Wednesday, June 30, 2010

the ornament of the mind

They were earrings; golden, beautiful, shaped in the form of round baskets, intended to increase the beauty of two ears, no matter how the ears actually were. My mother had bought them for me, few years ago, when I was of age not to be able to differentiate between gold and brass or any other metal. And my ears were like me, meant to hear the soul of others; they could never bear such golden pressure. Waiting in the cupboard, tired, bored, the rings were craving to hang down from someone’s ears, still not daring to approach those of mine.

And now I told to sell them, refusing their generous help to improve the look of my hearing organs. I was called ruthless, cruel, a person lacking sense of beauty, stonehearted stone. They were not the rings, they were feelings, they said. And I felt it ruthless to keep money engaged in those shiny objects. The design, the shape, the attractive nature, and the expensiveness of the rings always fall short to explain the depth of feelings in my drawings and in my words building poems from my heartbeats; nor can they reach the height of knowledge, I wish to achieve.

Isn’t it inhumane to parade your insensitivity in form of that unused stored beautiful property, when there are people craving for their basic needs, when there are hospitals running out of facilities and when there are many researches pending because of lack of funding? I always feel that the quantity of numbness of anyone’s heart is directly proportional to the quantity of ornaments laden on her body.

For me, tons of gold and kilograms of diamonds are just impotent to give the pleasure that I get from extracting a true smile from a crying face. I might be an ugly stone hearted person for those rings, and for those who judge beauty in terms of shining… but my ugly heart always crave to bring beauty in the ugly corners of the society.

It’s not like that I’m blind to beauty and deaf to emotions, in fact I find beauty in bare old sunken ears, and sense unexpressed hidden treasure of emotions. No ornaments are essential to remind me of the love of my loved ones.

It’s not like that I loathe ornaments, I also wear them many times, but my ornaments are not golden. They’re invisible, something like an aura, an incomprehensible sensation. I like to wear courage, pleasure, and at least mask of optimism… my dedication, craving for knowledge decorate me, offer some beauty to me, no matter to what extent I am ugly. My desire to change the world, to make it happy… to build a fountain of smiles is more valuable to me than those earrings with golden feelings.

I want to build heaven on planet Earth… do you know, in heaven, gold is worth equal to that of the rocks and stones?

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

meeting the past

I was in 25th year of my life, of the age having maximum strength in human life… but wandering in forests of hopelessness. I was tied, frustrated, feeling alone and devastated, living a life of a failed student, a new member of an odd batch, a dull fellow… my vision was blurred to the extent of blindness, I couldn’t read, couldn’t comprehend. The words I had depicted on the walls and the roof of my room which were supposed to stimulate me, were now mocking me, challenging me to bear their sight… but I couldn’t… I didn’t want to look at them, I didn’t want to continue… didn’t want to survive. My dreams were appearing to be frauds of my brain… or they might be mere hallucinations of an oxygen deprived dying brain. I was deprived of success, since ages… I was deprived of hopes of success. And I was tired to this regular struggle to keep myself alive… I didn’t want it. I wanted to suicide, to show my dying brain the heaven of death, the aura, the greenery, what eyes see when near death. I was weak, with my hopes suffering from total flaccidity… and my dreams were rigid, hard but not moving, alas, they were also paralyzed.

My consciousness got reduced to take me somewhere near the stupor… and I felt like falling in abyss of my past. And there I encountered her, mere a teenager, unaware of her future… lacking the power of 25, lacking the information… but full of enthusiasm, willpower, a wish to break all boundaries, to create new records… a carelessness, readiness to accept the consequences, willingness either to reach the top or fall in valley, the confidence, a fire to fire back any attack… and there was me, old, experienced, ‘adult’, thick, numb, staring her and envying her like a granny. I wanted to tell her not to be this reckless, to stop the speeding… to look for the ditches, to seize the dimpled smile and to offer some wrinkles of wisdom, of the worry for the future and her horrid presence.

But she refused, as expected; she said she had to build her future with the stones in her presence. Her future was me, I knew… I tried to convey her, “hey immature girl, look at me, for I’m the consequence of your behavior. Look at my grades, and the failures… and the dark circles around my eyes due to unstopped tears. I’m not alive, neither I’m dead. I have the strength but can’t use it… I have the dreams, but can’t make them alive…”

And she neared me to touch my cheek, “oh I can’t believe that I’m going to be this big fat grandma at 25. I know experiences are bound to offer maturity, but premature aging is what you now call as a doctor- ‘pathological’. Look at me, I’m nothing except a struggler, still I made you to feel jealous of mine. I won’t change my behavior, for you’re the consequence, I can see through the time, unlike you my vision isn’t opaque… I can see the consequence of yours. You’re so close to my goal; I’ll never call you a failure. Letdowns are bound to happen; I don’t want you to lose the vigor… I’ll offer a push, if you try to stop in between. You’ve the strength of knowledge, and I have the speed, imagine what’ll happen if both are combined. If you lack confidence, let you be, just borrow the sense of recklessness from me… Look for me, I’m always alive in your memory, and if your old memory fails… search me in the pages of your ‘teenage diary’.”

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Hidden page in a medico’s diary

Look at me, I’m a doctor to be, a medico studying MBBS in Govt. institute… look at me, I wear the apron, no matter how the environment is hot, and hang the stetho around my neck, as a garland for victory in the entrance exam… no matter it’s functioning or not. This looks gracious, I know… I know it has no other use. My ears are not yet trained to differentiate the heart sounds; I hear them even when the stetho is switched off. Tell the kids not to be scared of me; I won’t give injection, as I can’t hold the syringe. I confuse in subcut and intra-dermal, all I do is intramuscular. Never have I tried my hand in intravenous. Out of vein IV is a main problem here.

Look at me and my genius, I know nothing, still people call me a scholar. Look at me and my ambitious nature, except proper studies I do anything to be a topper. I repeat the parrot’s fission to score in the exams, if that fails I don’t hesitate to use cheats and frauds. I lure the post graduates, hang out with anyone, use my ‘X or Y’ factor, and attend and arrange ‘wet’ parties… only to know the questions before the exams, and to be favored in the oral exams. ‘Morals’ is a word not present in my dictionary… all I value is marks.

Look at me and my capacity to understand, I write FQs on lung cancer… but like my pathology professor, I too am a heavy smoker. Atherosclerosis, liver cirrhosis are present in the ‘markings’, but alcohol and fatty foods are the things I crave for. I don’t follow any of the physician’s principals, except the one saying, “never accept your fault.”

Look at me and my idealism, unlike the weak ‘normal’ creatures, I never flow away in emotions. As an ideal doctor, I’m apathetic to the pains of the patient, for me ‘It’s’ just a written case for exam. I have to suppress my laughter in ICU, and attend the labor ward with popcorns in my hand.

Look at me, I’m a to be doctor… and Beware of me, I’m tomorrow’s practitioner.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

just a... dream world

It was a hospital… yes a hospital, and that too of here, with everything right from the nurses, medicos, proper doctors, and of course patients and relatives. Nurses had their regular uniform, with no change, and doctors were wearing the same unwashed dirty Aprons…

I thought I was having one more nightmare… something like my live life, something I’m used to observe… I thought the nurse would now shout at that old patient… the doctor would tell the relatives of that old stroke patient to carry him to home for it was useless to keep him in the hospital as the stroke was irreversible. The blind girl would receive few mocking laughs… and that accident patient in the causality room would lose battle with life… the poor grandma would pray the doctors to save her money and the doctors would deny saying that MRI facility isn’t available as it was a government hospital… the angio fibroma boy would lose his life because of excessive bleeding during the surgery, and that diabetes uncle would get infected after the amputation operation…

I was preparing my heart… but it gave a painful sprain like contraction instead of the usual moan, when I saw the nurse’s smile… Nurses can smile! The stroke patient had got the treatment and left the hospital walking, talking and laughing; the blind girl had her own functioning beautiful eyes… poor grandma was still there but was smiling while holding the reports of the MRI in her hands, the MRI machine here was functioning, and there was another instrument… more advanced! The accident patient had got all his organs repaired with cultured organs from his own tissues… and the angiofibroma had got treatment with nano robots… without surgery. The diabetes uncle was happy with his brand new leg, and control of diabetes… … I needed to admit myself in the ‘Cardiac Care Unit’ to avoid an heart attack due to powerful fountains of joy…Oh my goodness… there was something like Cardiac Care Unit here, in this government hospital, with nano instruments to take care of narrowed blood vessels, tissue cultures synthesizing heart valves, part of heart walls and even complete hearts, with the patient’s own genetic composition… I tried to see the date; might be it was a day in future… but couldn’t see the year! I thought to go to the Obs- Gyn department and to see the conditions of females there…

… but the voice of ambulance started becoming shriller and shriller… as if a mosquito was singing… no there were many, I killed one of them with a slap on my cheek… and got my dream aborted. I had to wake up, to study… I was to have my Obs- Gyn exam. I had to pass, so that I could make my dream true…

But I really wanted to live in that dream… permanently! The mosquitoes shouldn’t have waked me up; hey did I notice there wasn’t a trace of these mosquitoes in my dream world?

Monday, June 7, 2010

A lost worrier

Once I saw a worrier, lost but surviving for hopes
The pain was visible as were the wounds,
I dared to ask her the cause of her mourns…
It was the loss, she told me in her words,
“Followers become criticizers,
And loved ones emit hatred…
Pride and honor flow away with the blood
It’s all related to win or loss in life’s battlefield.

It’s hard… hard to be confident
As confidence, like fair weather friends, requires a piece of achievement.
The blood, the wounds, the pain is valueless…
…If it’s not accompanied by success.
The loser is always alone,
As the crowd follows the victor…
The sacrifices, the wills, the daring is rubbish,
…If it hasn’t lead to a triumph.

Tears may be there…if the emotions are intact
Or there maybe eyelids …trying to cover the dryness of the mind
There may be a grimace, advocating the pains…
…Or a fake decoration with the loser’s smile.
Smile, tears or may it be a grimace…
For it there is no one to look at.
No one to hold hands, no one to convoy
No one to assure, no one who relies

The loser is friendless… with all humiliations
Garlands of mockery are ready to welcome
The loser is a subject of making fun
…Or a lesson teaching not to challenge the situation.
Collection of misery, host of grieves, a live disappointment
A loser is a disgusting thing to look at…
A cursed person, a live omen, feeling of sadness,
…a loser is something that evokes aversions.

But may it be a winner or a loser
…A worrier is always a worrier
Losing in one battlefield doesn’t end the war
Anything can happen in arena of life
One battle ends to welcome another
Losses occur only to test the capacity of the soldier
History salutes them who become winners after a loss
Also there are losses losing battle with the loser…”

Saturday, June 5, 2010

it was a... dream

I was driving on a lonely highway as it was four o’clock in the morning; my big neuro lab was waiting; neurons in culture dishes were whispering, and the newborn brain imaging machine was trying to control its heartbeats for today it was going to be tested for the first time… my heart was also racing with record breaking speed; I remembered last time when it had broken all past records, when I had tested my equipment to change destined synaptic connections in live animals without any genetic alterations… and now it was racing again with some more speed; I thought I should slow down, least I should meet with some accident. Speeding on such rough road wasn’t a safe thing; but since when my road had become this bumpy? The roughness increased with arrival of huge mountain like stones and there were thorns welcoming me with their painful pricks… this wasn’t the road I wanted to go… this wasn’t the destiny I had planned to meet… I had lost my path, there was no one except the darkness and stones and thorn pricks…

I lost my balance, and started falling in a dark disgusting valley, opening directly into the hell… I shouted and got my sleep broken, only to find myself sitting before my lifeless computer, beating my hailstone like head, hoping for birth of some little spark… if not fire. I was a fire… in the past; I remember. Is it extinguished… or mere hidden, fearing to get smothered due to lack of any stimulating factor? I miss myself, for my life has become a wet piece of wood emitting tears of smoke in an attempt to get the fire… I need sun; I need some warmth, some air; I’m tired to get entrapped in these clouds. These dirty, dark, shapeless clouds like stigmas are staining my life… masking my soul, eclipsing my hopes… and choking my dreams. I crave for fresh air… I need a breather, an escape… just one… one chance to prove myself.

But I’m a prisoner in an honored jail; and the walls of this jail are thick, and it has a big ruthless lock with no key… and is unbreakable; I’ve broken myself in attempting to break free from this, several times, and have nurtured many wounds; sour, infected, bleeding… they are far away from getting healed. And there are scars, contractures, kids of some milder wounds which have got wrongly healed, ready to restrict my every movement… to weaken my every effort. As if I’m surviving with a big weakness, as if I’m an old debilitated paralysis patient seeking joy in memories of the past… not daring to think about the hopeless dark future… something like the dark disgusting valley in that dream, leading me directly to the hell…

And I want to convert that hell and others into heavens… I don’t care even if my life becomes a live hell while working on my heavenly dreams. And that’s why I need an escape. I want to use my wings, want to spread them to their full and fly in the sky of my dreams… I need freedom. I just need a chance to break free from this rusted golden cage… or unnatural strength to shatter it, or my lost fire to melt it, heat it to its evaporation point. I can’t…. I really can’t sustain to be confined…