Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Pearls of wisdom

From my best friend...

You know when someone is on your side by the kind of advice they give you. I was rambling today about the societal prejudices that women in this world have to deal. And then he says "shut up and let your work do the talking". Point taken. Love you loads. Now back to actual work.

I believe that we can be extraordinary together rather than ordinary apart…

3 mins and a blog post

Why do some people seem to be so confident on the outside, and yet are so insecure on the inside?

Why does good influence come from good people... Or is it just me who chooses to believe only the good and not the bad?

Why do some useless people talk of themselves as if they are the best thing that happened to planet earth?

Why do some have it so easy?

Why is someone so nice to you when they have no reason to be?

Why is someone so nice to you and all you want is for them to back off?

Why is there such a level of pseudo-ism that if seems to me that real role models are no longer a reality?

Why is it that you thought of some people as friends and they were really acquaintances and nothing more?

Why is it that you were really nasty to some people and yet they turn out to be better friends than most others? 

Why is food in Bombay so much better, or is it only because of the company around?

Why is it that the katta seemed to me to be the scariest place in kem in ug... But eventually it turned out to be the one place which has good memories? And there will probably be a déjà vu soon. 

Why is it that the library can seem to be so uncomfortable at times, while at others it is your safest hideout?

When will I find nirvana... Or would that be the end of me?

Each question... A story in itself... On another day, another platform.

I hate it!

Coffee, coffee machines and chai!

Serendipity, avoiding it and adrenaline!

Or maybe, that is what makes real life more interesting than fiction.

Someday, another blog post, the story of my life. 

For men, success and likability are positively correlated, whereas for women they are inversely correlated.

"The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called truth." 
- Dan Rather

Catching a plane at night

I remember the night i took the flight from newark. I remember that night. The darkness all around. but the beautiful bright city lights. a feeling of belonging as you felt the world become smaller in front of your eyes. a need to go the place where you have everything of your own. a knowing pain of leaving back what never was yours. but when it never was yours, then why the pain at all? didn't you know what was yours to take and what was not. then why did you even imagine that it could be yours.

The city lights gleamed as they look at you. there is no knowing what they have to say. i can't fathom from the looks in their eyes. are they calling out for you to stay? or maybe it's expecting too much. maybe, good riddance, they say. what happens when i am gone? would they wipe out a tear from their cheeks?

why this emptiness when who you know you are going to the place that you have to be in time? why is it that each step that you take in time is another away from where you want to be. or maybe it is not meant to be. why cant the twinkling lights just open their mouths and say what i want them to say. If they cant, why cant they just say what they mean to say? why am i left imagining? or maybe they are saying something and i cannot hear it. or maybe i can hear it but i refuse to believe it.

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.

Let’s do some talking now

Kuch toh kehna hai… par kya?

It’s been too long since I have last posted. Even if I have, it has been meaningless expressions or quotes. I have no idea why I had written them or what significance they had then and whether or not they would be of any importance right now. But I think it is about time that I write something… but what?

When I was stuck at this question, I remembered that people have already written about this ‘state of being’ (for the lack of my limited vocabulary to come up with better words). Someone, probably a senior teacher, had written an article in Gosumag about how Gosumag editors were behind here to write something and she couldn’t come up with what to write about. Someone had also written a poem about it. So I thought let me also ‘copy’ them and try to write about pot being able to write or ‘this state of being’ which I am not able to define appropriately.

It first starts with, where do you start writing. Should I start thinking about points while I am standing assisting on a case or should I make notes on my cell phone while travelling home? But since I haven’t done both of these yet… I need to start now, while I am aimlessly staring at the computer… Should I write directly on the ‘create new post’ link or should I first write  it on ms word and copy paste it later. But then, like a few of my other posts this too should become another half-drafted post which lies around in my hard-disc, never to see the light of day.

But while I am at it, I feel too lame even to share this on blogger site. Isn’t this too meaning- less and probably full of grammatical errors and wrong spellings? I mean, I can’t write perfect-English edited posts like sum or veen or shqun (Please don’t mind the deliberately written wrong spelling- it’s with all due respect to your blogs that I have loved reading for so many years).  And then, the content, it’s all so real. The intricate details observed by sum or the simplistic take on issues, which I could so easily follow. And veen’s endearing posts which bring a smile on your face… they make you have ‘a good one’.

Then I thought, I can write about things that have happened during the postings in the last 18 months… the patients, the co-workers, the seniors and the general interactions around the ward. But I had written about that already during internship year and it would be a repetition. Unless of course, I could find words that flow like swrp sir and his really lengthy but captivating articles on almost everything that happens in kem… from patients (read his recent laughing-crying post) or mugging and extremes level of excellence (anp sir’s post) or movie-style romance (ashli anyone?).

I am not that fluent with words. So, I could probably try keeping the word count to a minimum but infuse a multitude of interpretations in a few abstract sentences and gather praise from one and all for my unconventional and higher order aberration in thinking like kkd (meant only as lots of praises and a awe for the kind of thought process you have and I cannot reach, even though I try. To be taken as compliments only). But as I said, even if I try, I am not able to.

Poems then… like sambh. Really? I have a thought block already.

Alright then, enough of this nonsense. I am bored already and I think anyone who would read this would get bored too. Though I wish I could write about ani and nnya and their works or art and sensible blabbering respectively. But I can’t. It’s boring. So let me just end it right here and think for topics and write an actual blog post.

Inspire me

I need inspiration to start blogging again. There is so much to say. So much that goes on in this mind is lost. So much has happened and it should be given space here. But maybe it's only for me and not for the world.

... Give me some sunshine
Give me some rain
Give me another chance
I wanna grow up once again...
- '3 Idiots', by Swanand Kirkire

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare
... A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
- Leisure by William Henry Davies

Two songs/lyrics/ poems, both at the same time came to my mind as soon i decided to write this blog.
How much they reflect my state of mind right now... I have no idea.
Are they similar in a way? I have no idea. I haven't even heard/read any of them while paying too much attention to the lyrics. Then why do they feel similar subconsciously?

No birthdays anymore?

Consider this:

Why do we celebrate birthdays? Its Dec __, 198_, whatever. You celebrate your 11^th birthday and then your 12^th and then your 13^th and so on. And each year its special. Each year some of us love the thought of having yet another surprise cake (which we know is hiding in the fridge) as soon as the clock strikes 12 am. The flurry of phone calls and the random gifts. The party or two with the people we love.

And then we celebrate our 29^th birthday and then 30^th and 31^st and for some, the fun increases with the number of parties to be thrown increasing – one for the real friends, one for the people at work, one with the family and the one where your 2 yr old cuts the cake for you. And for others the fun decreases. Its is yet another year of going towards the mid-life crises, of unpaid debts, of questions about the direction of our careers, or whether or not ambani school will accept my little one and will I be able to afford the fees.

And then we celebrate our 49^th and then the 50^th bash. And that’s when we learn to dance at the party, that’s because our children think its ‘hip and happening’. And that’s when we invite those people from school and college whose memories are only of us grumbling when they got a mark or two more than us, and knowing now how foolish we were. Those friends that you shared your lunch boxes with. Those who are balder than you are, some whose hair is whiter than yours and those who still look as dashing as they did during their residencies. That’s also when we want to boast about our children being in this college and taking part in these activities and excelling at those other things. That’s also when we invite our parents to our birthday party and we have to help them walk even when the walking stick is at their aid, who probably don’t realize what all this fuss about a 50^th birthday is, because they never had such things in those days. But they are so proud, so proud that the apple of their eye is smiling.

Next, we celebrate our 73^rd birthday and then 74^th and then 75^th. And it’s probably at the extremes of the ages that you don’t have to plan your own party. You have people do it for you. From the plush halls and exotic flowers that you have never seen in your life to the 3 tier-cake, which is a tad too creamy for your taste (when you can’t have too many sweets and you would exchange the cake for gulab jamun any day). That’s when you are the one who needs help to come on to the centre to cut the cake and you would take your cane but flatly refuse to use the wheel chair. And you stand there looking into the crown and wish that A, B and C were here but couldn’t make it through life with you so far. But soon the little grandchildren surround you before the drop of tear which has moistened your eyes even dares to come onto your face and your smile is back as those little things help you cut the cake.

And then one day you have your 80^th birthday and the 85^th …

But what if I live. I have my 35^th birthday and then I live, but I don’t have a birthday anymore.

So now, consider this.

You have your 1^st wedding anniversary when you set out for the most romantic meal of your life or even better, an entire vacation for just for the two of you.

Then you have your 8^th anniversary, which is when you heave a sigh of relief as the seven-year itch is over and you get the stamp of forever.

Then you have your 15^th anniversary, which happens just as you are at the end of your mid-life crises and things are finally looking good.

On the 30^th anniversary, you two are all alone and you get calls and messages. But the feeling of being ‘just the two of us’ now is a little depressing.

But what if I live. And only I live. Will I not have that ‘birthday’ anymore?

Change of status - from nice to ruthless shraddha, post fuming with anger. Who can you trust in kem, or for that matter in this world? They say something and mean another. God, help me survive these internship days.

It's a horrible, horrible world... inside and outside my head. Where do I escape to?

Unless it's mad, passionate, extraordinary love; it's a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life, love shouldn't be one of them.

Does perfection exist or is it just a perspective?

Boundaries

Surabhi told me a few days ago that for this year at least, and for life one should not be making boundaries in one's minds.To elaborate this... when we set boundaries for ourselves, what are we doing? Are we trying to tell our minds that this is as far as I can go and please do not bother to tell me to go beyond this? The standards that we set for ourselves, at that moment will seem to be too high but once we have reached them say a year or two later, and then 10 years pass by, the same may seem to be too low. Is it that true then that we must reach for the stars, only then will we get to the moon?

It may be true. I did set boundaries for myself some time back. Especially in an intimidating place like KEM, more so because of the people there. Maybe, I shouldn’t have. Or maybe I am just making excuses. Or maybe it was reality that I had very sensibly gauged and it egged me to work harder than I thought I could have.

A friend of mine had written how he got over it. Should I have been like that too? I would have been happier that way I think. But then, would I have been happy now? I don’t think I would have appreciated it now. Was that time the perfect one to make the mistakes that I made? Would I have been the person I am today without having gone through those times?

So, what now? Boundaries or should I aim for the stars?

Photos of my trip

http://picasaweb.google.com/shraddhasureka/JanFeb2009InPhilly?authkey=Gv1sRgCMfdm-7IjtS9rAE#

(copy and paste the link into the address bar of your web browser)