"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?