No strings attached

No strings attached... an unrelated series of paragraphs and thoughts. 

I love wearing my heels. Though they are not as long as the ones I see actresses wearing on TV, but they are an achievement for me because they are very difficult to handle. One of these days, I decided to wear heels to work after a very long time and well, it turned out that that day I had too much of running around to be done at kem and around kem. Then there was a visit outside kem and then there was travelling in the virar train with my backpack, wearing my heels and standing in the crowd and not getting an auto to reach home, so again walking home tired. Eventually, on reaching home, my legs and back were a total mess and I was bedridden for the next 12 hours. Worth it? Maybe not. But I loved every moment of it.

The smell of new parchment... that's what Hermione smells from ‘Amortentia’, the love potion that Professor Slughorn had brewed during their first potions' lessons. It has a different aroma for everyone who smells it, reminding each person of the things that they find most attractive. This reminded me of the times when we used to write on paper, rather than type on the computer. The joy of passing around a chit from the last row in class to the third row, rather than sending an sms during class. The smile on one’s face while reading old letters in their grandparents’ hand-writing. Just touching the piece of paper meant feeling as if they have held our hand again. To see how your writing was so tidy and perfect in fifth grade and has now become as illegible as a doctor’s should be. I remember the time my friend migrated from Mumbai to Dubai. Initially, all of us friends would write a letter, on the most fancy paper that we could lay our hands on, describe details of what was happening in Mumbai and the neighborhood. Then we would add a book mark or a friendship band and post it to her. Then came the days of email and after the initial euphoria of the faster means, the letters kept getting shorter, the font was only Times new roman and the joy of opening an envelope with a mere click meant that all the excitement was lost. But on the other side, we can’t miss the parchment too much because the BMC does not allow us to (read, treatment sheets and OPD continuation sheets)!

The word teacher is interpreted differently by people. And while people can be teachers, you yourself can learn by situations and problems. The most enriching experiences are the ones which were the most difficult. Similarly, the person who kicks your butt the most would end up being the person who taught you the most. I believe that a person who wants to teach you will be the one who will scold you, who will catch you by your neck at every small mistake that you make and eventually be very happy when you do well. So don’t be afraid of your mistakes. It is the person who does the work, who will make mistakes and be caught. And he is the one who will learn.

People keep saying that live this day like it’s your last. Enjoy life to the fullest today. Make sure that you live a full life today because no one knows what will happen tomorrow. But they also say that if you don’t plan for the future and work according to your plans you will be left wandering aimlessly. These statements probably are meant to be analyzed in different contexts and situations. But I wonder, what should one give priority to? A few days or months spent in sadness and loneliness and minimal happiness, with the hope that all this is being done for a brighter and happier future of tomorrow. But if you don’t do that, would it mean that you just go about living your life aimlessly without a sense of purpose and responsibility? It’s probably easy to have a balance of both in life and it is different how each person does it. But when will I find my Zen?

All this is getting too serious.

I was talking to a few final year students and they were really excited about their Gosumag… and it brought back some very fond memories. KEM brought for me opportunities that I will cherish all my life. The first year of mbbs meant meeting so many absolutely bright students, each one had something special. First year also meant the beginning of ‘not attending classes’, formalin being a state of being, the debate, kalpadrum, the first aavishkaar, the outer section of the library, the handling of bones in local trains on the pretext of studying anatomy, the colourful precipitates in the biochemistry lab. 2^nd and 3^rd year meant BMC, the hunting for a laptop to work on (1^st Bmc) and having too many computers to work on (2^nd BMC), scurrying around finishing the kvpy project, the Chennai trip, meeting another batch of amazing people, working for gosumag, some amazing interviews at amazing places (read, palash sen at taj lands end), trying very hard to write a decent article, trying to pass in the exams, and if that was not going to happen, then smuggling the text book in the exam in an effort to pass, sitting in the rickety psm bus and going to places unheard of. The final year for me meant sitting at home and wasting time all day long. But I am sure for the others who actually went o college it was library at 8 am to catch a place, the lecture hall at 0805 for the first lecture in the day, trying to check their schedules so that they could fit in at least one med, surg and peads clinics during the day or night today, library, canteen, katta, library.

At this point I wish o could just sit here for the next two hours and continue writing about the days well spent at kem. But even thinking about the company that I had kept during those days and their working habits (read, the hard work of ananya, saumya, etc) means that I really need to shut this thing and get back to my books pronto.