I, Me, Myself

This story was written back in 2010 as an entry for the Deccan Heral Short Story Competition. Back then I was a second year medical student, and was fascinated by diseases of the mind. Now having taken up Psychiatry as a specialization, I re read it, and I must say it's quite an accurate description( save for fictional liberty).  .................................................................................................................................................................. ‘Raman, how much exactly is eight times thirteen?’, I queried.  It was the fag end of the day, my feet were aching and I didn’t exactly pride myself with regards to my mathematical abilities. All I wanted was to tally the change, finish the cursory submission work and head home. ‘One hundred and four’, rapt came the reply. This boy had a sharp mind. Pity he didn’t put it to much use but to place bets at the bar that he’ll shortly be heading over to; to intoxicate himself to the p...

On a balmy night, as I tredged across the campus, freshly painted with the evening's shower, I let my mind wander. Not wander as we often do, unaware and unconsciously... but more of a permitted wander. One where I encouraged my thoughts to take flight, jump spectrums and pick up rich embellishments from the environs around.       This is a campus I've now lived on for 14 months. It was , as a matter of fact, love at first sight. The day when I first set eyes on this quaint mini-town with its spatter of stone buildings and and cottages from a bygone era,   ... it seemed like the someone had dialled the sleepy town setting on a time machine. As I moved a year and a half later to live on this campus , my affection only grew stronger. The walk replenish my parched soul, and I realised how caught up I'd been the last few months that I'd barely taken time for this leisure stroll. As I pondered , time flew by and here I am, all set to bid adieu to this b...

So it's the fag end of the year and I ask myself where was I last year at the same time?! And how is this any different from what it was 365 days back? Have I done all that I set out to do? To see, hear and feel... Have I had happy conquests and numbing losses? What've I learnt? And more importantly, what've I unlearnt?!  Have I lived atleast a few days to the fullest, enough to refresh my spirit? Have I looked on upon the wondrous valleys? Have I gazed at the starry sky with a heavenward prayer at my lip?  As the clock ticks towards closure on another chapter, I vow, to break free of vows! To wonder, to wander. To imagine and to discover! To breathe in the happiness of the human spirit, to relive the warmth of hug on a moonlit night!  To live ... To life!

It gushes forth, a harried flurry then a steady drizzle. Yet as I peek though the hourglass , my mind is at  a standstill.  The last few grains trickle by unflinched.

Into your mind i peek, Yet I  hear not the speak. The myriad oddities you do utter, While you smile and mutter. I know not what goes on out there. Boiling in your minds inner lair. But as I look into yonder, I can't help but wonder, Oh dear boy, what is it that you need, To my medicines will you not heed, And yet you battle each day, To understand or to be understood I can't say. Through the annals of history I pore, You're story so unique yet shared by so many more. From Bleuler to Schneider, Sure our knowledge has grown wider, But yet not can I tell, The voice will be banished to hell. But m'lad, This is the journey we embark upon, For every night has a dawn. And so it shall be, The caverns of your mind one day light shall see.

Growing up in a big city, I always had my weekends packed with the myriad of mundane that we metropolitan dwellers are acquainted with. And so, since the time I've shifted to this quaint little town , nestled in the belly of this hot, fire breathing land, the first question I ask of the locals is," What do you do here on weekends?" ... I get a general matter-of-fact shrug and a 'you know ...' look! The answer though remains elusive. But of course, there's this big beast called google which has intruded all our lives, and so be it the charming countryside or the bustling city centre , we're doing much the same thing. Selling our souls to the internet! However, on this charming afternoon, following a stirring session with Dr.A, a bunch of us headed down a different path. A few scrapes and grazes and a little more uphill effort later we were there, atop College Hill! The view from atop the hill!                  ...

    In the mad rush of today’s outpatient department , even as I noted the duration of his cough and enquired about the tremulousness of his hand, I could , feel the ticking hands of the clock breathing down my neck. The corridor outside my tiny room was overflowing with the sick and the needy, ebbing with tales of pain and sorrow. They sat there pleading to be heard, hoping to be understood, and above all, praying to be cured. I felt overawed by this sheer deluge that was now at my doorstep, people, families from far and wide were here, having battled long queues and prolonged waiting lists running into months just to obtain this appointment. Would the next few minutes they spend with me put a name on their suffering, or would they still be wandering in the dark corridors of ambivalence, oscillating between hope and despair.  The next few minutes, that is all I have to understand this person’s elaborate story spanning a third of his life, a story of his pain in...

This story was written in the summer of 2013 as an entry for the annual Deccan Herald Short Story Competition. As she nuzzled against me, I felt the warmth of her little body, the slow breathing synchronising with mine. Her almond eyes tightly shut, her somnolent mind led for a walk amongst the stars. I remember the very first time I held Maya to my bosom. My blood was still throbbing following the eight hours of intense labour. I was drained, parched and broken. Yet true to her name, those little fingers, as I entwined mine with hers, wielded a magic wand. No sooner than did I peer into those brown eyes, that I was healed. My baby. The tiny steps she took, were momentous milestones in our lives. Her tiny feet traced a path the lit its way into our hearts. First a coo then a call, our little girl was growing up fast. It came as a bolt from the blue. One day my little girl was jumping and playing about, walking into walls, losing her balance on the bicycle...

An insight into the intriguing lives of the Mughal dynasty, especially their women and in particular their daughters... The Mistress of the Throne is a semi fictional memoir of  the unsung princess Jahanara and how she played a defining role in shaping India's history from behind the veils.  A powerful, independent and strong character, born  perhaps about 500 years ahead of time, her remarkable life, her vision and her sacrifices appear to be the less chronicled aspects of what undoubtedly was the Golden Era of the Mughal Rule. Her unparalleled love for her eccentric family is remarkable. As an adolescent she was thrust into the forefront of royal responsibilities soon after her mother , the legendary Mumtaz Mahal breathed her last, yet this Persian beauty wore the title of Shah Jahan 's Empress and that of a foster mother to her siblings with grace and dignity. The melancholy of her own life not withstanding, she was the will behind the Taj Mahal, thus immortalizing...

The blue sky, the bird and the butterfly, In all their cerulean glory, for my attention do vie, I strain my brain to not give a grain, Putting to work all those years of train. Teasing me with a sweep and caress, The evening breeze seeks to ease my brows creased with stress. Yet I persevere, hard and fast, But I do fear my will won't last, Alas, I have been at this for the day past. Yet, to my master, I implore, The myriad distractions shall you ignore! Dear, hippocampus , I've a lot of work you see, Do, I can't , all that which would set my spirit free. And so despite the finger itch, I must put in the next stitch. Yet, I see how you're writing without a glitch, And now the urge to have me read has reached , a fever's pitch. Ah well, about physiology, (for now), the devil may care, For I will pick up that pen and lay my thoughts bare. Thus, I write, frigid and terse, And out flows this rusty verse. * to all the connoisseurs out there...

I woke up this morning to the very reassuring news that govt MBBS doctors in Karnataka are to see a salary hike , and it will now see them cashing in on 60K a month!! Yayy that's great news for my clan! And even more so for " MY CLAN " i.e. all those fresh MBBS graduates (read #babydocs, #jrdocs, #jrs) at the mercy of mankind, coursing through all of Dante's hells to arrive at the ultimate prize ... a PG seat! ( associated perks : fulfilled ambition, reinstilled sense of self worth, a job and a salary, recognition, a SPOUSE!!!, ... and I've also heard whispered in some corners 'Happiness!!') And so as we course through this phantasmic journey, unmindful of the endless night duties, the thesis terrors, the next quest for DM/Mch and other what nots that will follow in the post PG life...! As the rest of the world scales great heights ( specifically with regards to their bank accounts), we trudge along the dreary path where exams are mile stones and ...

... Came in as the summers' breeze, first a whiff,then a caress; and soon all was at ease. Such was the magic, such was the charm, the cold countenance melted, leaving the insides soft and warm. The spring flowers bloomed and the bees held sway, the hues grew brighter each passing day. The fairy lights i noticed like never before, for you were with me for ever more. But as autumn heralds a bitter chill, dark clouds marooneed over yonder hill. Quiet grew the songbirds, the lesson in absence learnt; your silence speaks louder than your words.

One bright and sunny morning, I wake up to the not so startling realization that the world around me is filled with fools! Old fools and young fools, flowery fools and mute fools, tall fools and fat fools, pretentious fools, and a whole lot of plain ol' fools! There's just an epidemic of foolishness it appears, and if you don't walk around with all of your bodily orifices firmly plugged, you might as well catch it! So once this happy realization has sunk in, and your mind is in the midst of a thunderstorm even as the sun outside bakes all and sundry, you try hard.... to 'reason'! The what ifs, and yets, the maybes and the may nots..... your effervescent brain dons the garb of the 'Devil's Advocate'! And so it was with me! But argue as I may in the court of my mind, I have not much to say, for the defendant is the devil itself, a fool! A waste of time, of space and of my grey matter! Were they made to entertain us or to annoy us, I know not, yet t...

The following morning, the lady woke up. The lawyer had left, for his morning walk.  After a strong dose of caffeine and popping yet another aspirin, she turned her attention to his closet. The previous night’s coat having been identified, was given a quick yet thorough search. This going down in vain, she turned to the drawers, then  the night stand, the book shelf… her initial caution being abandoned, things were now flung helter skelter, the room in a mess. The crucial piece of evidence remained elusive. I’m being silly and paranoid! Half relieved, half tired she sat down by the study.  The neat velvet packaging was unmistakable. The blue box, the golden embossed logo, unmistakable… Half an hour later, she was still sitting at the table, twirling it with her fingers. Hell was beginning to take a human form. Presently the doorbell rang, only to be replaced by the clattering of metal on tiled floor. The stones rolled out, and the intricately set patter...

 The middle aged woman was deep in conversation with the Colonel’s son, a smart young lieutenant himself. The lady walked around the pillar to get a better look at this stranger, but her effort was to be in vain, for some of her friends barged in between and struck up conversation. A couple of drinks, a dance or two, and few random conversations later, the lady had quite settled into the flow of the festivities. Despite the strain of the past fortnight, she surprised herself with the amount of enthusiasm she could muster. And so, the gaiety continued… and it would have, had she not noticed the hems of the silver gown, yet again. This time, the lieutenant had disappeared, but the woman was in conversation with another man, his back to the dance floor. Her face was pale, but the dark brown of her hair and eyes, coupled with the sharp nose, and high cheek bones made it an attractive package. Then there was that hour glass frame, the generous bosom. The long slender fingers br...

It was at one such lazy afternoon when quite a few ladies had gathered at her home for tea that the lady of the house first heard about Ms. X. A wealthy spinster, she came each winter to the valley, laid her manicured claws on an able male, usually labeled quite a ‘catch’, and after a blink-and-you-miss it romance in the valley, made away with him, into the dark under belly of the city below. Nothing more would ever be heard of her rich and handsome-prey, yet she’d return the following year, intact, her pristine smile et al. This had happened very many times over the past decade or so. But no one spoke about it in front of her, for: a.)   The valley people were well meaning, dignified, and didn’t per say probe into anything that wasn’t their business. and b.)   Well, Ms. X seemed to be quite high up in the echelons of power, or so it would seem. And so this trend had settled into being the rumour mongerers’ staple. “Age is surely catching up! The lines are showi...

My entry for DH short story contest 2012 KISS AND TELL Chapter 1 “Nearly done, there you go!”, he commented, putting down the saw and admiring his handiwork. His tall frame was drenched in perspiration, but his eyes sparkled with the satisfaction of having completed his task. Though a shade over sixty five, the former lawyer, thought his wife, looked… well resplendent. Despite the generous sprinkling of silver hair, the lines of wisdom which creased his temples, he still radiated the same powerful ‘something’ which drew her to him all those many years ago! A shy smile homed in on her face, as the memories of the glorious past streamed in. The first time she set her eyes on him, as a gawky eighteen year old in the bus, she thought him attractive, but it was only when they spoke, a long time later, that he truly won her heart. The courtship, the romance, she was well and truly swept off her feet. He was witty, intelligent, handsome, yet there was a mysterious something ab...

My dad, or Baba as I call him, has been and continues to be an inspiration. What he has taught me over 22 years, are the pillars of guidance and strength which I look upto both in rapture and despair. The relationship I had with my dad, was not a very conventional one, at least I would think so. For starters I am very much like him, impatient and perennially in a hurry! So as you would imagine, we had our fair share of arguments, but the part I liked the best was, every argument could be settled with a ‘Sorry’ and a tight hug within the span of an hour if not sooner, and voila.. just like that we were friends again. This is one of the most important things I picked up from my dad very early on in life. If he, my dad, my hero, could apologise to me then I should never consider myself beyond an apology, and if I’m at fault I’m always ready to.  Some of the other cherished memories are of going with him of Cubbon Park and Vidhana Saudha every Sunday, of going to kaka near Natio...