The Pursuit Of Happiness

Whenever I am on call and free for dinner, NP and I manage to have dinner together at Khaasiyat. A small joint near Vile Parle Station, decent, value for money and yet safely close to the hospital in case I have to rush back for some work. We ALWAYS eat parathas there since NP has this habit of sticking to one particular dish at any place. The parathas there are amazing. The accompanying ma ki daal and chhole are good too.

So one day, we were sitting in their overhead cramped AC section and munching our parathas. Next to us were a gujju couple and another girl.

Girl: (ultra sweet, fake scolding) Jijuuuuu...take good care of my sister OK......

Jiju: Smiles, fiddling with his smart and expensive looking phone

Sister: He takes such good care of me......And provides so well for me. And I don't want ANYTHING from him. (Pativraata tone). I am satisfied with just the flat he got us in Juhu (Just? and she's just satisfied?!). I don't want ANYYTHING else.

NP to me: I hope she wants atleast some sofas for the house. Waise after buying a flat at Juhu, I hope he has money left over for that.

Me: Shhhh

Sister (continues, oblivous I presume to me and NP and our conversation):  No diamonds, jewelery and stuff. This is enough for me, I am happy.

NP and I: (nothing was said between the two of us. We were speechless)

Seven Minutes...

Yesterday was a long tiring day and by the time I had retired, it was rather late. Today was going to be a very long day, which necessitated me to rise early in the morning. To get a few more minutes to sleep in the morning, I had my long refreshing bath late at night. In the morning, with great difficulty I finally got up. Late but still a little sooner than I would have, since I had planned a lovely treat for myself in the morning. Skipped bath, had quick tea. Dressed. Since the OT was going to run for long hours, I knew my breakfast was going to be delayed indefinitely. And hence the plan for my seven minutes of pleasure.

I stepped into the kitchen, opened the box and carefully lifted out a ripe big mango. Few seconds to enjoy the fragrance of a ripe alphonso. Washed it carefully and patted dry. With a sharp knife I cut it into large pieces. The aroma of the fruit was heady and filled the kitchen. Carefully, I leaned over the kitchen counter (breakfasts on working days are seldom had sitting at the table) and relished the mango. Slowly at first and later with a gluttonous urgency. The pulp covering the seed, and later the pieces, all were gulped down in matter of seven minutes. And those were probably the most amazing seven minutes of my day. Rest of the day was a busy and forgotten about quickly. But those seven minutes in the morning made the rest of my day lovely.

Bring In The Expert....

The fat one lay placid like a lake. Barely visible from her resting place. Lazy yet beckoning.  The thin one was more like a stream in summer, snaked her way down her place of rest. I studied both of them carefully as a few beads of perspiration streaked down my forehead. Which one? was the question on my mind.

I looked at the staff nurse who had all the armamentarium to secure venous access. The venous cannulaeof varying sizes, tapes, cotton swabs, tourniquet all neatly arranged on a tray. She was all set for a "Difficult Venous Cannulation" and had called me, the so called expert Anaesthesiologist for the procedure. She looked at me with a look that said...."Do this fast and for good, I hope I can trust you."

Tourniquet tied, fist curled I tapped the fat one first. She was barely a blotch of blue and refused to fill up. Arrogance. And thats what made me want to cannulate her even more. The thin one was barely a blob under the skin of the inner side of the wrist. Yet she screamed "Try me" . "Nah I said, you shall take a small cannula while what we need here is a large bore. Fattie wins" The Fat one was nonchalant. "Here I come" and I took a bold prick. No flash of blood. Advance the cannula. No blood.....withdraw the cannula. Blood spills to the skin. "You rascal" I said. "The staff nurse must be pitying me the expert and mocking me at the same time. Or upset I shall now give up." The thin one was popping out even more now. "C'mon. you are thin and crooked. I cannot see the rest of you after that blob where you dip deeper into the skin! Its a waste to even try you. Still I shall, now that I have a cannula in my hand and my image at stake". Bold prick no. 2. Flash of bright red. Wow! Slide the cannula. Glides in effortlessly. Stretches the thin one on its way and wow, the vein is secured! Suddenly I'm the hero, who saved a patient from dehydration and more pricking and poking. 

Ah the joys of being an Anaesthesiologist! And the pleasure of cannulating a seemingly impossible vein. 

Catharsis

Sue knew she was a brave woman. Her tummy hurt from the stitches, but she was OK as long as she didn't have to turn. She looked slowly at all the faces around her...her mother, her sister and her husband. All of them were weeping shamelessly. But she felt like she was in some sort of a trance. Like she was watching some movie. She scanned the place. No, these were not her clothes, not her bed, not even her room. Not her carefully selected upholstery, not her jug of water......but the book was hers, yes, it was her book indeed. Chicken Soup for The Expectant Mother's Soul......and the rest of the room blurred in front of her eyes. Tears finally streamed down her face as she wept for her new born who had just died. 

They Are Playing My Song.....

Every song has a memory.....

Every time I listen to the songs of Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na  I feel teleported to my first year PG days. Circa 2008 when the movie had just released and the songs were a rage. The songs remind me of the lovely days I spent with my friends....staying in the dinghy musty "Call Room" on our duty days (that is the day we were on night duty at the hospital), attending calls in the hospital in the dead of the night, to save a life, or bring a new one into the world and such. Eating at the call room, bitching about our new seniors. Or going to the marine drive in the dead of the night to grab an ice cream and sit by the sea. Those were the first songs I had received on my then new phone via Bluetooth and I listened to them while travelling, while working and even falling asleep...Those songs remind me of travelling at the door of the train, feeling the wind on my face and in my hair. The songs are still a rage in my personal collection and I am never tired of listening to them. 

Such is with Dil Chahta Hain, circa 2001 when I had just joined MBBS. The movie was about coming of age, of 3 boys Akash, Sameer and Siddharth. And in a strange sort of way, the same year I too went through a similar coming of age when I became, from a bound to and sheltered at home college girl a hostelite medical student out in the world almost by herself. I remember watching this movie on a large screen at our first college festival and the songs still remind me how awed I was by the movie and by the whole college crowd. and being in college, studying what you always wanted to.

Every song has a memory; every song has the ability to make or break your heart, shut down the heart, and open the eyes. But I’m afraid if you look at a thing long enough; it loses all of its meaning
— Andy Warhol.

I still do not understand the last line of this quote, and its relation to the first two lines. But I love this quote, it says what I feel deep in my heart