down memory lane
cherished memoriesthe old shrivelled rose flower you see in the above picture is a present from a little friend of mine; she was 8 or 9 yrs old. it is a cherished possession of mine! (obviously, for it is still with me even after seventeen long years - the kid must now be a mother with her own kids!)
what is so special about it ?
nothing; but for me it is every thing.
as usual i am being foolish. but i never wanted to be an "intelligent" man like you.
pay laagi maajione person whom i met at the "dreamer's delight" and whom i will never forget is the mother of one of my junior colleagues, a simple village woman who used to come to see me. before leaving she will place her hand on top of my head and bless me in the traditional north indian fashion, a simple gesture that speaks volumes.
ordeal by firei had gone through an ordeal by fire while in the north east on deputation with a para-military set up under the home ministry - that way life never has been a bed of roses for me.
(incidentally my "relatives" were not there that time to do me in; lucky me!)
one of my colleagues in the same set up had gone through an awkward situation earlier and i remember his aged father and full term pregnant wife rushing all the way from punjab to be with him. when my turn came i was all alone; and i did not even have a god to lean on to. i faced the music on my own. i think in that one year i aged like any thing. you put up a brave face but the trauma is all there inside.
i have no faith in god; but i do have faith in the power of the human mind. i was confident that as long as the good will of all those poor simple souls was with me, nothing could go wrong. it was this faith that helped me not only to pull through but to come out with flying colours.
ek dum bhalotripura in the north east has a large, predominant, bengali population. after my first month in udaypur i stopped using an interpreter, for by then i could speak just enough bengali to talk to the patients. they must sure have appreciated it for the bongs are very proud of their language and culture.
i was on cloud nine!
the advantage is that bongla is full of sanskrit words - manush, varsha, jol and such. you change your accent slightly and it become bengali - like instead of god save the queen, you sing god shave the queen.
also, in tripura i was mainly watching the bangla desh television. over and above the english serials, i used to listen to the bengali programs and that indeed helped me pick up the language faster. i still remember the lines of a song in one of their oft repeated music lesson "allar mekh de, paani de".( here one thing i do not understand is that, with almost all their land inundated, why should they pray for more water?!")
in spite of all the revolutionary spirit and communism i found that (at least) in tripura the bengalees were one of the most orthodox people i have ever seen. widows perforce shave their heads and use only white clothes.
i got the best compliment of my life from one such woman past seventy, no teeth at all, in all whites and with only stubbles on her scalp (for obvious reasons): "shob bol dein; doctor babu ek dum bhalo."
what do i care for the remarks of the big Cs of mct and the mud-slinging by the big Bs of the spy bureau and their pimps!
pavangal, policekaranmar!
(and the american "dollars")
* * *
"medicine is an enjoyable, exciting, privilege" - wrote an english woman, back from africa, in the bmj, recollecting her thoughts (not exactly in tranquility, but) while queueing up to collect the dole; and that was ages before bob gedolf and live8 and cable tv.
* * * * * * *
epilogue - lottie gave a tug at the hem of her elder sister's frock. she had a finger of her other hand in her mouth which she took out for a moment and gave one of those rare smiles of hers: "i saw the li'l doll!" (theme taken from one of catherine mansfield's short stories)
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viceman
051227
last modified 2006 january 19
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self-inflicted injury
while in the north east on an earlier posting fellows like me used to envy this setup. they had built up accommodation while we were in tents; you are sent to one of the companies of your own unit and the moment you leave the headquarters your meter starts ticking (DA!) - the set up was under the home ministry (policemen yaar!).
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later, after parking myself with a small detachment on the banks of the indiragandhi canal in rajsthan, crunching my teeth to hear the grating of the fine sand (which somehow or other, invariably lands up in your mouth) and listening to "ya khuda, ret ki zehere ko smaundar kar do" (jagjeet, no? ) for endless days i volunteered for deputation to this para military set up.
"that was the biggest mistake you ever made in your career. if i had your application in my hand i would have put it in the waste paper basket; but by the time i landed up here it was already gone" dada told me later in ambala. (dadas always had a soft corner for me - could be because most were fighting cocks. i vividly remember one of them putting in a good word and openly recommending me to my field ambulance boss in sikkim.)
one of the MOs from the fouj in the north east asked me how i landed up in this particular set up. i replied that i volunteered.
"that means it is a self-inflicted injury" was the retort!