I open at the close

With the ebbing tides of medical school, I pen down this note dedicating it to all those souls who have been around me for all these toiling years and influenced me each moment. It is but a funny coincidence that Id started my hostel life with room 13 only to end in room 260, a multiple of 13 (I somehow found this a boring yet intriguing omen!). It is extremely hard to digest the fact that there are only eight days left in this hostel and college campus. Five and a half years minus these eight days hold details of so many intricate experiences, untold secrets and treasure trips, stories of which shall go down to the grave with us. Walking down the long corridors and aisles of the boys hostel I am suddenly reminded of the many students clamouring around the basketball court during the college fest, running through rainy nights, trying to finish the half painted posters for SPICMACAY, rushing across the ward corridors in tidy white labcoats cramming up the last minute gyne revision tips and eavesdropping into topper conversations at every nook and corner in search of the most difficult to remember viva voce bombs to be crushed inside the interview room.
A few days hence rooms will be emptied, tears shall be shed in silence, gloom shall be exchanged unspoken, room will be made for the coming batches to join MAMC after us; yet somehow the shadows of the inhabitants of these hostel rooms will still remain inside, unhindered and untouched by the new; like imprints, containing old wisdom…life will shift to another place in another time, but the time spent under the roofs of MAMC shall always remain accessible from the deepest parts of our RAM.

Maulanians as they go out of college take with them a treasure trove of lifelong friendships which have crossed all possible boundaries of language and culture. The college’s alumni has experienced such bonhomie and camradry in their fellows as they would get almost no where. Our hearts have been sobered by the multiple faces of India and has enlightened us with the consciousness of belonging to this country and simultaneously our future life directions both for personal gains and the greater good. Just to think that the outgoing batch of doctors are going out into the world to prove their mettle in their fight against human diseases; this was exactly what we had come to college for..to be given a chance to do the same.

Standing at the fag end of the journey, we see a new life opening up to us as we enter the close.

Flourish

Shed all your black feathers
And move ahead
With the distant glint of
A light; visible not too far
Is it yellow?
The colour of the sun?
Is it the sky
Visible amidst this
Black veil of hopelessness?
Know not, but hope wells
Up like the spiralling force
Of a whirlpool,
Sucking everything towards
The hungry center;
Hope, that gives life
Yet another reason to
Flourish. 4TbxpXeGc

Ripples

IMG_20140730_194605

Lights….

Candle in a glass of water;

Floating,

Creating illusions ,

Concentric circles;

Flames of the burning tip shining….

Waves of light spread

Into the darkness of

My mind;

Creating ripples of thought:

That touch the inner soul

And soothe,

my inner self…

Peace for now….

The hack back

This might actually be too late to be writing about such an exciting incident that happened to me, but better late than never at all.
So here is the thing. I had my iPad stolen on Oct 2, 2013 from my room. Who would have imagined it returning in my hands exactly 7 months afterwards? I think there’ll be very few people who would have had a fair share of such experiences to retell.
It happened to lie in the room of one of my batchmates for over 5 months. Funny thing which struck me was that this particular batch mate of mine could have thought up the idea of either contacting someone concerned or at least asking around so that the word would have been spread around.
However the manner in which the device was returned to me took me by mild surprise, when a call came at exact 12:05 informing me that there happened to be an iPad which was displaying that the particular iPad was a stolen one and if anybody would find it he may kindly contact the number displayed (my cell number).
When I switched on the device, the software was already restored and to my further bewilderment had been updated to the latest version! I totally went high on the fact that I’d got it back after so many months and couldn’t seem to make sleep reach my eyes, which apparently stayed wide open till 4 o’clock next morning. Bonus on this was that my parents had come to visit me and this adrenaline rushed episode happened right beneath their noses and they could equally relate to my happiness!
Peace to all.

Faces of death

Yellow, sodden, eyes in a crater, bulging belly, shrivelled arms and legs……..
 
Smelly, pus-laden amputated foot….
 
A little boy, lying with a hood over his head, saliva dribbling form his face…
 
These are few of the many faces of death that Doctors would face in a general medicine or surgery ward day in and day out.
 
Life goes on. Somehow, Doctors believe in these words so much that even after watching so many lives lost under their hands every day, they get up in the morning, fresh as usual, ready to save more lives. Help people live. But where do these Doctors get such a Heavenly power to keep sorrow from affecting them and their work is a matter of deep thought. It starts from the very first day of the Medical School; pieces of someone’s arm, someone’s face, someone’s leg; displayed in full montage. These fresh from school young boys and girls are taught why these prosections as they are called are so important in their days to come. These pieces are to act as reminders that they belonged to someone’s brother, someone’s mother or someone’s son, before they ended up on the dissection table as objects of academic interests. It is jokingly said that Doctors are but fools with the attitude of playing God with scalpel and scissors as their playthings. Such play to defy God himself, to revert the process of death; to uplift the various faces of death towards enlightenment. The faces of death do not haunt these Doctors as they have learnt to live with them, care for them, understand them as they are; pages of reading and hours of eyesore and insomnia lead to such a state of mind.
 
“A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic”
 
Not quite unlike this quote, the first death any doctor faces throws him a big shockwave. He skips a meal; wonders for a day or two. It is by no means less than the feeling of loss of a family member. Death in family is one that you can mourn with other members. Loss of a patient gives him a feeling which he cannot share with the rest of the world and can be related to only by a colleague. Soon he realises the exact nature of this feeling and the various ways in which he has to compress his emotions at the bottom of his heart.

A well composed doctor is born, who can face death with a straight face and move on with his clinical duties.

Until next time,
Peace.

The beginning of something new!!

Well, okay. This time I am not writing this post as a young MBBS graduate. This post is being written by a student who graduated just a few moments ago. From this day, I become accountable to innumerable lives irrespective of race, creed, colour and border all across the world. Wherever I will stay, I shall make it my priority to take care of anyone seeking my advice. Today, I become a Doctor. I consider this not a mere degree or a Title; but an idea which I stand for, an establishment of hope; a lifelong virtue of imperturbability.

Hope to see you all healthy and flourishing!

Until next time,

Peace!

SPICMACAY: An enriched cultural experience

Many old souls would like to point out how a rampant social degradation has started wreaking havoc in India, leading to a huge generation gap and an even more dismal cultural shock, which, if not stopped, would push the country at large towards eternal damnation. I would not go into detailing the intricacies of the Indian culture; neither do I have the necessary knowledge and frankly speaking, the audacity to write a critique regarding the idealistic Indian puritanism per se. For me, our culture is a rolling concept which we have been learning from childhood, the traditions that have been inculcated in us; it is rather the way of living in India. More than 2000 years of heritage we are supposed to carry forward on our fragile shoulders; must be a very heavy job indeed.

The focal points of Indian culture and heritage have been Indian music, danceforms, art and literature. Artists from across the country have brought accolades to the land both nationally and internationally. With the migration of people and knowledge across continents, it has been realised that the Indian sub-continent has a very unique and special place in the world of aesthetics and thus, more and more foreigners have become attracted to come to the country itself to get involved in her indigenous cultural offerings. Modern day concepts of fusion in the spheres of music, dance and art have gained popularity the world over. Be it Jethro Tull (hard rock) or George Harrison (The Beatles), artists of international fame have repeatedly collaborated with Indian maestros namely Pt. Ravi Shankar (sitar) and Ustad Ali Akbar Khan (sarod) to create music which till date are considered unparalleled creations of man.

With passing of the first decade of the twenty-first century, we have lost many a precious  jewel of the country, Pt. Bhimsen Joshi (vocalist), Ustad Ali Akbar, Pt. Ravi Shankar to name a few. Standing at this juncture, my concern would remain regarding finding the suitable persons who would take up the reins from the passing maestros. But then, India is a mysterious land. Talent springs up from the most unexpected of places. And here comes the importance of the role played by SPICMACAY; to encourage and enthuse youngsters to know and understand the richness of their heritage which on a otherwise lecture-packed boring school-day, they invariably won’t be able to grasp from what the teacher is reading from the General Knowledge “Question and Answer” Book.

The MAMC workgroup of 2011 with Pt Hariprasad Chaurasia

 
The MAMC workgroup of 2011 with Pt Hariprasad Chaurasia

I have had the opportunity to attend VIRASAT SPICMACAY over the past two years in MAMC and have been humbled in the presence of Pt. Hariprasad Chaurasia (flute) and Pt. Debu Chaudhuri (sitar). I would never be able to forget the chilling experience waiting outside the greenroom door alongside equally anxious batchmates for taking Dr. Sonal Mansingh’s (Odissi) interview; and not to mention the preparations and hardwork that go into organising the overall event every year. SPICMACAY is a unique enlightening experience for one who is culturally motivated and more so for the less oriented, yet inquisitive ones, who would have a chance of a lifetime to dive into the sea of bliss.

Peace, till next time.

Inspirations…an Elegy

Here’s me sharing some memories of the year, some trifling thoughts fleeting past daily life amidst college work. I have not compromised with the length of the post as I felt that what had to be said had to be penned down (typed, rather) in whatever length it comes to be in.

Nevertheless, worth a read I feel!

Feel free to comment.

  • The Motorcycle Diaries — The Struggle

1All right. I would not deny that the first few minutes of the movie I kept on thinking why I was watching it ‘coz I couldn’t make anything out of the story. Usually, its my habit to wiki the movie. So I find out that its based on the autobiography of the famous Marxist leader Ernesto Guevara, commonly called “Che” by the public and describes the journey that Ernesto and his friend Alberto took across the streets of South America, on a broken motorbike, from Argentina to Chile. Surprisingly, I learnt that Guevara was a Doctor in his final year of Medical School and this trip was to be a road trip, which finally led to his dropping Final Year medical school. This was latin America of 1950s and capitalistic policies of North America were starting to affect countries across the globe. Post World war II world was that of hostility and non-cooperation. What Che saw on his journey were the inferior conditions that the common man was living in; the poverty, the exploitation by the landlords, the atrocities thrown by the companies involved in mining and construction industries. but throughout the journey, Guevara could not leave his Doctor sentiments behind. What I realised on the morning that I was watching the movie was that, a doctor is not just a person to treat diseases with drugs or surgeries. He is to be a reformer too. A socialist, a parent, a teacher, an entrepreneur; altogether an inspiration for the common mass. Guevara could not tolerate the discriminations done to the Lepers at a leprosy treatment center in Chile. He mixed with the then considered “untouchables” freely, much to the scorn of the Christian nurses and lent fresh air amidst the gloomy calm of the leper island. The result was that, at the end of their journey, Guevara could not return with Alberto to his hometown. Instead he took to the roads to work for the oppressed, later formed a revolution that changed the face of politics of the south.
At this juncture, I would like to reflect the health condition from the perspective of my home country, India. Investment interests here rest more towards the private health sector. The country is going through almost similar socio-economic conditions as that of Latin America described in the movie, whereby, the rich are growing richer and the poor poorer. There is a growing dissent towards the ruling classes, which are not necessarily the rich. There is an increased sense of responsibilities and due services and opportunities among the masses and the youth is ready to fight for what is not there. But the societal build of this country is such that, since childhood only, the mere practice of questioning an institution is considered sacrilegious. That is sort of the reason why it is very difficult to control law and order situations in the country and give shape to new by-laws. Health is a universal responsibility of the state, that has been felt over the years. One doctor, like Guevara, to leave home for taking care of the common man cannot be the option for all. But, the trainee Doctor of today should realise that the country is not an economic heaven like the US so that all of them can sit in their snug offices, writing ornamental prescriptions; neither is the option of not having the infrastructure to offer the people modern methods of treatment. So the system needs a change, which might be in the form of the new National Health Mission.

  • Life of Pi — The Book rediscovered

Talking of inspirations, nothing can be more demanding and mood lifting like the story of the struggles of a boy stuck on a life-boat for 211 days after a shipwreck on the Pacific. Martel narrates the true story in the last two pages of the book and clarifies that the happenings described throughout the rest of the book are fractions of the boy’s imagination, all of it revamped and refurbished in order for the boy to attain mental peace who sees his mother’s throat cut open on board and experiences cannibalism. The story is as peaceful as the calm of the Himalayas and equally as disturbing and haunting as the shrill laughter of a Hyena. It gets back at you, thrashing realities of human life and makes you learn that life is not as frail as it appears. It goes on and on, evading the dreary desert sands one has to tread before he can visualise the image of an oasis which again proves itself to be another mirage only.

  • The knowledgeable Train Co-passenger — The Exception

Each time you travel in a 3AC coach be it of the Rajdhani Express or the Duranto Express, there is always the underlying itch; an itch that stays with you throughout the journey, till you pack your suitcase and laptop bag and stomp heavily out of the station to face the usual vagaries at the Auto/ Cab stand; this itch I’m referring to as many of you would second me on is the issue of co-passengers. There are all kinds of them; talkatives, screechers, cry-babies (literal), fish-market families, moms scolding kids, and those single passengers who, not unlike me, vexed at the thought of the next 17 hours of pestilential torture by the nuisance, sit quietly on their allotted seats, throwing observant looks at the other 6 or 7 people beside him.

This time, my return from Delhi was a lot different. Mr Arya Bandyopadhyay from Kolkata, a freelance photographer for several news-dailies, an Advisor to Executives (Mittals, etc :D) and a former employee of the Anandabazaar Patrika, seemed like a decent person and it was not until I talked to him the following morning that I got to know of his credentials and the level of expertise he has in what he does. The best point in common was him narrating the story of a heel bone tumour that his wife had almost 10-15 years back. I, being a Med student, got ardently involved in listening to the true incident, which according to me, not only was a narration of the celebration of life, but also of the success of modern Medicine. He went on from the events from taking his wife from Kolkata to AIIMS (Delhi), all doctors differing in their opinion regarding the character of the tumour and hence, the management options. His was a story of perseverance and vigour, which finally led him to lay trust on the opinion given by Dr. K. K. Unni from Mayo clinic and accordingly his wife received management from Tata Memorial and Research Center, Mumbai. But, the most haunting part of their experience is the part where the tumour recurs in the spine and stops responding to the conventional treatment methods. The next thing that he told me might appear hoax or hocus pocus to some, but his wife did indeed recover from the treatment offered by Vaidya Balendu Prakash, a specialist in Ayurvedic medicine from Dehra Dun. At this point, I might mention that Indian System of Medicine is already being considered to be included alongside the Allopathic form of treatment. It might not be a well discovered form of Medicine, but if proper R & D investments are done in these branches, then many secrets to treatments of many diseases might be in store. But, then it is India again, a country which realises her potential late, after maybe “somebody” from “somewhere else” comes and points out what’s wrong or what’s possible to do.

  • Vizag and Pablo’s Photography — The Trip

SAM_1991

Tribal Dance at Araku Govt Resort

A long awaited trip; with Dad’s friends and their families. Well actually it was hanging in the “awaited” status for my parents mostly. For me it was more of a premonition of getting sucked into 4 days of extreme form of boredom at an even more presumptively boring prospect of going to visit Visakhapatnam, which according to my Delhi friends is “a place unheard of before by tourists”; such is its popularity!

Once we boarded the train in a reserved Sleeper Class compartment and people from the General compartment started roaming around our seats with keen shining eyes of a hawk, expecting to declare ownership (temporarily so) over any seat visibly empty on their way, my father got irritated and I again had the same kind of  feeling you get when you suspect that the trip was going to be a drone. But thankfully, I got comfortable with the son of one of Dad’s friends, two years junior, Pablo. The rest of the journey was spent eating and sleeping mostly.

I would have to accept that Visakhapatnam surprised me like hell once I set foot outside the train Station. Roads like highways and clean road-curbs (which is quite unthinkable to Kolkatans), small and cute residential blocks, a brilliantly maintained sea shore and the Bay of Bengal facing Guest house that we were staying in; an overall experience worth remembering, also considering the fact that our Guest House stood just 20 metres from the Gateway Hotel, Taj Group.

To me, Pablo‘s masterpiece photography was even more fascinating than the stalagmites of Borra caves. It would not sound over-exaggeration to say that the guy has a real shot in the media industry if he wants to take this up as a career. But, passion is not always to be a gateway for trade, it might just remain a hobby, quiet yet classy!

And myself! I took in all the fresh air I could, into my lungs, to get prepared for the difficult times lying ahead in front of me — Final year Med School, Internship, Residencies; in short, responsibilities increasing by leaps and bounds every year. And I must mention the visit to the Extreme Sports Bar and the indulgence in smoke and alcohol, which smelt of freedom and growing up; an evening full of thumping music, scarcity of girls and overwhelming urges to pee every half an hour! 😀

  • Apple iPad 2 — The Indulgence

Got this at Supreme Electronics in June. Considering the fact that we as young techno enthusiasts during 2002-2003 had been brought up to believe in the supremacy of Microsoft Windows, I had come a long way indeed. More so because of the repeated persuasions by Ravi Mittal and the reading of Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson which actually increased my fascination and wonder for Apple products. Besides, it would have been the umpteenth time my HP DV4 laptop screen went flashing red and finally the BIOS got dumped. So I needed a more compact device.

Extremely sorry if anyone feels I’m bragging about my obsessions. But can’t help it, see? 🙂

  • The Casual Vacancy — The Tragic Transference

Tragic, not because I felt J. K. Rowling has lost her mojo (unlike many), but because this book indicated and glorified even more, the fact that she’s not going to write anything else in the Harry Potter franchise ever again. I didn’t mind the dark and gloomy atmosphere hanging over the town of Pagford as the storyline brought in characters from everyday life. Rowling played her magic of weaving life into ink by sketching deep personal feelings into the pages of her book. It is truly an adult book, not because she uses swear words like cheese toppings on Dominos Pizza, but, because it deals with issues specific to adult life; indifference, divorce, adolescent sex and drug addiction. Rowling proves that she is best in writing on adolescents and the problems plaguing them, their confusions and their struggle for identity and their urge to prove themselves, only to find that the harsh world is too small to contain their dreams.

  • Avanti — The Beginning

First of all, it needs to be clarified that Avanti Fellows is a non-Government organisation formed by former IITians from US. Mentor. Motivate. Inspire. — Its motto. How I got involved with this? Adrish Bhadra, my senior in college approached some of us with this friend of his in IIT-Delhi who has remained the Former Director of IIT-Delhi Avanti Core Team, with a proposal of forming a group of enthusiasts and see if we could implement the system of Avanti at our college campus. And the Band played on. We didn’t stop. Starting from requesting the Dean, MAMC to declare MAMC an official associate with Avanti Fellows, forming question papers, conducting tests across RPVV, KV and DAV schools in Delhi, correcting answer sheets and going to student houses for Home Interviews; Avanti Fellows has brought me an experience that needs to be shared, needs to written, to be told. I was appointed as Mentor manager of 5 Fellows and their Mentors (Juniors from college) and entrusted with the duty of following up their results, doubts and forward it to the Core Team Advisors (Seniors in college). Apart from being updated about the progress about the Fellows via calls or message, we have had to conduct a few doubt clearing sessions for the Fellows and judging the mentors on the basis of their motivation to function. It has been 6 months now as Mentor Manager and there have been a lot of difficulties for the system to work till now, ‘coz they are real people we are dealing with here and there are problems of such amounts which us students would not know how to deal with if we haven’t functioned like this previously. In a way, Avanti has been a source of a great amount of confidence and self-reliance and a chance to give something back to society in our very small yet genuine way. Plus, for us to become Doctors, human interaction is a necessary and sufficient condition, and Avanti has been a major platform for me to interact with people.

  • Coke Studio Season 2 — The Music

1

This is India growing; India developing; not just the economy but, prowess in the world of Music and Literature too. Music as we have hardly known of; folk, rock, pop, jazz, country genres get mixed at the hands of our finest composers to create magical tunes. My favourite episodes were the ones by Amit Trivedi and his discovery Mili Nair, stringing together songs like “Yatra” and “Badari Badariyan“. Clinton Cerejo and Papon were the others mentionable. Indian music has grown beyond the shackles of Classical forms of music and youngsters are taking to Western form of music more in contradiction to the tradition. Standing at that point, Coke Studio brings a turning point for Indian music. It shows that its not about Indian classical or Western rock, Pop, Jazz; but the absolute fusion rendition of the Orient and the Occident is creating such amazing tunes. Though the show might not be a platform for the upcoming bands or music groups and is majorly run by Bollywood producers, this is just the tip of the iceberg showing what real discoveries and thoughts  are going into the music scenario every day as we sit and lament the destruction of the spirit of Puritanism; well, maybe this is for the betterment.

  • It Might Get Loud — The history

 

1I’d have to thank Anish Chowdhury for recommending this Documentary Movie to me during the Hols. Cursing at the extremely low download speed over the wifi, the movie took 10 hours to download but I would have to say that the wait was worth it.
One thing I’ve realised is however much I might be into Indian Classical music, songs of Rabindranath or Nazrul, Hindi music, Western music has attracted me for a long time (though haven’t tried it on stage till now :P) now and for the past year, after listening to the playlists of Led Zeppelin, Coldplay, Guns N Roses, Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd or Aerosmith at low volumes while at my study, I have had this feeling that the more you listen to them, the more you get addicted to them. For example, Gimme Shelter-Rolling Stones, Babe I’m gonna leave you, All my Love — Led Zeppelin, November Rain — GNR; these are the songs that I can’t get out of my head at any instant!
And the documentary was a bonus over this! Jimmy Page, Edge and Jack White, sitting in a room discussing how they developed their music forms, hitting a chord or two, and a full song at the end! Its like seeing Einstein and Roger Penrose discuss their styles of Physics thinking together, although being decades apart. Page’s time is almost two decades away from the two others, yet they mingle comfortably over the table regarding emotional memories related to their early life careers. It is quite mystifying how dedicated people can be to get what they desire, for e.g. Edge carving his own Guitar or sitting for three hours just to adjust the output of a 20 second lead in a song by U2! These are the most creative minds of the last century. However much the next generation moves over towards Hip Hop or R&B, the classic rock bands would be far from going down in history. Their songs speak of love, life and living, their guitars sing, their drums beat with the rhythm of the heart. They are truly inspirational!

Until next time.

Peace!

THE INEVITABLE FALL


In his eyes, was a serene gleam, —

The Boy, —- he had had a dream …

Long had he longed to stray in open

Fields and sing

In glee, .. often.

It seemed the world had been

Transformed as ne’er before seen.

Had the Sun shone bright?

Yes, there was light!

What then could have made

The birds leave the dark

And join the brigade crossing the sky?

Its a dream, after all,

But its so real, ….. just hear the robin call!

Azure the sky as it peeped

From behind the clouds…

The rains slipped out, — acid rain?

No, the Boy felt no pain.

Smoke, the Boy saw none!

(This was a dream, quite a strange one!)

Suddenly, the lightning flashed,

Stronger the rains slashed…

The rose, a red one, slipped out

Of sight; the thunder roared loud.

‘Help!!’ — screams filled the air……..

None came to help, nobody was there..

Open sky, the boy felt why

There was none; — not a soul;

He cried, — none was to hear his cry.

Alone he was, little though.

Ready he was not to bow low.

Rose and rose he through the air,—

His head touched

The sphere of Heaven. Asked he,

“Man, I come to seek thee,

Where art thou?”

… came an answer, “I see you shaking;

fear, it will hold sway.

Man has perished,

You come to seek a way?”