A post-surgery introspection

Sometimes I like the feel of spitting blood. Other than being saline it is the sacred feeling to see it live, once in so many years, or perhaps only a few times in a lifespan. These days I am living my best- tasting, circulating it in my buccal cavity and eventually spitting it out. Uggh! Ugly, isn't it?

My surgery has left me with nothing else to do but rest. Lying with a straight spine, I spend my day with my over stuffed nose dug in my droid, and breathing from my mouth. Today is the fourth day and I spend sunrise to sunset sipping juice and eating bread and porridge, and not to forget a handful of tablets twice a day- just in hopes of getting better. Sometimes blood mixed with saliva or mucus brings in a different taste. On a normal day it might taste bad, but on bed rest it tastes quite unique and sacred.

There are things that I fear now, things that are more fearful than that surgery. The list of feared things is topped with sneezing and coughing. Sneeze can severely harm by corroding the inner sides of the operated nasal cavity. So I give my best to stop any possible sneeze or coughing. Last when I got instincts of a coming sneeze, fear started creeping in about the immediate aftereffects. Knowing that it had to be stopped at any cos I started rubbing my throat and nose in a repeatedly hasty manner, until it finally got postponed. God knows what cancelled it, perhaps the rubbing or who knows if the sneeze itself felt pity over my state.

There are a list of activities that can not be performed as smoothly as on a usual course, to quote a few- brushing, chewing, walking, bathing, etc. But anyhow you've always got people to take care of you. Thanks to the wonderful lady called 'mother' who never tires out of serving and the little companion called 'sister', who leaves all the good stuff for her brother, taking pains to serve and wipe him repeatedly. And then there's a 'father', who might not cook and serve but he never forgets to abide by the social and financial responsibilities in his court. From serving the pills every morning and noon to arranging a taxi for check-ups, and he offers his shoulder to rest upon when he seas a limp in my gait.

In these four days I've experiment a lot of things. No doubt some of my biggest learnings that I've made (now) have come to me amidst my struggle for breathing. These past four days of demanded care from my near ones, made me realise the real value and selfless love of a family.

From tying a cloth around my neck before a meal to wiping the chin after every serving, I have been served like a kid in the past 96 hours. No matter what you ask for, and irrespective of the fact how many times you demand it, no one tires out of fulfilling the demand. Something makes me feel, a mother is a real form of god, with qualities that no one else can ever possess. Coz it isn't just the qualities but also the purity of heart that matters. As small insignificant tear drops roll down from the corner of my eyes, my mother never fails to notice them. She comes and sits beside me, rubbing my head she asks me, if it is paining? I nod in a no, but she still persists upon her doubt. And in the course another drop rolls down. Her face frowns and she consoles me saying, just a day more and day after they'll remove the gauges. To strengthen her I smile at her, the smile stretches my nose and I feel a brief pain, but this pain is enjoyable as it is capable of absorbing her pain. Every night she covers me in a blanket and every time during the night her eyes open, she first looks at me and then at the clock.

Yesterday she asked me if I would like to have some tea, I agreed for her satisfaction and I saw her pouring tea into my coffee mug and going through a detailed process of cooling it. In the course of serving me less hot tea, her tea too got cooled eventually, but her satisfaction of serving me was way higher than her care for the taste of her own tea.

On my first day of rest, I had problems sitting up so I spent most of my time lying down and watching movies. In between my father would come to me and check my status, sometimes he brought the newspaper and read the top headlines sitting beside me. Had I asked him something in detail, he would have read me the whole article too, but I didn't intend to bother him.

When I recall the last time, when my parents used to treat me in this manner, my memory dates back to almost two decades. The last time, my mother wiped my chin after food was when I was a toddler, the last time she gave me a bath was when I was probably three or four. The last time she wiped my tears was when I had fallen off my bicycle in my childhood. And probably that too was the time when my father would have read me headlines and storybooks. Things haven't changed for them even in two decades as I've grown up from one and a half feet to five and a half. As those infancy milk teeth have shed off and cheeks have filled in with thick beard, nothing on the contrary has changed for parents. Their child is the same little boy who has 'just' grown up under their eyes, whose every problem's solution is his mother's lap.

So blessed is our fortune that we have so caring parents who keep us safe from all problems and pains. For them we are the same little child (with a weak immune and fragile strength)... But ironically we've grown up!

Goodbye Sinus

Day 01: Oct 9th, 2014

As I write this a hundred thoughts are running in my skull, ranging from what does an operation feel like to will it trouble me? The attendant has already stuffed my nostrils with local anesthesia gauges and parts of me have already started feeling numb. I am lying on my side, writing what I feel as the pre-effects of my nasal surgery.

I am down half a liter glucose through my left arm and the needle still sticks there with the adhesive tape, giving me jerks of pain as I try to put my hand into some activity. A patient rolls out of the operation theater on a stretcher, his skull wrapped in white. He is operated for his right ear two positions prior to me. I tried asking him how he felt, but perhaps he didn't hear or was uncomfortable in responding back.

I wonder what will it be all like? Based on a brief Google research, I sketched the procedure of my surgery, that makes me feel excited about the coming things. I am almost half an hour away from entering the O.T, and I am wondering why is it called a 'theatre'?

Perhaps it will be fun, or else It'll be just a step towards relief. In these last minutes, before I am separated from my 24 year old ally 'Sinus', I thank you for all these mucus filled years. These thunderstorm experiences that I've had within me and those innumerable free balloons that I grew up inflating from my nose. I thank you for your never departing companionship that made me unique amongst my family, cousins and friends. I thank you for those restlessness moments that you gave me, those moments of lazy ness and ugliness.

It's time now to depart. Goodbye Sinus!

-----------x-----------x------------

Day 02: Oct 10th, 2014

It's been almost 24 hours, my nostrils are stuffed with as much gauges as can be stuffed in. It is a state of immense discomfort, I am breathing through my mouth with hopes that soon I'll be relieved.

Last night, when I entered the operation theatre, the attendant instructed me to lie down on the operation desk. I did as told with a feeling of fear mixed with curiosity. In my initial moments I was relaxed and unworried, knowing that it wouldn't pain and the doctors would take all measures to keep the surgery painless. But the aura inside the O.T started creeping doubts and fears into me. There were four doctors discussing someone's failed operation. To my understanding, fortunately it was all about a fifth doctor (who wasn't present inside the room), but unfortunately it was a failed operation. My thoughts of before entering the O.T started changing shape and big hallucinating fears started creeping in.

I looked around at the doctors, a thin man seated beside me was the most loud man. Another bald fellow sitting directly opposite my legs nodded and agreed to whatever the first guy said. The third one was seated further left of the thin one, busy in his own cup of tea and talking occasionally. However the fourth, the one who was treating me was busy preparing for the surgery, explaining others about my 'case' (as they referred to it). They were all relaxed and happy, talking loudly and sipping tea after every two statements. They even seemed ready to work upon me.

After ten minutes the thin doctor suggested my doctor to begin the surgery. They mutually agreed and covered me under a green cloth, covering my eyes and only leaving the nose exposed. Vibes of what-will-happen-now started flowing through my veins and I lay there worried and scared as a few blades and scissors clashed near my ear.

They began with an injection, indeed two injections- both of them simultaneously from either sides inside the nostrils. Within minutes the tissues went numb and they began their discourse of how-to-proceed and long steel things started creeping in and out of my nose. Sometimes there was a scratch, sometimes a stroke, sometimes a few repeated strokes and sometimes harsh scratching. Seldom I could hear the breaking noise of bone pieces and then those being placed out on a tray.

It took them some fifteen minutes before they finally unwrapped me from the green cloth and I was taken back to the ward on a stretcher. It was a contrary moment to that when I had gone inside. Earlier when I had entered the OT, I was whole, energised and vigorous, now I felt incomplete and stuffed excessively with gauges and deprived of my strength.

I lay in the ward listening to my relatives, their interpretation of what might have happened inside. Finally the doctor came out and showed the bone pieces that he had extracted out of my nose. There were 5-6 pieces in a steel tray (the one that is usually seen in movies when Amitabh or Summy Deol is cured off a bullet) ranging from a minimum of 1 cm to almost a maximum of 3-4 cms.

Finally after two hours of rest, I was discharged last night (same time) and since then I am on my bed, fidgeting and breathing through my mouth, with just hopes that day after tomorrow these gauges will be removed and I'll inhale..... Just like YOU do!

Dreams of a pleasant future

Dreams, they are so insignificant and delicate like a water bubble. If you constantly pump them with the right flow of breath the bubble grows bigger and bigger, more charming and shiny. But, howsoever if something touches it from outside, it bursts into millions of molecules that can never be repaired. As a child I had a dream to fly like a kite in  the infinite sky. I dreamed of travelling in the universe with wings outstretched and the head held high, passing through the clouds and galaxies in outer space. 

I had dreamed of my youth to be as joyful as a video-game, with lives in stock to risk the one I had at hand. I had dreamed of making mistakes and replaying it again and again. I had dreamed of passing from one level to another with an untouchable high score and an unbeatable performance. Life to me was a bucket filled with colors and a plate full of all kinds of sweets that would be tempted and admired by all. Life to me wasn't mathematic-equations or engineering derivatives, in fact it was mountains with tree chains and a lush green carpet of grass. A place where meditation, tranquility and spirituality would come to me and I with open arms would welcome it. 

Life to me would have been a blank canvas on which I could paint myself a mighty king with an army of soldiers standing behind me and a beautiful queen standing on the other side of a river on the bank filled with daffodils. The youth that I had fancied was more like a tree with leaves in different shades of green and colorful flowers blossomed all over, that would attract birds and bees. Days there would pass with the body dancing to the tunes of their chirping and buzzing, and not to the horns and honks of the passing traffic. 

A field filled with yellow sunflowers facing east and mountain tops overlooking a valley of flowers and trees of all kinds was what I had felt with each passing day in my childhood. It was more like white pigeons flying in a flock and swans travelling transversely across the blue sky in an arrow formation with least movement of their wings.

Dreams of a pleasant future were like handlebar mustaches growing abundantly on the cheeks and not like the ones trimmed every third day. It was always about spreading like a creeper, upwards with strong roots and an irresistible grip. It was like a butterfly fluttering innocently, yet attracting every eye that fell upon it. Dreams of a beautiful future was not salt that had to be added with limits, but sugar- the more you poured the sweeter it got. It wasn't a bathroom shower, but an outdoor torrent that drenched everything and after which followed a clean green universe with little herbs and grasses popping out of the belly of mother earth. Dreams then were not related with limits and restrictions, but with abundance and freedom, like shoes that touch every corner of the world and not socks that always remain inside.

Whenever in the past my mind ran across the thought of soul and body I always admired it with the relation of a nib of a pen and the ink within. The nib like the body has a purpose to touch, write and pierce as much as it can, and the ink inside the refill helps the nib perform its duty a million times in its span. Also, it leaves its immortal mark on the host in the form of a verse, story or sometimes a stain.

Dreams often occurred to me like a long empty road waiting to be traveled across by tires that had a firm grip. The engine hardly mattered as it only had the purpose to aid the tires in their rolling mission. Challenges, obstructions and difficulties were like punctures, meant only to give rest to the tires and make them even determined to travel forth.

But, as time rolled things changed and their meanings altered accordingly. I realized life isn't sunshine, rainbows and mountain tops, but instead a race and a marathon. No matter how determined and hard you start, only the end line matters. It turned out to be the survival of the fittest. Irrespective of whether you loved participating in the race or how good you felt crossing the finish line, only winning mattered. Life in true sense meant pushing back someone and taking their place.

No one cares to remember you even if you were the matchstick that extinguished burning an incense stick. Only the fragrance and the incense stick is remembered. Life thus turned out to be selfish with motives and missions, with greed and ambitions that fulfilled one's own self and profited others the least. In the race to be ahead, you are thus expected to be not only clever but also cunning, not only determined but also prepared to push back anything and anyone that comes in your way. 

If this is what being ambitious is than I had never wanted to be one. My dreams of a glorious future were of togetherness and mutual benefits. They were like a kite that soars high and takes the thread along with it. they were like the tires that took on the journey to travel on all smooth and bumpy roads, suffering and smiling while the windshield only smiled throughout the journey, looking at the beautiful scenes.

If only I can find a way to unite dreams with living, and not pushing to live; I believe a better world, of the one I and you had dreamed together in the past would be attained. And what else do we need to live if not love? Because someday wealth and positions will vanish like smoke, but love shall always linger in the form of fragrance. 

Let's prepare for the Good Days

India, a nation on the path of sure-shot development with a hundred and twenty seven million citizens and thirty-six millions divinities on its side still lingers between unsolved issues of excessive pollution and communal riots. The India of Gandhi, of Nehru and of Jinnah that is now approaching its 68th independence is yet to ink a full-stop on communal differences. No matter how far we travel on the road of development we first need to eradicate the differences between ourselves and accept the entire nation as one family and one home. Only then shall we be able to enjoy the prosperity of this golden land.
In the past six decades since independence, this year has been a lot different and a lot expected. Not for many reasons, but just for one. Some called it a ray of hope, some a last chance, some transformation while others called it MODIfication. One man shouldered all hopes in the second most populous democracy and seventh largest country in the world. From eradicating corruption, to turning down inflations and spiking up development; little or more, to every question and to every problem ‘MODI’ remained the answer. And so happened as it was dreamt, Narendra Damodardas Modi assumed the Prime Minister’s office on 26th of May following a massive victory throughout the nation. In one of his initial thanksgivings he conveyed that, “Good days are about to come,” and ever since the expectancy of the common man was raised to even tremendous heights.
Surely in the present time India is hitting ahead on a road map of development with massive projects like urban planning, bullet trains and various other developments. But the question of concern is while one party tries bringing better facilities and hopes, the other starts finding loopholes to criticize it. Will we ever come out of this cat and mice game? Will we ever join hands and progressively step ahead into a modern India or are we always going to play small talks-small acts until the coming many decades?
Apart from our political differences there are two things that have severely thrashed our global image on a much larger context. One, our half a century old communal difference between Hinduism and Muslimism, and the other our never ending habit of living in an environmental dustbin. Though my words might seem hurtful, but ironically deep down we know that it’s a bitter truth.
Anger is a state of mind, and often what follows anger is crime. Crimes in our nation are categorized into two different types. One where we report to the bureaucracy and the other where we ourselves become the deciding factor.  The former is when it happens between any two common people, and the latter is when it happens between a Hindu and a Muslim or vice versa. Ever since independence our ruling parties have used our communal differences for their benefits and we as a good meal have served their appetite. And perhaps, if such circumstances prevail we might never become the good-so-dreamed brothers of our community.
What seems as a bitter relation between these two communities in India through the media-perspective is not what exactly prevails in our personal lives. No matter where we live and in what circumstances we’ve grown up, irrespective of what religion we belong to or which community we descend from we never judge a person in terms of caste and religion while becoming friends. Friendship in life has always remained a virtue, not a judgment. It is a feeling of happiness and not a decision. We now need to cherish our friendship more than the pre-occupied false thoughts and no-wonder we will be soon on commendable heights as a nation of brothers. With each stroke upon the differences of these two communities the question on each of our part repeatedly arises, ‘If not now, when?’ So, let us start preparing for the coming soon good days by doing what’s needed, so that we as a nation celebrate together the good days when they arrive.

Each day I pass with hopes on tomorrow, Yet tomorrow never comes and days pass in a row

Each day I pass with hopes on tomorrow,

Yet tomorrow never comes and days pass in a row.

Someday I forget to sleep; someday I forget to wake-up,

Someday I am high and someday just too tangled up.

So for each present day I procrastinate things,

With hopes on tomorrow and my invisible wings.

I don’t have a job, yet I feel no less than a king,

Conceiving, admiring and believing there’s no better a thing.

Sometimes I pity, sometimes I regret and sometimes feel ashamed,

And yet in another moment I think one day I’ll be acknowledged, adored and famed.

The worries fly away in a jiffy and I close down my plans-for-the-day,

In wonderful dreams I sleep while the saying goes- ‘while sunshine make hay.’

Often when I finish a book or a movie I feel so inspired,

I clean my room, organize my schedule and find myself hired.

All it takes is a day for the sun of hopes to set down,

And the routine follows: Up-Eat-and-Down.

Two more days and the room again becomes a mess,

Eyes back on the ceiling and ears on jazz.

Not every day is smooth and there are hard times too,

Often when people ask- ‘What do you do?’

My parents stand beside them and wonder why I look tensed,

Up with a smile I tell, ‘Umm.. preparing for defense.’

‘Good luck!’ they say and move ahead,

My mother hugs me and I feel blessed.

There I vow to inherit change and do things that I haven’t done yet,

I clean my room, sort-out my books and see the sun set.

I pick a book and try hard not to lose sight,

But I yawn, scratch and miss the day light.

I take a break and think if it’ll be right...

…to close the book only for the night!

A chair by the wall and the table too far, My bed in the center and the switch so far

A chair by the wall and the table too far

My bed in the center and the switch so far.

How hard I convince, my body doesn’t respond,

To make a slipping way through the clustered mound.

I lay awake in a passerby’s hope to turn off the lights,

Though lazy I might seem, but my hopes have never-ending heights.

The bulb distracts my sleep, and yet I won’t bubble,

The light strikes with its might and in a pillow I cuddle.

My eyes feel the piercing effect, and I shut them as hard as I can,

And just hope for someone to pass, a lady or a man.

I turn sides in restlessness with hopes for a nap,

Oh! I so much miss a dark room and my mother’s lap.

An hour passes by and I am struggling to sleep,

It’s two in the morning and yet hopes of a passerby are deep.

I hear my friends giggle in the next room,

And just hope someone comes to turn off my illuminated doom.

I pull over a blanket to cover my face,

But, the striking light does not grace.

I curl in and curl out; I turn over and turn about,

In restlessness and despair I make a pleading shout.

But it fades off in the noise around,

Like a squeak ends in the roar of a hound.

With half shut eyes I hope of my redemption,

For an angel to come and perform the sacred action.

And then I hear approaching footsteps from the farthest end,

Waiting for the moment to come my heart lay quenched.

As he passed by my door, for his help I yelled,

Which perhaps in his haste he missed.

I quickly turned my side to catch a glimpse of him,

Perhaps another word could make the lights dim.

But all I saw was emptiness,

And the footsteps had faded away with momentarily happiness.

I lay half-slept, half awake staring at- the chair by the wall and the table too far,

My bed in the center and the switch so far.

Life: Live it. Love it. Play it.

Life's a journey, live every moment.

Life's a picnic, don't miss the adventure.

Life's a zoo visit, don't regret in the end for what you couldn't spot in there.

Life's a circus show, a theater act, a new released movie, pay close attention.

Life's a football match, every moment is special.

Life's a plate of desserts, bet you don't wanna miss anything.

Life's a bike ride, let the air sway you.

Life's a TV show, watch with interest.

Life's a blank canvas, be creative.

Life's a first date, be loving.

Life's a mother's hug, be blessed.

Life's a tree, keep growing with humbleness. 

Above all... life's an entertainment switch, press START!