Mammilapanatapai

i love the word "mammilapanatapai"... it's from the Agan language which is now a dead language but it was spoken in the southern most part of south america. i've never heard the word spoken, but the meaning is very beautiful. it means that moment of feeling when two people want to initiate something but neither wants to be the one to start it. it can be, perhaps two tribal leaders wanting to make peace but neither wanting to be the one to begin it. or it could be two people in a party wanting to approach each other but neither quite brave enough to make the first move...

Death, a question...

in my short career-span as a doctor, i have declared many patients dead... and probably this is the first time that i have pondered over it. the ancient Greeks suggested waiting for 3 days and the Romans 9 days, to ensure the person was indeed dead!!! Indian literature mentions cutting a finger or observing if ghee placed on the forehead melts... someone rightly said, "so uncertain is men's judgement that they cannot determine even death itself"...

amir's miss...

Dear Amir Khan, Simply shouting "stop female foeticide" is not the answer. First tackle the problems which sends shudders through a would-be father's mind whenever he expects a girl child. The fear is not just dowry, my friend. Her vulnerability at the hooligan stricken Indian roads, her vulnerability to be labeled "loose" by the Indian society at the slightest of pretext, her burden of innumerable social rules, they all fall on a father's shoulder to tackle... So naturally his "disinterest" to raise a girl child. But I believe Aamir Khan missed the fine prints... Similarly, expecting doctors to stop being professionals and start doing charity is preposterous. The cut system is an western import and not an evil endemic to India alone to be seen with raised eyebrows. Maybe you have quoted a few points but you missed that a doctor is given the right to determine his own fees and a patient is obliged to pay it... Dictors offer their expertise which they gain after herculean hard work. Indian health care system is much much cheaper than the west. But the western system functions smoothly because the government ensures that everybody has health insurance. They don't plead doctors to do charity. Doctors there remain the highest paid professionals... It's good that you want to make a change, but beating around the bush won't work... You are not here with the solution, but rather being a part of the problem...

Edith Piaf

she was abandoned by her alcoholic, drug addict mother as soon as she was born... her maternal grandmother rarely fed or washed her, instead put her to sleep with wine whenever she cried... she was then sent off to her paternal grandmother who ran a brothel, which came to be her home... she was blinded by keratitis from the age of 3 to 7... at age 17 she bore a child who died two years later of meningitis... she stood just 4 ft 10 inches and was rightly dubbed "Piaf" meaning sparrow in French... her career peaked during WW II... she performed for the Germans at the top luxury brothel called One Two Two Club... the Germans allowed Piaf to pose with the French POWs to boost their morale, who subsequently managed to cut out their own image to forge identity papers and escape... she battled pathetic health issues and morphine dependency and three major car accidents... but nonetheless, she was one of France's finest singer performers whose songs still rule the radio waves... this is an example of how an underprivileged, brothel-raised street girl can fight the tyrannical world of sexual abuse and emerge a glorious singing sensation... the French sky cannot exist without Edith Piaf...

Her price!!!

She is the middling second or third daughter of the deprived family... she is from one of the ‘poorer’ states of our country... he is just another man from her village... he befriends her, inveigles her and elopes with her... he brings her to a north-western state of our country where sex ratio still is in the six-hundreds... sells her to another man for the sum of 50,000 INR... the buyer marries her but not in the true sense of the term... he has another three brothers and two uncles... every night, they take turns to have sex with her... she has given up resistance... a year later, she is re-sold... for the price of 20,000 INR... the lower price is because she’s “used”!!! The first step against human trafficking in India is to understand what it is and how this vice is affecting 20 to 60 million Indians and gathering the audacity to raise a finger against it!!! P.S: above mentioned is not a rare incident but perhaps, the commonest and ‘softer’ versions available with me...

The ill-pill...

As a doctor, I always make an effort to keep my prescriptions small and restricted. And on instances even sending back patients, discontented, telling them they do not need medications for their complaints. The reason is, in India, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of drugs which are useless, if not dangerous... Worthless drugs include STATINS, the most fashionable and doctor-friendly anti-cholesterol drug. Similarly, many anti-inflammatory drugs, pain-killers, cardio-vascular drugs, anti-diabetics, drugs for osteoporosis, contraception, muscular cramps and tobacco addiction are futile... the reason they’re doing the rounds is because of the pharmaceutical companies who keep this drugs moving for their own profit... Wall Street has three major players – Pharmaceuticals, Oil and Banking... and the pharma industry is the most lucrative, the most cynical and the least ethical of all the industries... There is no pill for every ill but there is definitely an ill following every pill...

Rise up, woman!!!

Dear woman, I don’t know what you are doing! Figures by the United Nations tell me that even though you are half of the world’s population, you do 2/3rd of the world’s work, earn only 1/10th of the world’s income and own just a meagre 1/100th of the world’s property!!! Of the world’s 1.3 billion poor, you comprise 70%! Of the world’s 1 billion illiterate, you comprise 2/3rd! And you hold only 10.5% of the seats in the world’s parliament... You carry man in your womb for nine months; so that he may later rape you, exploit you??? What is your silence for??? What do you fear??? I was in a busy Delhi market recently when I saw a man offensively brush by a lady in the crowd. Like as if an instant reaction, she pulled the man by his sweater and landed a tight slap on his face... her friend was quick to utter a “very good” and they moved on with their work... all wrapped up within a few seconds!!! Justice delivered... I am ashamed to call myself a man... I belong to the kind who rapes, who tortures, who exploits! I am worthless... I can do nothing for you... Only you can! Because you are the one who gives birth, who nurtures, who cares and who brings beauty to everything... Now, it’s time you yielded the sword!!! Don’t be happy at being sung about by Honey Singh who talks about your “freshness”... Don’t be about your ‘rack’ or ‘hump’... Don’t be a ‘chick’ or ‘babe’... Don’t go to college just to get a good husband... Men have ‘bro-code’, while you don’t; you have ‘bitching’, which men don’t... Stop being rivals and unite!!! Your place is not in the kitchen, but the board-room. Your face should not be behind the veil, but on the cover of Forbes. Your gaze should not be down; it should be sky-wards... the place where you used to be!!! Don’t give all only to looking beautiful and charming, rather, bring out the Durga, the Kali in you and give all to becoming potent and prevailing... (and you know how)

Virginity

When in school, I did a play on the birth of Christ. It started with my dialogue about Mary, “How can she do this to me? How can she ‘abandon’ me?”. Years later, I understood that by ‘abandon’ I was referring to Mary’s adultery or crudely, “VIRGINITY”... Now that’s a big issue. Recently, an Australian website auctioned a virgin girl and a boy. The girl fetched $780,000 in 15 bids... (The third highest bidder was an Indian named Rudra Chatterjee, btw). Private clinics in Dubai are abetting unmarried girls to restore virginity by illegally performing hymen restoration or reconstruction surgeries... When Lady Diana was engaged to marry Prince Charles, British royals and advisers expected her to be a virgin which prompted her uncle Lord Fermoy to publicly announce she was a “bonafide” virgin. Societal double standards never demanded Prince Charles to be a virgin. Lord Shiva granted a boon to Queen Draupadi that she would be born a virgin every year and was thus considered an eternal Kanya (virgin)... In western mythology, vestal virgin Rhea Silvia, raped by the God Mars, gave birth to Remus and Romulus, founders of Rome. The city’s fate was linked to virginity. If any virgin broke her virginity vows, wars or natural disasters would befall Rome. So transgressors were punished by death, the last recorded was buried alive in 150 AD... Obsession with virginity is another blown-out-of-proportion factor that demeans women. Our age-old culture has conditioned young girls to prize their virginity without realising they are buttressing male egos by doing so... The presence or absence of a small mucus membrane is no insinuation to what a woman is or can be!!! Give it a thought...

Radha... a character sketch!!!

For Radha, the last couple of years have witnessed a sea change. As she sat in this genteel restaurant named Olive Beach off Brigade Road in Bangalore with its blue-cushioned, white straw chairs, pebble covered floor, lit candles and even a few trees inside, she all of a sudden remembered her first date in her sleepy hometown of North Lakhimpur. The contrast was stark. She still remembers the tartan table-cloth which had food stains from the previous patrons or the aluminium foil wrapped glass tumbler with a few plastic flowers thrown in to serve as the only embellishment to the ambience. As she started her dinner with the fig and orange salad and the meze, her mind unpredictably meandered. She remembered ordering butter naan and kadai chicken on her first date which she found more appetising than the beef risotto or the crostini that was being served presently. Two years back she never imagined she would consume beef, but today, if she made apparent her reservations, her acquaintances would tag her ‘old school’ or ‘conservative’, she knew. Her pretty face, well endowed body and probable small-town virginity gained her much popularity in the hushed conversations of the boys of her college and earned her a nippy well-off boyfriend even while she was ‘committed’ to this guy from her hometown, who, on getting the news over the phone, did little but surrender to the inevitable and to his helplessness. Her present boyfriend bestowed her with label dresses, shoes and posh dinners. She warmed his bed in return, without any qualms. This was in utter difference from her previous boyfriend who was content with a few smooches and an occasional fondling of her breasts. It is always give and take, she told herself, many times over. However, she was certain about one thing. She might not remember today’s dinner few years hence, but she will never forget the first date she had when she was truly full and essentially burped after dining out...

Some day… Some day my mirror will not be shattered glass. Some day my pillow will not be wet. Some day the sky will bend before me. Some day I will touch the stars and enclose them in my palm. Some day … Some day my parents will realize that my attitude was a facade I hid behind. One day they will understand my restlessness, my addiction, my passion. One day they will understand me. One day, some day........ One day my spirit will transcend all physical boundaries. One day I will ride chariots of moonlight, I will cross kingdom of gold. For there is something in me. Something that won't fade through a hundred births. One day people who have hurt me will ask to be forgiven. Some day I will change the world. Some day I will stop losing. And start winning. And winning will become the rule rather than exception. One day I will become a favorite. One day someone will love me, One day my heart will sing. One day I will start keeping promises. One day I will start living. One day life will call out to me in a voice that is stronger than the fiercest gate. Some day my friends will welcome me back. One day, I will think about all the people I have lost touch with...and cry... Some day, I will actually read those letters and smile. One day I will take a piece of the moon back home. Some day, I will merge into the streets of the city and no one will know. One day I will disappear into the cadences of melodies And no one will bother. One day my heart will stop beating. One day I will go to hell. Some day I will learn to play the guitar. One day, I will dazzle everyone with my brilliance.. One day I will learn how to speak Japanese. One day ..... Some day I will do a lot of things. One day I will realize that Great men are but small people. One day I will realize that not everyone should be taken at face value. One day I will understand everyone and everyone will understand me. And that day, the world will fit into my fist. That day I will not give up. That day, I will smile and cry.. Some day ......... One day.........

Jimmy... a character sketch!!!

It was in a night club in suburban Juhu where Jimmy, a Gujarati guy, first met his future-wife, Nandini, a Marathi, 2 years back. She was with a friend whose name he doesn’t remember, except that she had a flower of life tattooed on her lower back. Jimmy was accompanied by his German distant cousin who was crashing in with him at his 2BHK Vile Parle flat. They met, they talked and at 2am all four of them left for his flat. They didn’t stop for ice-cream. When home, they didn’t sit on the bean bags and watch TV. His distant cousin and he left for their respective rooms with their ladies in tow, undressing each other as they did. And that was the first time Jimmy and Nandini spent a night under one roof... but in different rooms!!!

A Son's predicament.

A few days back, a middle-aged lady got admitted in the neuro-ICU after suffering from an attack of a hypertensive massive CVA. CT-scan revealed Intraventricular bleed with obstructive hydrocephalus with central herniation. She was operated upon and later put on the ventilator. She had minimum spontaneous respiratory effort and no brain-stem reflexes. There was little hope of her coming back to normality. As the ICU resident, I had to talk to her attendants, the patient’s husband and her two sons, who were about 18 and 14 years old, from time to time. Like most cases of CVA, the attack was sudden and it took the family by surprise. I interacted mostly with the elder son who always had tears in his eyes and never failed to tell me how much he loved his mother and wanted her back at all costs. Today, as I was sitting in the doctors’ room, the ward-boy came and told me that a strange thing is happening in the ICU and that I better go and see it myself. I went inside the neuro ICU and saw that the elder son was dressed in a white kurta and dhoti with a gamosa around his neck. Beside him was a young girl dressed in a simple mekhela-chadar. As the son saw me enter, he rushed towards me and told me that he got married today. I was astounded and didn’t know how to react. He then continued that his mother always used to playfully complain the lack of another woman in the house and kept saying that she wanted to find a suitable daughter-in-law, get them married and teach her all the household chores before she died. He added that it was a unanimous decision from all family and relatives that her last wish be fulfilled. The father then asked for a neighbour’s daughter’s hand in marriage for his son and married them off today. He told me that his mother knew the girl and liked her very much and now they had come to seek her blessings. Saying this, he suddenly bent down to touch my feet. I stopped him and embraced him. My eyes were getting moist as I felt his pain, his effort, his surrender...