behave like bar-girls with metered taxis waiting to take them to the next customer. Negligence suits? Forget it. Who has the patience or money to battle it out for 30 years? Ah, tipping! You tip when you check in. You tip, while there. And you tip again, when you leave — dead or alive. It's an intrinsic part of our hafta culture. Why should hospitals function any differently? If you know someone, who knows someone, chances are someone will look in your direction. If not, leave it to God. Healthcare is going to be India's next big story. We're talking about health tourism, too. This is an area of tremendous growth, provided we get our fundas right. It's not enough to have well-qualified doctors, or competent nurses. What we need is an altered mindset. A more humane approach to the management of sickness and disease. Till then, we shall have to put up or shut up. It's that or chanting Ram naam satya hai, before time. "

Lifeless?

Recently my father decided to sell our car and buy a more sophisticted and sleeker version of the automobile. After weeks of looking at 'profiles' of various cars from various companies, the family finally decided on one called the Azeera (A Hyundai car,common in the middle eastern countries) . I termed it the upper middle-class' Mercedes. We were all excited about our latest and so far the most extarvagant buy.

We were to exchange our old Camry for the Azeera. The date for the exchange was set. Like little kids waiting for their new toy to come, Dad, Mom and me, hardly slept the previous night.
The salesman came and delivered the new car on the doorstep, beautifully wrapped in red ribbon. She was gorgeous. He then asked us for the old car keys. Dad handed them over and the Camry was slowly driven out of our lives. As it went past the last visible bend of road, my eyes were filled. The Camry had driven me to all my exams, all my parties, all my movies. I had discovered the city sitting in it's lap and now she no more would be ours.

With the lump in my throat, I confessed to my parents, that last night I had hugged the Camry and lay in it's lap for sometime. I had muttered a silent Thank you and bid a personal goodbye. Both Dad and Mom, then sheepishly confessed that they had done the same.

Months later, we parked our 'Merc' at a new shopping complex that had opened up. As I approached the entrance, my eyes fell on a silver Camry parked. It looked like my car. To take closer look, I walked towards it. It was all painted new and registration plate wasn't the same. There was no way to say it was mine. As I shrugged and was about to leave, suddenly I felt a tug. Looking back, I found my shirt entwined around the radio reciever antenna. Smiling I released myself and ran to mom n dad and said " OUR car...our camry!"

Are non living things really not living?

Faith

We all search for a hero in our lives. As prejudiced as man sometimes is, it is often among the highly successful (I understand that is a relative term) people, or, to be clearer, the more public persona that we hunt our hero!

Let me tell you the story of a girl I know. She was the eldest of 5 children and lived with her parents who were daily wage workers in the smallest village I have ever seen in South India.
Her father was an alchoholic and drank away all that he earned in that day. Her mother having to fend for her children alone, sent away little Naima to a rich landlord's house as a house worker. Naima was all of 8years. In that house she not only learnt her work but also the basic activities of life and her employers were kind enough to make her literate. Staying away from her mother's house, Naima learnt from childhood how to look after herself and not let emotions take over her life. During her years there, she lost her father. For any daughter that is a painful loss ,no matter how the father is.

For the next 10 years, she toiled in the feilds and worked at home, to help her mother who was now getting old. She was eventually, single handedly raising her siblings. Time came for the prince charming to come Naima's way and sweep her away to a better place. She was married to the most good looking boy she had set her eyes on and was instantly in love! Two days after marriage, work resumed. The poor never seem to have the luxury of a holiday! This time she was working in the fields with her husband.That night her husband din't return and eventually turned up at 2 am...... drunk! Naima knew instantly she had fallen into a darker pit!

Clock ticks and Naima moved on. She grew deaf to all the shouting and insensitive to all the physical assault.She had 2 children , a son and a daughter. Her world was bliss when she lay her eyes on her kids but knew that she would have to toil all over again to create bliss for her kids. So, back she was,doubling up,handling two jobs at a time and looking after the house.

Her kids grew,the daughter was a nurse and son had become an electrician.Naima was getting old but din't stop working. It was time to get her children married. She made the right matches and the children moved to a better world. With time and progress, the children went abroad for work.Naima now retired, lives in that small village with her husband, who for her was dead the first night he came drunk.

Today, Naima is exhausted with all that life has put her through. She has never taken a whole breath and felt the cool air fill fer lungs, never felt the warm sun rays caress her skin, inspite of working all her life in the fields.But everyday she wakes up, she does the Namaz five times and thanks God for all that He has blessed her with.

Ladies and gentlemen...my hero..Naima!