Because you don’t leave memories behind.

Today was my last day at Asha Hospital, where I have been for over 4 years now. Where I have worked in positions ranging from the most basic to one of growing authority. But today was my last day and I never knew how I would feel until the day dawned. Asha was home, literally for a while and metaphorically for long.

The possibility of Hyderabad as a city I would live in had never even remotely crossed my mind until maybe a week before I moved to the city, just like leaving it wasn’t a plan until the time to leave had come. The city and this hospital have given me everything I could have asked for and then some more. But it was time to move on, to seek out a new land and learn some more.

What had been haunting me though was how I could repay my Alma Mater, how could I express my gratitude to my teachers and how could I let my patients know that they had helped me as much (if not more) than I had them. I had been wondering how I would leave so many memories behind and I had no answer.

As the last day went by, and I made my rounds in the hospital for my very last time, walked by corridors and rooms that I had walked by so many times I was feeling numb. I wanted to scream out my feelings but I had none, I wanted to smile at all the memories, I wanted to weep but I couldn’t, I couldn’t feel a thing. I met everyone, shook hands with them, embraced others and then packed up to leave as if in a trance.

And as I walked out, feeling empty, I knew finally, I knew how I could repay them, how I could be grateful and what I could gift this wonderful place that could balance the many gifts it had bestowed upon me. I knew that all I had to do was to remember the lessons they had taught, remember to be honest to what I had learned and remember who I owed it all to.

So I flicked my bag onto my shoulders
Took one last look back
Dabbed the corner of my eye
And then smiled to myself
And
Moved on!

because you don’t leave memories behind, you take them along with you!

Two storeys!

Two storeyed lights
On calm windless lakes,
A two storeyed Buddha
With wax-doll fakes.
Two storeyed dreams
In traffic forever.
A two storeyed heart
Trying to be braver.
A two storeyed leap
That never was
And two stories merged
Without a pause.

Yaadein hai kuch un dino ki...

Yaadein hai kuch un dino ki -
Motorcycle tez chalana aur achanak brake lagana,
Darr ke mujhse tumhara lipat jaana aur jhoothmooth ka ruthna.
Tumhe manane ke liye mera gaana gaana aur
Besuri shaam se bachne ke liye tumhara turant maan jaana.
Raat ki kaali chaadar par jadi chandni booti ginana
Aur jugnoo-on ke desh ka raaz khojna!
Raat bhar tumhari aawaz sunane ke liye jagna,
Subah tumhare chehre ko hothon pe sajake sona.

Kuch jyada badle to nahi hai aaj din
Bas,
Un dino aankhon ka rang thoda halka tha apna,
Kuch safed khwabon ki shayad milavat thi unme.

Glory Glory Indian cricket!

This is my team and I will always back it. When they lift the world cup I'll celebrate a festival and if they had been the ones skittled for 45 I'd still support them. I'd be disappointed, I'd want changes but I'd still say that this is my team. When Manchester United loses badly we criticise, we condemn, we rant but the rant always has GGMU (Glory Glory Man Utd) in it somewhere. So why not with cricket? Why comments like aajkal match dekhne ka interest nahi raha, kya cricket dekhna re etc?

Because that's what ails Indian cricket. We are an all or none society and that's how we treat our team. There is no place for planning, building or looking at the bigger picture. It's an instant, fast food era and quick fixes are all we want. And it won't work! You can replace all the players with new ones and it won't work because it's the attitude not the players that is the problem.

You cannot replace a Sachin or a Dravid or a VVS or a Sourav or an Anil. They happen once in a while and we were blessed that all of them happened at the same time. But good cricket needs a team not just brilliant individuals and for that we need people who perform the required roles not superstars. We need to lose the attitude that once you break into the team and have a good year your place is fixed in the team. No, it is not!


The last time Indian cricket was in a crisis (2000 match fixing, no captain, new players etc) there came a revolution in Indian cricket. Credit it to Ganguly or not but there was a change in the attitude of Indian cricket. We believed, we fought, we weren't just there to make up the numbers, we gave as good as we got. Players got opportunities and luckily we got some great ones. It amazingly reflected the social attitude of the times too.

But a new attitude has crept in gradually. An attitude again reflective of our society. The attitude of resting on past laurels, of selections based on past or expected performance, and based on emotions rather than objectivity. Coupled with a below par domestic circuit this has left the team in disarray. The poor quality of domestic bowling and pitches is evident from someone like Jadeja scoring that many triple tons or even Amit Mishra scoring a double.

So what is needed is a major shake-up. Getting rid of politicians, of businessmen who look for profits at the expense of the very product they are selling - Indian cricket. Taking difficult decisions that are based on merit not on popular opinion.

A change of coach is imminent. A lot has been said about a prospective coach's nationality which in my opinion is nonsense. Wright and Kirsten weren't Indians. What is needed in an Indian coach is a new vision, an ability to identify and take steps towards that vision coupled with enormous man management skills. We need a horses for courses approach probably! We need to move away from archaic principles based on instinct, gut, and feeling to modern scientific processes based on needs, numbers and current form. There is lot of demand for Ganguly as coach, based more on the hope of him being saviour again, on his past achievements as captain. But is he a good coach? We need a revolutionary not necessarily a rebel.

But most importantly we need us - the fans - to realize that rebuilding takes time and we need to have that patience. We need to stick by our men especially in the bad times, and support them and we need to stop being experts on cricket (unlike this post).

Science: Boon or Bane?

Education has taken me where music cannot follow.
Yet I am a musician more than a student,
More dark than I am grey, so popular
With my thoughts, that they aren't mine. Ever!
Not when they wake up at dawn, nor when they die at twilight!

     I wrote this in response to a post on someone else's blog. Someone who writes wonderfully (and is very famous for it too). Its basically a negative of his writing and only the last 2 lines are something that are different. But the theme is one that lies close to heart. The very Floyd-ian "We don't need no education" theme.

     I have now maintained for many years that it is science that ruined me. Maybe not all of education did but science definitely did. I learnt laws, learnt logic, learnt cause and effect and learnt that everything has a rational explanation - if it didn't then it was my duty to find one. I learnt to look at possibility and probability and learnt to revel in compliments like "iska dimaag computer se bhi tez chalta hai!" And while my chest was swelling with pride at my brilliant rationality I never figured what I was unlearning.

     The more I learnt to explore, to find solutions, to widen the realms of logic, the more constricted my thought got. I am now left bound by rules, by connections, by associations, by plausibility. My imagination today is limitless as long as it stays within the limits of science. The days it manages to break free of its boundaries it pretends to dazzle, displaying islets of transcendence that exhilarate and disappoint at the same time. The sky is the limit and the eye can see as far as the horizon and even a little beyond but those are the boundaries that are.Those are the boundaries where creativity starts, where music and poetry bud, where reality actually begins. Those are the boundaries that sometimes disappear, at other times melt for a while so that I am able to see what is beyond, what actually lies within, occasional glimpses into the self.

     And then boundaries reappear; fences preventing the mind from wandering, keeping the unknown dangers away. Those are the times the rant against science bounces off those barricades and resonates. The last time it did so was in the presence of a ten-year-old who was aghast at the thought. A boy who like some strange doppelganger from my past began recounting the boons of science. How many of us wrote of science being a bane in those essays, I wonder. But is the rant against science valid? Wasn't Einstein a scientist as well as one of the greatest philosophers I know? Weren't most, if not all, inventions a result of creativity, of pushing the limits, setting new boundaries or eliminating them altogether? Am I the one at fault then? I believe it is a bit of both, a curtailment by laws of an already limited creative cesspool!

     Which brings me back to the original 'unpopular' post by another who initially made his name in science but didn't let it tie him down, who I remember on a terrace, amidst puffs of smoke, talking about an unrest - to leave it all aside and follow the creative spark - which he did. Its the only time I met him but I remember being envious because he had a passion that I had lost then. Today he is a star, making music that has given me much joy, but I am no longer envious, because I have rekindled something of my own too. I don't wish fame (because frankly I am not that good) but I hope to keep on pushing my own boundaries. Maybe someday I will be able to see beyond the horizon by myself and not need even the occasional shoulder to stand upon.

Till then...


Education has taken me where dreams cannot follow.
Yet I am a dreamer more than a student,
More dark than I am grey, so popular
With my thoughts, that they aren't mine. Ever!
Not when they wake up at dawn, nor when they die at twilight!

Mindless Ranting!

The appropriation of symbols has long been a bone of contention with me. I am not against symbolism per se but when I was growing up if you were happy you could be gay and gaiety did not equal homosexuality. I'm not sure if the original meanings of the word even exist in a dictionary today. Which brings me to my other bone of contention - homophobia. Due to the sudden outpouring of love for all things GLBT in the media and especially in the movies it is now politically incorrect to make a joke about homosexuality. I understand that sexual orientations vary and I accept it but just because it exists doesnt mean I need to celebrate, dance and sing about it, and worse stii, if I dont go all hoopla about it doesnt automatically make me a homophobe. I mean you may have a different predisposition but that doesnt make you special or worthy of special treatment. It does not make you a symbol of progress of the human races. Which brings me back to my rant against symbols. Like colours for example - why is it when I wear green on independence day I am asked if I am celebrating with the 'neighbours', green is 1/3 rd the colour of 'our' flag too or when my friend buys a blue bike it somehow raises eyebrows of a casteist nature. These are colours, just like saffron is a colour, and they belong to all of us - u, me, him, her, everyone!

The Ballad of Reading Gaol

I have busy been studying (a perennial mistress of a doctor, trust me!) Hence, whatever little sparks of inspiration have flashed have been smothered, hidden or even outright killed!

So I'm borrowing from Oscar Wilde tonight and his Ballad of Reading Gaol!!

Please read the whole poem if you can lay your hands on it. I've been the richer for the experience of doing so!

(Excerpt from) The Ballad of Reading Gaol

                                                                        - Oscar Wilde

.....The man had killed the thing he loved

  And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves

  By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

  Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

  The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,

  And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

  Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because

  The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,

  Some sell, and others buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

  And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

  Yet each man does not die.......

याद आया एक रंग

उस झील की झिलमिलाती हुई नीली शांति 

एक नाव,एक मांझी और एक महकती कहानी
पानी में खड़ा एक पेड़, जाने क्यों विद्रोही?
और तुम्हारी साँसों की अनकही गवाही।

आज फिर याद आया है वह किनारा मुझे;
एक सुबह जो धुंध में कही खो गई थी;
क़दमों की आहटें  कुछ अनसुनी जो रह गई थी;
और राह में वह जो मोड़ अचानक आया था।

कुछ दूर तुम चले थे एक राह पर।
कुछ दूर मैं चला था दूसरी पर।
कहाँ जाने राहें अनजान हुई थी अपनी?
और कब जाने परिचय हुआ उनसे फिर?

मुडके देखू पीछे तो डरावना अँधेरा है,
एक चीत्कार की गूँज, एक काले जंगल का साया है।
कुछ भूरी टूटी शाखें है, और बिखरे पीले पत्ते है।
कुछ पदचिन्ह भी छूटे है, अधूरे से, फैले हुए लाल धब्बे।

शूल थे या टूटे हुए सपनो के शीशे?
न जाने ऐसे क्यों हमने पैरों को रंगे थे?

हाथ बढ़ाकर आज इस धूसर आईने को 

थोडा पोछा है, थोडा साफ़ किया है,

कुछ टहनियाँ हटाई है, कुछ पत्ते समेटे है
तो रंगों के बीच ओझल एक सच्चाई नज़र आयी है
कि आज भी वही हाथ है, आज भी तुम्हारा साथ है।  

OUR story

Our story, yours and mine

Twice written on the scrolls of time.
Fancy brushfuls of colours and blues,
Splotches of black and graying hues!
First time over, written so fast
The ink didn't dry before the future was past.

Streaks and blurs where teardrops fell,

Tender moments, omitted lines will tell.
And once the gloss was made by veneer
The unfortunate tale went static, I fear.
But time, my love, is an artist true
A painter, a poet and a sculptor too.
So she etched once more with chisel and fire,
Charred the end and smouldered desire,
Washed the soot and dust with tears,
Bore some holes of hope and fears.
The paint, the ink once more they flow
The winds of time since slower they blow.
And as I stand here gazing upon this tale,
I cannot make out the fresh from the stale.

The strokes, the splotches, the colours, the grays,
Have merged and flowed so many ways,
That 'our' story; yours and mine
Cannot be retold even by time!

Love

She was Kashmiri, you could tell! She was as fair as the snow, beautiful and elegant and when she smiled her cheeks turned an apple red just like her nose did when she was angry. Her eyes shimmered like the Dal lake and her beauty stayed with you long after you had left her company. She had to be Kashmiri.

I first saw her sitting at the window of the college bus. She had her face turned away towards her friend and suddenly she threw her head back and laughed turning towards the window. I was left rooted to the ground as the laughter sparkled in her eyes and then spread all along her countenance. It was like watching a flower bloom, captured on film and then sped up so it felt like it was all happening then. The bus sputtered to life and moved away and it was a long while later that I realised that the only movement I had since made was to let my eyes follow the bus as far as they could. I was thunderstruck and willed myself away to the drudges of life that no longer seemed as miserable as a while ago. Believe it or not I would soon forget all about her existence.

The next I saw her was a result of boredom almost six months after lightning had first struck. A friend was going out to meet someone and I in my boredom decided to tag along, an unwelcome tag but I think he went to bed thanking my intrusion. I, on the other hand, still am not sure. It is by now obvious who met that evening but what isn’t obvious is that she too had brought a friend along. Whether that was another instance of intrusion I never came to know but what I know is that it had been a moonless night; until then. As she glided towards me the darkness seemed to vanish, those lakes in her eyes still shimmered and so lost was I in them that I missed her name. I think that was the last time she glanced at me that evening and I spent the next few hours with her friend having quite a fun time I have to admit, but this time I was not to forget her existence.

Actually I saw her almost daily since, initially by coincidence I believe but with time I feel my eyes just found her out. We studied in the same college and so my eyes often found her. Found her as she fussed over her books by the library, found her as she drank at the water cooler, found her while she playfully hit out at the guy hitting on her, found her when she seemed lost in thought, as she twirled that errant lock that had slipped on to her cheek twice before she tucked it back in place. And while my eyes found her, the rest of the world seemed to obliterate, there would be a buzz around but no sound, a sea of shapes but only blurs in my sight, no smell nor taste I could feel. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t stalking her. These 'sightings' were few and far in between and at other times I still continued to be my gregarious, whole-hearted, flirty self.

She, as far as anyone could tell, remembered me as much as the moon on that moonless night. But then slowly something changed, those locks seemed to misbehave a little more than usual and the third twirl of her fingers seemed longer and playful, the smile seemed to linger a little longer and the eyes seemed to flick sideways, fix towards where I stood just for a moment before making their way over to the object of her desire. I knew her name by now and much else that I wasn’t sure if I needed to but I didn’t know if I, myself existed. 

And so I didn’t know for another two years until that last day before vacations started. That day the eyes didn’t flick past me, the errant lock wasn’t tucked away and she smiled straight at me. It was like the sun shining through on a foggy winter morning, it felt like someone had poured warm chocolate straight into my heart and I beamed back at her. I do not know what to make of it but I 'felt' my own smile that day. As I stood there that smile felt like my only existence, like my body wasn’t there, like my heart wasn’t beating and like there were no lips smiling, just a pure bundle of warmth and energy that was beaming. I cannot describe that feeling, that smile, that warmth but I can say I have never felt that way again. I don’t know how long it was that we smiled at each other, time I believe had stopped. I don’t quite remember anything afterwards except that I didn’t see her until almost two months later. 

Two months later when I saw her, it was again as she sat in a bus. This wasn’t a college bus and she had her entire luggage loaded in and there were a lot of people waving goodbye to her. I stood at a distance watching, not sure what expression I was wearing and she had those eyes fixed upon me. Those eyes that shone brilliantly enough to light up the world yet were deep enough to hide you from its glare. From that distance I could see that those shimmering lakes were brimming today yet she was smiling at me, neither a warm smile nor a forlorn one; just a smile. I could tell that for her too at that moment nothing else existed, not the cacophony of the bus engines and horns, neither the smell of freshly brewing tea nor the garish banners of the upcoming festivals; nothing existed but a young man with disheveled hair, a lopsided shoulder and a stupid grin. The bus moved along but neither did her gaze leave me nor did mine. It was a long while later, when my friend placed a cup of tea in my hand, that I realised that the bus was gone and a longer while later that she was too. 

I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about her since but I have never wondered what it was that transpired between us nor have I ever tried to decipher that parting gaze from her. It was special whatever it was and I still do not know what I should call that feeling I felt when I smiled that day. I have never mentioned her to anyone nor have I any hidden mementos pressed in withered books. I would probably have never even written this down had it not been for the indomitable Gulzar writing

Hamne dekhin hain un aankhon ki mahakti khushboo
Haath se chhoo ke ise rishton kaa ilzaam na do
Sirf ehsaas hai ye rooh se mahsoos karo
Pyaar ko pyaar hi rahne do koyi naam na do