Let them to say what they want………..

They say it’s in vein
To spend hours… in teasing your brain,
To play with words to haunt minds,
To think of the world… existing only in hearts

They say it’s utterly madness
To try to find something…
which maybe completely fruitless
And to consider the world… which affects you not

They say it’s a big flop
To spend your life in searching…
Answers to the endless ‘whys’
And in attempting things… which may cost your life

They say it’s a severe bad luck
To be unable to be practical…
In this ‘Practical’ world
And to foster dreams… those sound irrational

But this madness has its own reward…
What others say doesn’t bother a mad!

She lives life like the spring
Bringing blossom to every mind she meets
Buds are bound to flower…
It’s exciting to watch flowers born as thorns
It’s really funny to live for a cause
No matter, even if it costs you your life

i insane

I’m not a good student… I don’t sit in the library and mug up MCQ books. I don’t know which common questions they ask frequently in the entrance exam, to be honest, I don’t even know exactly how many and which subjects they’re supposed to ask questions on, what I try to read is everything available about the diseases I encounter in the OPD and my beloved neuroscience. I don’t plan, and I don’t want to appear for that exam. I don’t want to be a physician… don’t want to spend my life in the hospitals trying to offer already available treatments which may or may not be effective, and in trying to fight against the disorders disabilities tragedies and curses with maybe partially useful or totally futile or guess based regime weapons, and in trying to be satisfied for offering the treatments to needy ones no matter what the results say…

I don’t hate doctors… really, and I do salute their contribution in the health care system, because if we remove doctors the system will be totally paralyzed… but I don’t want to be one. A doctor has to be practical (yes, I’m speaking of an ideal doctor… and not about the money making robotic machines devoid of their own brains and alas, also of hearts!). She can’t be enthusiastic- the doctor, can’t be drastic… can’t cross the boundaries. She just can’t be curious beyond a certain limit. And she’s helpless; she has to adjust with the scanty diagnostic facilities and primitive like treatments even though she’s working in a most advanced setup (leave apart something like what I experience here)… she has to see failures, she has to face conditions where there is no treatment… there are diseases with no cure, and there are people who get them, and come to her with great hopes… like a machine, she has to take consent and has to convince the patient about the scant regimes and potential hazards of those regimes, and to tell that to the disease there is no treatment.

When she decides to go beyond the limits and to expand the boundaries, to question the regimes and the pathological conditions and mechanisms in physiology, wants to seek something better and safer…, she’s not a doctor, she’s a scientist. I know a doctor is not supposed to play the god though some people still do call her a god, neither a scientist an idol. But… but… but why to accept the limitations, why to surrender the pathological processes and traditional treatment regimes when you believe that something better can be found out? Why to spend life in prescribing VDRL and then ART to thousands of AIDS patients rather than trying to defeat the HIV in total…? Why to go for AMP or nailing and plating and working on live human’s bone/s as on a piece of wood rather than finding something that’ll deposit natural bone where it was and how it was before the accident? Why to give something as hazardous as steroids or cytotoxic drugs to control inflammation? Why is in cases of fights and crimes, MLC papers and signs and signatures and proofs and photos more important than the fact or facts why the heck their brains became so violent? Of course, there is some answer/s to every why, but alas, none meets my satisfaction…

And I, like some unsatisfied wandering spirit keep on thinking of research while working as a doctor in my hospital… and my mind keeps on hovering between the reality and my dream world…

The saga of jealousy

It’s something deep in mind, a weakness, a fear, a sense of being incompatible… and it kills others. Where in Darwin’s theory of evolution, does this jealousy stand? Is it a disease or a pathological state of otherwise innocent mind? Or is it characteristic of some villain hidden in the dark depth of everyone’s mind? Is it a fact… unavoidable… or an avoidable catastrophe?

When it affects friends, the friendship ends… relationships go to hell… siblings become enemies, lovers become filled with hatred, joyous stimuli offer punishment… what is that, that dares to snatch all the happiness, and fills the innocent heart with filth of being jealous? Why people want to pull others’ legs? Why they can’t tolerate the victory of their own pals? Is life only a competition? Is it just a game of win or loss? To prove our superiority, do we need to prove others as lower? Can’t life be just a simple win- win situation?

When it affects them, teachers stop distributing knowledge, and co workers start gossiping in ears… care takers become life takers. It has happened in epics… it forms a part of our history books… we read it in news papers, we feel it happening to us… and sometimes we can’t stop but feel jealous of other ‘lucky’ creatures. I wonder if there is any research explaining the phenomena behind this evil emotion. Is it something that humans (and also other ‘higher’ animals) feel when they see someone getting something they feel she doesn’t deserve? What if the person in question perfectly deserves what she gets? Or is it something people feel when they see others getting something they want, but don’t get… even when they know the person deserves that achievement, and even when the person is very good to them? Or is it a reflection of insecurity they feel about themselves, rather than about the achiever? Being a victor or loser has no effect on being jealous… as if unsatisfied; the victor may be envious of some capacities of the loser one, and if not strong minded, the loser is always jealous of the victory of victor… Is it universal… is it acceptable? And… is it reversible? To this social illness, isn’t there any cure? Is altruism an illusion? Is ‘happiness in the happiness of others’ mere a theoretical word collection?

But I’ve seen angels, there are some people craving constantly for other’s smiles. And I’ve experienced someone called a villain saving lives of others… and seen her transforming from villain to heroine to again villain again to heroine… I’ve seen hatred melting away, and smiles erasing frowns. I’ve touched the softness in the hearts of hardest stones, and felt the hardness of softest hearts… but sill I don’t understand where and why in this world does jealousy stand…

It’s a bad power, causing lethal mutation of soul. It is a bad kid of comparison, a habit of peeping into others’ lives and killing your own soul with negligence; it is a sign, symbol, symptom of lack of confidence… or is it a pathological transformation of a desire to be equal? How comes the same desire stimulating some persons to lift others up and to be angels, stimulates jealousy in some other persons?

It is a disease getting born as a small larva, and eating the person, then her pals, then the society, countries continents and the whole world and becoming an anaconda or a dragon… I hope true love, true faith, true devotion, true satisfaction and true sacrifice are immune to this infection…

beasts are dumb

I wake up to hear your meow, oh my cat where are you? You were my alarm in the mornings and even at odd times of day, my comfort when I tended to cry, my responsibility, my sense of achievement. You were my proud, telling me how humane I was… I used to think that you needed me, now I understand that it was me who was really needy. I miss you when I enter the hostel, when there is no one waiting for me; no one runs behind me, no one to jump on my jeans… no one waits for me to bring the milk… no one is there to attack and spill the biscuits on table. Trust me, I don’t eat biscuits, they’re still here waiting only for you. And there are two lizards in my room; I know they can act as tasty dishes for you. Ok I permit; you can jump on my computer, walk on the keyboard, and climb the window and make things fall as you fall down. Ok you can sleep on my bed, enter my cupboard, and make the floor of my room laden with your fallen fur. You can drink the water from toilet and then insert your head in my bucket, and make my roommate angry on me for your presence. You can lick my plates and glasses, and if it’s an emergency you can use the underside of my cot as a piece of dirty land…. But please please come back…


See how mad I’ve gone … I’m writing to you when I know that you can’t read. You can’t understand even if I yell on you. You can’t understand my words… you’re not a human; you’re quadruped, a beast, just a cat. I shouldn’t be involved in you to this extent, to talk with animals I’m not a child. I still remember how you used to act when I used to act as if I would beat you. I still remember your voice. I still confuse every white object in darkness with you… where are you?


Did you know who you were for me? Have you ever thought that the person you were playing as if she was your feline sibling was facing most catastrophic typhoons in her life? Could you understand the transformations taking place in my life? Were you aware that you were the only living company of me, during most lonely days of my life…? How could you, when even I wasn’t aware of your importance till now… till when I wait for you, and don’t get you, till when I understand that I’ve lost you?
Was your behavior mere a reflection of love of reward of food and that of security… or was it a result of some care for me? I don’t care about your purpose, as whatever its purpose might be, your behavior was a reward to me. I needed you to believe in me, to be taken care of by me, to think of me as your safety. I liked to see you happy… I pray you should be happy wherever you might be. I loved you as any parent would love her dependent baby… and she loves to see the baby growing independent of herself. But she craves to see the baby… you don’t come to me, don’t follow me, don’t trust me, but… but at least once please show your face to me.


See how forlorn I’ve become, I want to call you, but can’t, as you don’t have any mobile phone… I want to write to you but don’t know your address… to read my email you’ll never come to the internet… And you continue to trouble me in my memories and in dreams waking me up and making me nostalgic… my Billu, my Moti, my Sonya, my dear Khawadya , my Boku do this favor to your non feline mom, if you have that sixth sense, sense her worrying heart and at least to convey your well being please come back…

picture of a mad 2

Madness can be beautiful… when it’s not causeless, and the beauty of it depends on the beauty of the cause that maddens… a beautiful desire, a beautiful person, a beautiful dream or a beautiful dream world; they change the mind, mutate it… grab your saneness, rule your senses and lend you as a forlorn to wander in the world searching a dream world, breaking all the rules of a normal person… you search your dream even when you look into the mirror, alas! You can’t even understand that you’re no more a wise person, a person you were before that small accident… and people call you as insane or as a mad… but… but oh poor haunted soul, have you ever noticed that… that your madness has added lots of grace to your face? Trust me; this madness is the most effective beautifying treatment (Though it can cost you your life… but who cares about life in the midst of this madness?). Yeah, madness can be beautiful…

When a human ages…

Swollen legs
And shrunken eyes
Can you believe…
I was a king in my times?

Senses severed,
Joints tortured,
Fighting with arthritis
And I can’t remember things
Can you believe…
I was a ruler of minds?

Struggling for my aims,
Living in my dreams,
Loving, teasing, playing and winning
… Losing my heart,
Can you believe…
I was very smart?

Now the heart is damaged,
And my pride injured,
The king of then,
Is now no more!
Now I’m a loser,
Time did this slaughter
… And I got sacrificed
Can you believe…
The power I have enjoyed?

Once a divine beauty,
I’ve lost my vanity
I have no powers,
No aims, no dreams,
I do survive, but…
With no hopes!
I’ve lost everything
This is time’s victory,
But… but you have to believe,
I still… still have a story!!!

autobiography of a mad...

Am I mad to dream what I dream, people say your dreams should be feasible… a microbe can’t dream to be as huge as a dino, a thorny desert plant can’t look beautiful, a poison can’t dream to save lives… how can an intern dream to be a good scientist, or a doctor, or a healer? How can I dream a heavenly hospital, when I practice at a place where people with their saliva of chewed tobacco, and also urine, within a weak transform a new posh building into a hellhole… or when the freshness of morning in hospital is stolen by smoke of cigarette of the patient, or relative or the compounder or professor doctor? How can I expect doctors to take care of patients, who themselves don’t respect their health? How can I convince the patients to take care of their health, when they’re illiterate, and when surviving for today is their major problem? How can I dream fine diagnosing techniques and healing machines, when even basic norms are not properly followed…?

Am I mad to think all this, when almost everyone wants their self development… when to this almost everyone agrees or ignores, when nearly every medico is engaged in mugging up the bookish lines or copying for the medical entrance, when almost every scientist is running behind hot grants or publications, when making money, enjoying luxury is almost everyone’s goal, when almost everyone hates something new, or odd or anything that challenges the established situation? How can I dare to not to take part in this rat race, when innocence has been graved by formalities, and showiness, and desires to get more? How can I dream a smiling lovely world, when in fact the world is studded with sadness, revenge, lack of knowledge, poverty, violence and negligence?

But smile is also there, and there are hopes, there are some people burning their souls to help others… there is at least some goodness in heart of an almost worst person, I just want to eliminate the bad things, no matter if the world calls me a mad person. I know, the dinosaurs are extinct today, but microbes still persist… it steals your eyes when a desert cactus flowers, almost every life saving drug in emergency is otherwise a poison… anyone can dream anything, and can bring the dream into reality with her perseverance… I can dream my dream world, no matter even if there’s heaven and hell’s difference between the real and ideal. I can breathe for my dream world, and work for it, no matter how close I will be able to take this world to my dream world till I’m in this world. constructing heaven using hell as the raw material is a challenging task, it’s exciting, it gives me adrenaline rush… and most importantly a purpose to survive. I’ll prefer dying for my heavenly dreams to lying happily in arms of some angel in some ready- made heaven… and strangely I’ll be happier. I may really be a mad person…