A Breath, At Last.

A baby girl was born in a tiny hamlet;

Tiny and blue, she began her first innings in the ICU.

A frequent visitor; the nebulizer was her healing amulet,

To her, the IV Lines and oxygen masks were nothing new.

Bubbly and bright, she greeted everyone in her sight,

The apple of her mother’s eye;

There wasn’t a treatment they didn’t try,

Yet the little one was always cheerfully high.

A constant worry about the future,

A test was done to reveal the disease nature,

It was a faulty gene they said,

Going on, it would be a rocky road ahead.

Yet another episode came and went,

Each time making a slow but steady dent,

Until her poor lungs could no longer pay this oxygen rent,

Every cell in her body was thoroughly spent.

In delirium she spoke of a happier place,

Perhaps there would be a garden at this unknown place,

She hoped she could breathe at a slower pace then,

And thus retired the brave girl to a heavenly embrace.

Written in memory of Darshini a 15 year old girl, a regular at Cheluvamba Hospital who was a case of Primary Ciliary Dyskinesia. 

Darshini fought bravely until her untimely death. Will always remember her for walking into the PG doctors room and making conversation with us, asking us random questions, with a wide toothy smile. 

Rest in Peace. ❤️🙏🏼

The Walk Home.

My father said we were to pack up soon,

A long walk; because I wasn't born with a silver spoon.

I asked if I could bring my bat and ball,

But he said I would get one when they would reopen the mall.

I waved goodbye to my friends at the site,

The construction workers with whom I spent every night.

The mother carried the heaviest load among us,

After all, didn't she carry bricks without a fuss?

My father said we were to walk home to the village,

Yet my blistered feet did not give much mileage.

He said we would work in the fields and harvest,

But I was hungry and in need of rest.

My mother says a virus is here to stay,

To remain indoors is the only way,

But my father asks, what about our monthly pay,

And so I'm walking; to a place far away.

Musings of May

The Time Machine.

To travel back in time, how I yearn!

Ancient scripts and hieroglyphics to discern,

For glimpses of dynasties and an era gone by,

I'd hop onto a time machine and fly!

Amidst the aristocratic royals at the Promenade,

Perhaps a British earl to serenade,

Beyond the Iron Curtain in an oriental landscape,

Living in exotic castles with trapdoors to escape.

With zest and zeal, I join the Industrial Revolution,

While the world grapples with illnesses having no solution.

The rise of modern era, the decline of an Empire,

Enslaved nations begin to rebel and aspire.

Through the freedom struggles, I stride,

As a new nation is born, I watch with pride.

Through riots, wars, poverty and disease we emerge,

At the dawn of the millenium, we surge.

As I pass through stamped post cards and ringing telephones,

I pause and reflect at this moment of peace,

If only this instant, I could capture and seize;

And not go back to a virus spreading with ease!

Dreaming of cherry blossoms in Japan,

While looking at rotations of my fan.

Scrolling through meadows and mountains afar,

As dust gathers on our unused car.

Building castles in the air,

About when I could go out without a care!

An Ode To Imagination.

On flying chariots and winged unicorns I travel,

Even as spell binding tales of wizards and witches unravel,

On broomsticks and carpets I fly into the starry night,

Or perhaps shuttle across the galaxy, hold tight!

With birds and beasts as companions, I explore,

Unknown lands and mystic folklore,

On other days, I live in a futuristic universe,

With gadgets and gizmos that speak in verse.

They say we lack magic and superpower,

But have you ever stopped to marvel at the mind,

Spinning yarns of places you could never find,

Of creatures and creations beyond our kind?

Neither the past or future we hold,

We can only watch as history shall unfold,

Yet, Imagination, with no threshold,

Is perhaps worth its weight in gold! 

.

//To the creativity of every fantasy book you've read, sci-fi thriller you've watched or the latest imaginative series you're bingeing on!//.

.

Attempts of April.

I'm probably not going to find a lot of support in this but I'm managing to get through the lockdown without any frustration. 'Is that even normal?' is a valid question at this point but all I'm saying is, I like how I'm getting this time to do everything I've wanted to do.

• I've watched The Office, Money Heist, (most of) Downton Abbey, Pushpavalli, a few good movies here and there. 
• I've been trying to practice some music everyday and it's great to revisit all the songs I learnt more than 10 years ago. 
• There's also some time for art that I have the freedom to attempt thanks to my mom's supplies. I'm also tinkering around in the kitchen these days and the results aren't too bad. 
• After a year of sitting in front of a study table piled with books and being absolutely inactive, it's a great feeling to get some workout within the comfort of my own home, thanks to Cult! (never thought I'd join the cult of Cult followers but there it is! This has really been a boon during this lockdown) 
• The icing on the cake is the new entrant; the Quarantine Quizzing sessions every night that I've joined since the last fortnight. Although the questions are mostly very difficult and my scores are abysmally low, it's a lot like the quizzes I would attend back in school and there's always some interesting trivia to take away from these. 

I've tried to pick up on my reading habit but its a lot slower these days to be honest and that's probably because of my attention span.

• Tell Me Your Dreams : Sidney Sheldon (A book I had wanted to read for a long time now. Unlikely murders, a mental illness and a courtroom drama)
• Nothing Ventured : Jeffrey Archer (The usual tale of twists and turns about a detective out to expose a suave fraudster)
• Fragile Lives: Professor Stephen Westaby (A British Cardiac Surgeon's experience over the years in his profession)
• A Doctor's Chronicles: Dr. Bharath Reddy (A paediatrician sharing is diverse experience of working with kids)
• The Girl On The Train: Paula Hawkins (This is still in progress but it appears to be a thriller set in Britain. As you can see, it hasn't reached the point of being a page-turner yet.)

I've also tried to write, after what seems like ages and although it's far from perfect, I'm really happy with myself for making a start! After drowning in writer's block for ages, this is a breath of fresh air and I'm happy to be making these imperfect attempts at poetry. :)

What would you be?

If you were the wind wafting across the flowers,

Would you caress the flowers, leaving them quivering?

If you were the sturdy tree in the woods,

Would you give a lost soul a humble dwelling?

If you were the ripples in the blue sea,

Would you clutch at the grains of sands anyway?

If you were the raindrops falling from the sky,

Would you sit gently and shimmer on the cobwebs?

If you were the warm crackling fire,

Would your embers give solace to the hillside vagrant?

If you could just be yourself in this world,

Wouldn't it make a difference in the Universe?

The Procrastinating Bibliophile.

To all the books that lie unread,

Purchased once with eagerness,

Yet overlooked for another book instead,

Know that I still love you no less.

To all the books that wait their turn,

Patiently lined up in my shelf,

For a sleek Kindle, I shall never spurn,

Next time, I always tell my lazy self.

To all my books, eager to be read,

Yet, tossed away for a shiny new find,

One fine day, in your path I shall tread,

Until that time, don't you ever mind!

To The White Army.

To my brethren that bleeds elsewhere,

Know that you are precious and rare.

To my comrades without their armour,

Our battles are not one but plenty.

To heal and help we began our journey,

In your recovery, we found our reflected glory.

The nights spent over patients aplenty,

Were worthwhile when they walked out healthy.

While we take on a microscopic enemy,

'Keep Us Safe' being our only plea,

Yet today we stand aghast and helpless,

For mankind can be violent and ruthless.

To my brethren that bleeds elsewhere,

Perhaps not all is lost in despair,

We shall live to see better days,

Humanity shall get through this dark phase.

Jaychu's Kitchen :)

 
 

 

Artistic Attempts :P

 

So that's all for now. Perhaps, there shall be something more interesting coming up in the next blogposts. ;)

Quarter of a Century.

Uncertainties and doubts loom large

But it was time for the annual recharge.

They say nature has the power to heal

With renewed vigour and zeal,

I set off towards yet another climb,

Except this was one was past bedtime!

Through the city we trudged for an hour or so,

And then we began our trek underneath the starry glow.

Puffing and panting, I was breathless in minutes,

Looking down, I could see the lights of the nearby rustic huts.

Why go through this, I asked my sedentary self plenty

But perhaps this is Nature's cashless fee.

As the cold winds taunted us towards the edge,

I knew this was a test I could not sledge.

Settling down into a sleeping bag on the hilltop

I realized there are so many things in Life I cannot stop

But the beauty of the nightsky was mine to cherish

The whizzing shooting stars were mine to wish.

Waking up to an ethereal streak of colour

That slowly grew into shades of pink and amber,

A peacock screamed lustily in the distance,

And Nature thus showcased her brilliance.

In the midst of the uncertainty that lies ahead

Not knowing the upcoming paths I shall tread,

This moment would be mine for eternity

Nature demands, but also unconditionally provides.

A New Decade.

10. Makhna - Drive 

9. Naznina

8. Manzar Hai Ye Naya - Uri

7. Believer

6. Fight Song

5. Hall of Fame

4. A Million Dreams

3. The Fighter

2. Challa - Uri

1. And recently - Malang Malang

And some more songs that gave me a lot of peace. It's almost like a routine to begin the day with some of the invigorating hymns of Shiva/ Hanuman/Durga.

There's a lot uncertainty about the road ahead and it's hard to deal with this cloud hovering above but we can only hope that there's going to be sunshine soon. If not, try to create my own happiness and take what life has to offer with gratitude.

The 2019 was a year that was a challenging transition; from the routine of hostel life to adapting to one at home. It's been a bittersweet experience but one that is perhaps necessary to progress to the next phase of life.

Here's summing up the journey through the subjects that I love and the ones that I have grown to love.

Biochemistry's cycles and pathways have a similar destiny,
Molecules interact within our body with the sole aim of energy.
The hand and foot are an Anatomist's prized tricks,
Leaving us baffled with overlapping muscles and intricate vessels.

Physiology attempts to simplify the complexities of our body,
With flowcharts, formulae and graphs.
While Psychiatry divides the maladies of the mind,
Based on myriad symptoms and specific durations.

Worms and their larva, but some with their operculated egg,
Don't even get me started on identifying mites and ticks by their leg!
Viruses with their myriad shapes and sizes arrive,
Only to be silenced by vaccines; killed and alive.

Through mosquito stats and sanitation facts we sojourn,
While nutrition facts and occupational hazards cause some heart burn.
Through charts and graphs we hope for some reprieve,
But the normal distribution curve has several tricks up its sleeve!

The pathways of disease were dealt in Pathology,
Mechanisms inside the microscopic cell lead to macroscopic changes!
With its artistic histopath slides in 50 shades of Purple and Pink,
Every tissue marker seemed to have a link!

Transporting us to the Labor Room,
OBG thrived on giving us scenarios in the womb.
From interpreting the partograms of obstructed labor,
To staging ovarian and endometrial carcinomas,
This subject surely couldn't be ignored!

What begins with audiograms and tympanograms,
Escalates into a variety of -plasties in tiny orifices.
ENT has its tuning fork tests and hearing devices,
Even as we fumble with the inner ear diagrams.

Cunningly similar, yet subtle differences emerge,
Fundoscopies of the eye have seen a recent surge.
Ophthalm explores beyond the mundane cataracts and conjunctivitis
Into the realm of corneal ulcers, dystrophies and uveitis.

Be it the tall and tented T Waves of Potassium excess,
Or the giant a waves of tricuspid stenosis,
The ST elevations of an MI to its exact artery involved,
Waves of all kinds are always favoured.

If splints and tractions of Ortho fill you to the brim,
Wait for the named fractures of every limb,
In Dermat, you navigate through the many layers of your skin,
Fungal infections and STDs are its kith and kin!

Milestones from a neonate to an unsteady toddler,
Abundant Syndromes like Turner, Edward and Potter.
Facts and figures, scores and cancer stages,
IPCs and CrPCs fill our pages,
A race against time, a chance, perhaps of a lifetime!

.

Limitless Love .

Wrinkled with the fine lines of their ripe age,
Peppered with the ills that poverty bring,
Bereft of the love and care of their offspring,
They arrived with savings of their meagre wage.

Immobilized by disease, she lay bedridden
Yet beneath the pain, a coy smile was hidden,
Aged yet agile, he rallied around for her care,
Her infected foot, he vowed to repair.

He pleaded and prodded all day long,
Until even the hardest heart melted at his adoration,
His relentless efforts would make her strong,
She regained her colour with his dedication.

A love so pure they shared,
That crossed boundaries of age and ill health,
Others often watched and admired
That their attachment was their one true wealth.

An ode to Mrs. S and her husband whom I had the opportunity to meet during my surgery postings at Hassan.

Summer Child..

The mere memory of you in me
Once had words flowing in a fervent breeze
You remain etched within my soul
Irreplaceably firm from the roots.

I often wondered what had I lost
That words failed me when I needed them most.
Empty and hollow were the echoes of my musings,
Quietly I sheltered myself from my own bruises.

Like the sea that goes back to the sands in vain,
I burn bright in this self inflicted pain,
I smile at the cost of my sanity
And for the fleeting moments of unreality.

Roars To Silence.

A formidable figure in the past,
Among others he stood tall and strong,
With a commanding presence that would last
He marched to the tune of his own song.

Against odds he rose to a eminent stature,
For years he was at the coveted pinnacle
A man revered and feared for formidable nature
His baritone created ripples along the rural folk.

But Fate moved the dice one fine day,
For none can forever keep illness at bay,
And thus began the decline towards doomsday
Ravaged by the insidious tumour, he would sway.

Alas it was a cruel trick upon him,
As his deep voice hollowed into a ghostly whisper
And his frame melted Into bony nothingness,
His dignity was shredded forever.

His spirit battled against his frail frame,
As he accepted his inelegant mortality,
His lost glory he could not reclaim
Yet with stoic grace he walked to his finality.




To the 80+ old man with a Carcinoma Larynx. He can't talk. The tumour has invaded his pharynx as well. So he can't swallow either so he needs a jejunostomy. He is shrunken and shrivelled up and his eyes are hollow. More than that it's the feeling of helplessness that he can't control the drooling and cant express anything verbally. You begin to wonder that when someone says they are 'alive' there are different degrees of being alive and this is also one kind of living.

On further interaction with the patient's attenders, I gathered that he worked as a revenue officer across the state and that he was a well read man. I saw for myself when I received a note in English from the patient for a complaint he had. :)

Nefelibata.

Picture Imperfect.

Tell me everything I shouldn't know

The dark stains that refuse to go.

Fill me with the darkness that shall blind,

The answers to the questions on my my mind.

Beneath that fine veneer and sheen

Maybe there are unknown tales to glean.

Fall from that pedestal of glory please

Bestow that starched white with some grease.

Tell me everything I shouldn't know

Anything to let go of that halo

Fill me with dark lies so I may believe

And hope to seek an uncomfortable refuge.

Beneath that chiseled perfection I see

Maybe there are crevices and cracks unknown to me

For now that is all the reason I can live with

To believe that it is after all a delusional myth.

When I'm not swatting flies and seeing inebriated patients on night duty at the Holehonnur CHC, I'm scamming their free WiFi and attempting to relearn how to write poetry.

Working at a PHC for a month and now a CHC has been an interesting experience so far, opening your eyes to the amount of sickness and disease. It also makes you realize how the things you take for granted are privileges to someone else.

During my free time in the day, I've been doing paintings that should probably be torn up into 38372827 pieces yet I still have them probably because they are so stupid they are a little funny. :')

Oh and I'm also listening to some music after what seems like ages! :) 

• Kajra Mohabbat Wala (Sachet Tandon)
• You can be king again (I'm not really into anime but I should thank Medha for this!)
• Nindaraan Diyaan (Amit Trivedi) <3
• Your hand in mine (Explosions in the sky)
• K (Cigarettes after sex)
• What's my name (Rihanna) (I heard this recently after years and I couldn't believe I was a big fan of this once xD

^ A cloud walker. An individual who lives in the clouds of her own imagination or dreams. A person who doesn't abide by the rules of society, literature, or art. 

A Billion Worlds.

We live in a world of contrasts;
A conglomeration of extremes.
While a little one utters its first cry in a grubby labour room in a village, another is already trending on social media.
While the little girl who studies at the local school dreams of becoming a teacher,
another boy juggles between cricket, guitar and the perfect grades.
While one relishes the chat by the roadside stall as a treat,
another has a brunch at the upscale resort in town.
While one lit the midnight oil in a nondescript town to bring life to those dreams,
another light up to banish those insecurities in a cloud of grey.
While one was blessed with conjugal bliss,
Another was tethered to a lucrative kiss.
While one sweats it out for the daily bread,
another plunders through wastefulness and opulence.
While one surrenders to the elements,
Another challenges them and defies death.
Between these two divides lie the great majority.
In awe of wealth, yet aware of cruel Fate's stealth.     
Cushioned from dire poverty yet embroiled in competitive vagary.
Cocooned from squalor but desirous of glamour.
We live in a world of contrasts;
A conglomeration of extremes.
With a billion stories within us we live,
With hope that some dreams shall fulfil.

Reveries of a Harried Soul.

Sparks Fly

Like the sizzling crackle of embers in dry firewood,
Like the million electric charges piercing barren land,
They were sparks that seemed like fireworks,
An entity so magical best left untouched.

Not dampened by the swirling clouds,
Left unscathed by the scorching heat,
They shone with a glow in their eyes,
Akin to fireflies glittering against the night skies.

Yet every radiant flame that ever shone;
Would know that its light was only a borrowed loan.
The embers that braved the external assault
Were extinguished by their own emptiness.


(16th November)


Raw.

The nervous quiver as I speak
The ugly bruise over my knee
The angry pimple on my cheek
Are honest watermarks of the real me.

The curves of my smile
That curl into a sarcastic jibe
The curves of my imperfect body
I embrace as my quintessential vibe.

But it is the starry dreams of my soul
That make me whole
And the fragile hopes in my heart
That sets me apart.

I speak with feet firm on ground
But with a spirit that soars abound
A heart enslaved by its own wrath
Yet raring to embrace the unknown path.


(26th November)

I am still coughing up in the library but the good news is that our fridge finally has some goodies for snacking in my compartment! The above nonsense was penned at odd hours when I was saturated with Hernias and Hydatiform Moles and decided to spill some thought-ink.

I want this year to end. ASAP. 

String Of Flowers.

A string of flowers for her silky strand,
He walked into her life, asking for her hand.
Endless sunsets and misty mornings in mind,
Reality was otherwise, she would soon find.

Away from the simple cows and the grazing meadow;
A village belle within four walls and a window.
Away from the friendly folk and rustic lore,
She lay forgotten but for her marital chore.

Bereft of the care and love she craved,
Alas, her first born could not be saved.
Agony and pain seethed through her veins,
In futile hope, she clutched at the remains.

No longer was she the cherished one,
After all, she had failed to beget a son.
A string of flowers she saw in his hands,
But they never made it home to her silky strands.

As the eager wife waited in her desolate tome,
The flowers found their way to another home.
And they wondered why she turned insane.
After all, wasn't he handsome and humane?





//Now I'm writing something after what feels like months. I'm surprised I could even string two words together. This is based on a movie plot that I heard from a friend and a fertile imagination. KThanksbye

More Than Equal

Little ones that come to Earth,
Maybe they are not all equal at birth;
While some grow up with beauty and intelligence,
Others grow on unconditional love and patience.

With eyes that smile but do not see,
Little do they realize everything they could be.
Perhaps a story they would like to say,
With voices that do not see the light of the day.

The same blood that runs in their veins,
Pumps a heart untouched and pure.
Forever they remain free of the stains,
For which the rest of mankind knows no cure.


Written as an ode to the 9 year old girl with Cerebral Palsy..

Summertime Soliloqouy.

The bird that was meant to soar,
Shall only pause in the summer shade;
It's wings that cannot be chained,
Shall only rest awhile in the storm.

The freedom of the open skies shall prevail,
For nothing could hinder a ship that has set sail,
Perhaphs this was how the journey was meant to be;
In her own strength, with the choice to be free.

Unbound yet with deeper bonds she flew,
In the memories of the past, she grew;
Cherished within were stories untold,
But the beating heart remained it's own.

Every cloud has a silver lining 

Rhapsodies In The Rain.

The mesmerising scent of the pure Earth,
The tangible freshness of the air,
The hesitant quiver of young foliage against the wind;
The overcast sky was poised to perform.

Tender drops glittered down in grace,
Even as the skies opened up with renewed fervour.
The nascent buds bloomed into a vibrant rhapsody,
Even as the seasoned trees embraced the ethereal showers.

The unwritten cue for celebration in some,
The song of monsoon is an eloquent hum.
Droplets condensed into a rapturous shower,
And Nature was ensnared in the arms of the heavenly power.

To some, this magic remains a stormy downpour,
Its chilling pleasure they may never explore,
The emblem of a raging tempest for the ordinary,
Is the stamp of an exotic dream, albeit momentary.

I was a bit skeptical about this one but it's actually got some veiled references. I'm trying to show how the rains can hold Nature under its spell. I want to potray that  people can experience the same monsoon weather and feel differently. To one, it is a celebration of their love. It seems that the rains are euphoric about their togetherness. To the other, the rain is but a reminder of a painful past. The same thing can mean different things to different people.

Moonlight Memoirs.

It was in the quiet melody of the night,
Guided by the tranquil beauty in white,
It was underneath the star spangled sky
That the wandering souls came alive.

She peeked through the veil of grey,
Offering only a sliver of lustrous white
In those fleeting moments she shone
With a radiance that brightened the darkest souls.

It was in the tempest of dark nights,
That the restless wanderer found a lamp,
That the wayward traveller found a path,
When she glowed with an ethereal beauty.

The dark night gave refuge to the haunted
They drifted away in her presence
But to the scheming minds prowling in the dark
But to those who crept stealthily under her light,
She led them to the stairways of death.

Flowers From The Forgotten Past

The old man sat at the end of the lane,

Stringing flowers from sunrise to sundown.
He watched with some joy and some more pain;
His garlands and bouquets across the town.

They came at all times of the day,

In the hopes of winning their loved ones,

After all, flowers speak the language of the soul,

And he wished he had done the same, if only once.

It was only ever in the rain,

As he watched the flowers wilt unused, 

As he remembered the flower he refused,

That he felt in his heart that familiar pain.

//Looking Too Closely - Fink//

Melodies From Another World

They sat by the side of bustling lanes,
A wooden lute they wielded with ease,
The eager tourists walked past the lilting strains,
But the languid traveller was easy to please.
Blind to their audience, they crooned in a local dialect,
Of the universal feelings of loss and neglect.

The clink of coins rewarded them many a time,
For sharing their sorrow in verse and rhyme.
They bared their souls in an alien tongue,
But after all it was the language of love they sung.

The flaming glow of the setting sun lit up the winter sky,
But the two men sang on with a fiery passion,
Like a bird that had discovered it could fly;
Denied of sight, music had given them vision.

Innocence

Its meaning I set out to define,
And I delved through memories of mine.
Flashes of sunny days floated by,
Rising on the swing as the sky unfurled.
Glimpses of cold winter evenings flashed by,
Ensconced in a book, I was in another world.

Was it in the paper boats floating on a rainy day?
Or the doodles on the wall that refused to be erased?
Did it lie in the cloud shapes in the sky?
Or maybe in the butterflies that we chased?

Was it in the squabbles in school over stationery?
Or in the flutter of our hearts which was only temporary?
Was it in the plaited hair and plain old skirt?
Or in the shoes that shone without a speck of dirt?

Maybe it was in the happiness for the little things,
The blooming of flowers in spring,
The scent of the mud that the rain brings,
Or perhaps in the joy of listening to the neighbourhood birds sing.

Maybe, back then it was a simpler time,
It remained within but I never gave a dime.
It lasted while I was in ignorance,
But today, it has no existence.