The poor girl who loved a Prince

Do you believe that a veteran political leader in Kerala, has  no money to pay his hospital bills? It may sound strange and even incredible in Indian political arena notorious for corruption scandals, kickbacks and bribes . But it did happen, to this former Kerala Legislative Assembly speaker and MP when he was once hospitalized as reported by his friends including a journalist who assisted him to settle the bills. Ardently loved by the common man, he stands alone as a honest politician who refuses to be cowed down by temptations of power, politics or money and remains fighting for just social causes even if it amounts to opposing his own political party.

It occurred to me to search for a story in the printed and visual media just to see that honesty is honoured. While doing so I asked  myself whether I was crazy or if it was some sort of absurdities dictated by the aging I am now undergoing . Well, there are occasions in one’s life in when he fails to convince even the next of his kin. I have to confess that what I have found is the other way around; public servants being harassed by his superiors, policemen or officers being subjected to punishment transfers, employees fired, all on “charges” of being honest in their duties. Politicians accused of corruption and nepotism are sworn in as ministers and shady police officers reinstated after their suspension on valid grounds . A employee of a state owned company in Kerala had committed suicide along with his family members a few months ago due to constant intimidations from his superiors who were facing corruption charges .

I had , therefore, to go back to more than a couple of millenniums to dig out such a story. With sincere apologies to my esteemed readers, here it is:

Around 250 BC , a Prince in ancient China was preparing to be crowned as King. Pursuant to the laws and regulations prevailing there in those days that he had to marry to first. It was a matter of choosing the next Empress rather than his wife. Hence he had to select a girl whom he could trust blindly. Based on the opinion of his advisors, he decided to invite the girls of the area to select the most suitable from them.

When a poor old lady who had been working in the palace as Maid since several years came to know of it, she was sorry as she knew that her daughter had been concealing her love for the prince. She informed her daughter what was going on the in the palace but was surprised to note that her daughter also intended to participate in the contest.

"What are you going to do there among the richest and most beautiful girls" she asked her daughter.

" No mom, I will participate. I know that I will not be chosen but I will be pleased to be close to the Prince at least for a few moments. I know very well what my fate will be"

On the day of the contest , beautiful girls wearing elegant costumes and precious ornaments gathered in the palace. Surrounded by his courtiers , the Prince arrived and announced " I will give each of you a seed, who ever brings me the most beautiful flower after six months will be the next Empress."

The daughter of the old lady also took the seed, returned home and planted it in a flower pot . Though she was not proficient in farming, she took care of the soil with a lot patience and care as she believed that if the plant grew as much as her love for the prince, she did not need to worry about the result. Three months passed but the seed did not germinate. Though she tried various ways and employed different methods after consulting the farmers, her efforts were in vain. The days passed, her hopes dashed and her aspirations dissipated but her for love for the prince remained glowing.

Six months elapsed and nothing grew in her flower pot . Though she knew that she had nothing to present to the Prince she was fully aware of her sincere efforts .She told her mother that she would go to the palace on the date and time set for the selection . She knew that it was her last chance to see her lover and did not want loose it however hard it might be.

On the final selection date , she went to the palace with her flowerpot which had no plant or flower in it. She saw all the other girls carrying beautiful flowers and it was difficult to decide which one was more beautiful than the other. The prince entered and looked at the competing girls with much attention and care. After passing by all of them, she pointed to the daughter of his maid and announced that she would be the next empress. The other girls protested saying that the prince had chosen a girl who did not plant any thing. Then the prince told them " She is the only one who has planted the seed and is thus entitled to be the next empress because the seeds I had given all of you were sterile and can never germinate or grow".

It is while reading such stories that a common man like me feels relieved. When some TV channels exposes corruption though sting operations and the culprits are caught red-handed the common man rejoices . “ What will you gain from being honest ” some one may ask. Let us suppose that your boss asks you to telephone some one and you forgets to do so. He follows up and you tell him the truth of the matter .He may be angry at you and accuse you of being careless or even negligent . If you had instead lied to him saying that person’s telephone was busy, he would be happy and would only ask you to call him again. Here he is in fact appreciating the lie you have told him and reprimanding you for telling the truth. I know two shops in Doha adjacent to each other selling the same merchandise. One of these shop owners lies to his customers and sell counterfeited goods whereas the other one is honest in his dealings and sells only genuine articles . The outcome is that the former has amassed a lot of wealth where as the latter is still trying hard to make both ends meet.

I have seen elders in my village classifying those working in Gulf countries to evaluate who is successful and who is not. They judge people based on the money the person has amassed regardless of the ways and means they employed in this respect whether it is through smuggling or drug or human trafficking or some other illegal channels which has no effect on the reputation the person enjoys in the society. Those classified as “ the most successful” seem to command more respect than the persons who use legitimate methods to earn money but remain less wealthy or even impoverished. They comment about those financially unfortunate ones saying “they are wasting their time  and are in no way better than those who remain jobless”.

Does it mean that are the values such as truthfulness, selflessness, sacrifice, altruism disappearing slowly from the society ? When the world shrank into a small village and people around the globe came closer to one another we should have been more happy but we still feel that something is missing. Are we trampling mercilessly on human values and principles using the iron boot of globalization and liberalization?

By the father

When his corpse returns home

“You may forget those you have laughed with , but not those you have wept with” Gibran Khalil Gibran.

The other day a Pakistani colleague of mine, died of cardiac arrest. He had recently returned to Doha after spending his annual vacation with his family in Pakistan. His frozen body kept in the morgue is scheduled to be flown to his home country for burial after a few hours accompanied by his son who is working in Doha. I tried to imagine the feelings of his son in his twenties who is destined to take the refrigerated dead body of his father home and visualize the situation when his beloved mom "meets" with her dead husband.

The scholar who led his funeral prayer held a few hours ago in the court yard of the hospital reminded the participants that what has happened to the person they are praying for is going to happen to all of them whether it be after a few minutes or hours or months or years and asked them to get ready for that well equipped with righteous deeds. Another group of Keralites was seen there preparing for the funeral prayer of a young Keralite Muslim who died of the same cause.

Last year a relative of my son in law living in Doha found her husband lying unconscious in their living room early in the morning. When his friends took him to the hospital he was found dead .They, however, kept the matter confidential for obvious reasons and told his wife that he was just admitted to the Intensive Care Unit. When we visited her house after about twelve hours from the incident a number of people had gathered in her house. None of them had the courage to disclose the matter to her. Their kids were running here and there and playing while visitors were watching them being at a loss what to tell them. She was speaking to them as if no tragedy had occurred . Some of the visitors questioned the logic behind keeping her away the fact of the matter. But they were told that the intension was not to shock her as they wanted her to be aware of it gradually. By the time she was informed of the matter, she had already smelled a rat. It was on the day when his dead body was released from the hospital to be flown home . In lieu of returning home happily with her husband and two toddlers, she had to accompany the dead body of her husband home and even console her mother in law who was still alive.

During the past three decades of my expatriate life in Doha, I had witnessed several such cases in Doha including deaths due to traffic accidents. Death is inevitable but when one breathes his last while he is thousands of miles away from his dear and near ones , it will be more painful . Being a social animal man desires for the presence of his family members even at the time of his death though he knows that the latter can only watch them dying and can do nothing beyond being passive spectators. I remember my beloved mom who used to tell me that she wanted to die when her children were at home and how I used to scold her for speaking about her death. When she passed away in 2000, I was there in the next room though I still feel sorry that I could not be beside her at the time of her sudden death even being at home.

By the father

Matters of the heart

Love me like a flower

With nectar in thy heart

Brightness as its luster

And fragrance that ‘ll never part

Love me like a moon

With ardour in thy sight

Promise me you ‘ll come soon

To shed in my your light

Love me like a child

With glittering glance and smile

With serenity so sweet and mild

Which will guide me many a mile

Love me like song

With mirth as its music

With lyrics lulling and long

Which will make my tears magic

Love me like a rainbow

With emotions blent in thy glow

Come and pacify my sorrow

And silence my soul’s woe

If ever love be true

And if ever it can sooth

Then with ours, we’ll prove

That love is nothing but truth

By the daughter

Wave

Wave the divine creation of God

Immense treasure you hold

Patience , forbearance I do envy

Yours those invincible army

Your beat the shores

And the rocks in its pores

You caress the sand

And you kiss the land

You promise the moon

That you will hug her soon

You sing for the shores

Ripples, pebbles your chorus

You are the crown of the earth

In you countless species take birth

Always joyfully to and fro

Surmounting obstacles you do flow

From you I learned to toil

To fight back life’s turmoil

To target always at the zenith

To embrace life with all its glitz.

To endure the taunting time

To soothe my heart which is lame

To heal the wound I bear

Saltish water for saltish tear

Yours chasm paves the way

For the wind to pass in gay

You shelter the herbs and weeds

And grant them their needs.

Effacing memory, amazing notion

How I love to seek your horizon

When you join hands with the sky

How splendid the moment I espy

Oh God it is my prayer to thee

Never allay this mighty wave

Warning troubles and teaching lessons

Let it last for the coming generations.

By the daughter

Married Bachelors

Just as it is said that pure water is the cheapest tonic one can afford , sleep is described as the cheapest pleasure a man can enjoy. Sleeping is sweeter during the winter season in Doha as it is the case else where in the world. How pleasing it is to go on sleeping and sleeping in chilly weather covered or rather wrapped in blankets. In every story there is a villain and in this case it is the clock when the alarm sounds on time and interrupts the somnolence. School students including kindergarteners here have to wake up as early as 4.30 am when it is still dark since the schools buses that start picking them up from 5 am onwards. Just imagine how difficult it is for those students, let alone kindergarteners , to wake up so early in winter season. How many times their moms have to push and drag them until they open their eyes and some of them resort to water treatment by spilling water on their kids’ faces . When they ultimately wake up ,  their moms  prepare them to board the buses after ensuring that that their school bags are fully equipped . Though we are living in an age of tablets, technology is yet to assist Indian school students here who continue to carry heavy loads while going to their schools. Since their dads will be fast asleep, their moms will have also to ensure their children do not miss the bus as they know those bus drivers are very punctual in terms of their unwillingness to wait even for a minute for a student coming down from the top floor of the building whereas the students have no room to complain if the bus is late or it does not come at all .Though students have been taught the saying “early to bed and early to rise , makes the man healthy wealthy and wise” they go to bed these days very late because most of them are addicted to their computers . A writer in the International Herald Tribune called the youths of today as “cut and paste generation” in the sense that the use of their brain has dwindled a lot.

Once my wife left me stranded in Doha , when she travelled to our village in Kerala to arrange for her eldest son’s engagement ceremony . I thought it was a golden opportunity for me to demonstrate that I could do without her and thought that I could even coin a new phrase “house husband” to replace the pretty old and worn out word “housewife” by playing the role of both a husband and a wife, a two in one formula in this age of multi-purpose devices . But the trouble started on the next day of her departure itself when the large fish curry bowl she had prepared and kept in the fridge on the day of her departure fell down while I was taking it out and the spicy and oily curry began to flow to different parts of the kitchen even under the fridge and kitchen racks. I was at a loss , stood motionless as usual for a while pondering over what to do and then my son came to my rescue. Both of us had to work hard to clean the kitchen and remove the stains on the white marble floor. What relieved me a little was that the smell coming from the kitchen for one of two days was so appetizing as it was that of my favourite fish curry composed of spices and green mango slices .

One day I was surprised when my school going son who was waiting for the bus came back panting . The thing was that I had forgotten that it was a Thursday when the students had to wear white uniforms in lieu of the normal uniforms he had worn. By the time he changed his uniform , the bus had gone. On another occasion I thought I would cook some thing for my children in stead of depending on the restaurants to feed them. .But after tasting the dish I prepared they begged me to have mercy on them and not punish them that way since there were still several other civilized methods to do so.

The lion share of Asian expatriates living in Gulf countries are “ married bachelors” which means that even if they are married they have bachelor status as far as their employment contract is concerned and can not afford to bring their families to live with them . They find solace in talking to their families using internet telephone calls which are cheap these days . Most of them are granted annual vacation once in two years and are able to spend less than three months with their family.

Keralites are so sensitive that the news of a slight ill health of one of their family members including parents and siblings at home are enough to disrupt their peace of mind and create tension for them. Hospital sources in Doha reveal that many of those dying of heart failure are Keralites . After spending 30 or 40 years as expatriates in Gulf Countries , when an average Asian expatriate returns home, his earnings will be next to nothing and a large number of them suffer from diabetes, hypertension or heart problems. It seems that gulf life is an octopus, once it catches you it is very difficult to escape from its clutches however hard you may try. The life an Asian expatriate here conceives a multitude of problems unrealized even by their kith and kin. In the past parents were on the lookout for grooms working in the Gulf for their daughters . The trend has now reversed when they realized the truth.

Some times it so happens that one does not wake up from his sleep at all . Such a phenomenon is not so uncommon among the expatriates living in Gulf countries due to the mental stress they undergo while trying to make both ends meet coupled with their feeling of alienation from their homeland and their separation from their families. “It is the name God that I live and die ” and “ Praise be to God who gave me back my life after taking it from me” , these are the prayers Muslims utter when they go to bed and wake up from their sleep respectively.

By the Father

.

Beauty

I delved deep into the core

Of heart of a wild flower

Deep behind the curtain was its beauty

Mingled sweetness that quenched the thirst of many

The cool breeze blew over the fields

Dispelled the sorrows that surfeited my mind

And in its train it brought for me

Mirth, merriment, music and melody

Shimmer glimmer the dawn arrived

Gurgling streams and chirping sparrows

It showed me the rose under the April snow

And its fragrance enlivened the life below

The sun shed its richer gold

As if revealing a story untold

It opened its heart for the world to glance

The beauty that lay deep in its glow

The rainbow that arched the heaven above

Told me that spring was below

Smiling flowers, running gazelles

Beauty dazzled in enthralling spleandour

The moon with its treasure of silver

Presented me with its blanket of stars

The warmness it brought embraced me

And rocked me into a deep and dreamless trance

The loving touch of a mother

The caring hands of a father

The innocent smile of a baby

Yes they are the living signs of beauty

The days that rippled away

Revealed to me, a truth concealed

Beauty indeed is a treasure

That’s beyond one’s fathom

Beauty lies deep and dissolved

In every minute of creation of God

Neither can it been seen nor touched

It can only be felt by the tender heart

By the daughter

Convert sand particles into pearls

Doha

15th October, 1995.

My dearest daughter,

Until recently sleeping and snoring used to be my favourite hobby. You may be familiar with the music and melody of my snoring though I am yet to quantify the damage it might have done to the eardrum of your beloved mom. Now a days I am attempting to get rid of the lethargy in me and trying to be a little bit active though I don’t know how far I will succeed. My mind tells me that easiest physical exercise consists in a morning walk whereby I can enjoy the fresh air and inhale the refreshing morning breeze as well . But before starting my stroll I have to encounter my lethargy which dissuades me from doing so and put forth several reasons why I should postpone it as if it is tantamount to climbing mount Everest . When I ultimately triumph over my sluggishness, I go for jogging wearing my red track suite which is not less than eight years old. I do not want to discard it since I believe that old is gold. While walking though the pavements of the road beside my residence , some cars on the road can be seen rushing like jumbo jets that seems to break sound barrier. I know that most of them are employees of the military or police department who have to report for duty not later than 6 A.M or else they will have to face the court martial trial . Some drivers who may know me sound their horns to let me know that they have caught me red-handed though very often I fail to recognize who they are . They believe that I am sportsman; poor fellows ! God forgive them.

After returning to my room I play audio cassettes and relish in listening to some sweet Hindi songs which refresh my mind and prepare me to welcome a new born day . Some times I feel like dancing to the tune of the music; I am lucky that I have no room mate to watch such stupidities .In my office my colleagues belong to different Nationalities like Indians, Egyptians, Sudanese and Palestinians who are so loving and friendly. They especially are fond of cracking jokes. Even when I am busy with my office work, they will start asking “ why you are silent today, come on, say something, we can no longer tolerate such a dead silence, hell with your work ”. Arabs usually do not call those who are close to them by their names. If one’s eldest son’s name is X , they prefer to call him as Aboo X ( father of X) to show their affinity to you. My colleagues therefore call me Aboo Abdul Wadood , the underlined words being the name of my eldest son who shares this blog. To sustain the memory of their fathers, Arabs are also in the habit of naming their first born male child after their fathers. Some of them call me Aboo Saeed though they know that I have not named my eldest son after my father despite that my dad had done so and that is why I got my paternal grandpa’s name . Out of extreme respect for his father, seldom did my dad call me by my name; he called me instead using some Malayalam words meaning my dear son . I like to be concealed under the name of my dad who had left no stone unturned to bring me up as a good human being and that is why I do not correct those who call me by my father’s name. I like to sustain his name at least in such a way since I am not sure whether I have been fully faithful to him.

Once in a week my colleagues and myself go to fish market to buy the fish required for one week . I describe the trip as “ high level trade delegation visiting fish market for trade negotiations ”. Two Kilos of fish are enough for me for one week. My colleague Ganeshan buys one Kilo though there are four persons in his room. It will not be enough for them even for a day’s consumption . Though I know that they do not eat fish as I do ,when others ask him why he does not buy more, I intervene just to tease him and say “ every day, they open their fridge and smell the fish and on the seventh day , they finish it off”. Ganeshan replies laughing “ Sir you are killing me, I will stop buying fish for good and all”.

The other day my Arab colleagues had a tough argument and verbal encounter over some issues concerning them . The History of Middle East reveals the story of a governor of Iraq named Hajjaj bin Yusuf who lived thousand years ago . He is notorious for his cruelty and bloody campaigns . The history records how he quelled an uprising in one of the cities of the then Iraq by a fiery speech he delivered from the pulpit of the town mosque and thereby silenced the rebels and forced them to bury the hatchet. Seeing my colleagues arguing for nothing, I quoted from the speech of the afore-cited governor and said “ Gentlemen, I see in front of me heads that are like ripe fruits ready to be plucked . It is time to pluck them, I am the one to do it”. My Arab colleagues who already knows the story laughed aloud and forgot what they were arguing about.

I remember having read a write up captioned “ Convert sand particles into pearls”. It may sound strange. You know that pearls are found inside the shells of oysters . Sometimes sand particles enter into the shells of these oysters. It pricks the flesh found inside their shells and inflicts pain on them. Still they do not reject or spit the sand particles out. They keep them enduring the slight pain caused by sand particles. Ultimately due to the constant friction , the sand particles gradually turn soft and ultimately pearls are born. What the author pinpoints is that if we the human beings are ready to endure such slight difficulties or hardships just as oysters do , we may be ultimately rewarded with pleasant results and that our patience may produce miracles.

That is all for the time being.



With love and prayers,



Your loving dad

The outcasts

The hilly road just diverged into the midst of concerte compound walls. It is quite amazing to believe that more than 60 elderly people are housed behind this wall in the so called old age home at Thavannur near Kuttippuram, Kerala. It has been their home ever since they set their foot on this soil. And of course they love it here, they say. After all they had to undergo what felt like hell in their life and for them now it is heaven on earth. And they look forward to spending their rest of the days here.

Unfortunately most of the people we met were either driven away from their own homes or left their home on their own account because they never felt it to be a ‘home’ anymore . When asked about their journey to the old age home, they have tales to tell. Their struggle in reaching here was the most difficult part and definitely it seems to be so rewarding now. In here most of them are happy to be alive and to be in a place to call it as their own. They say now we have a roof over head ,meals four times of a day, a cot to sleep on, and weekly health check ups and definitely it is free of charge. And if at all they need something else, they were provided with it at the earliest. But whatever the people who take care of them do, I bet they are so damn under strain and sorrowful because they are in some strange land away from the places they had spent a major part of their life.

‘Everyone will have to pass through this age, whether they like it or not. An elderly man who could barely walk with a stick said this. But he is healthier when compared to some others around him. There were people who have lost their rights over their legs and struggles to move from one room to another. And they have to depend on either a stand or stick to support their weight.

When one of us asked whether their children used to come for visiting them, they say ‘Yes, they do come. But they don’t come here for us. All they want is my hard earned money and my pension. That is why they come here. It seems that her children were so brutal that they used to torture her so much to the extent that now she has some trouble with her backbone and cannot walk properly. What is even more amazing is that this place has got people who have raised 5-7 children but none of them show the slightest concern for their parent who is abandoned somewhere in some land in someone else’s care. Do these people have any idea how their children will treat them when their time has come? what makes them so confident that their children wouldn’t treat them the way they are treating their own parents now?

When they speak about their children it reminds me of a story someone told me long before. It is about an old man and his son, when both of them were sitting in their porch, the old man asked what was that noise they were hearing so closely. The son replied it was the sparrows, and after sometime the old man asked again and again, and the third time the son lost his patience and shouted at his father. Hearing this the old man went inside and came back carrying an old diary and gave it to the son. The son opened it to find out that about 30 years ago when he was 3 years of old, sitting in the same porch he had asked them the same question about 23 times and each time the father replied patiently it was the sparrows. Such is the story of an old dad and his son.

But they say they feel happy when visited by children or strangers… be it a passer-by who stops on his way when seeing the ‘old age home’ sign hung up near the gate or students who come for study purposes or curriculum based projects…they are just happier when they know some one out there want to visit them and they are especially happier when they see programmes are conducted for them in their vicinity by children from neighbouring schools. But whatever they do, their heart will never be filled to the brim of happiness…after all they are torn away from their real world and real life, and their real identity is no longer an issue because they just make one among the many old people around there, and they are left with no choice to make on how to end the last days of their long life journey , so weak and so miserable that they just have to live by crossing the dates on the calendar…

By the niece

Soochimukhi

One feels relieved when he returns to his village after being away for quite some time especially if he is arriving from a desert dominated country where flora and fauna  are  very rare. My village lies 'far away from the madding crowd' in a remote corner of this world where one wakes  before dawn listeniong to  the song of cuckoos followed by the call of crows that herald the birth of a new day. The fishes in the pond in front of our house come to the surface early in the moring as if to salute those who are willing to watch them.Some of my friends  still wonder why  we converted an old pond into  a concrete pool  at a time when others are using every inch of land available to build concrete  structures and benefit from them financially . I tell them it is nothing other than  our humble contribution to protect  one of the  rare gifts of nature.





My youngest son with a catch from our pond

 

This is the flowering season for the mango trees in our courtyard and some of them now bear tender mangos smaller than marbles. At this stage the are bitter in taste, but after some time  they will become green mangoes saur in taste. Green mango pieces are cooked in curry sauce comprised of different spices , chilly, coriander,turmeric powder,onion , garlic etc. Keralites enjoy eaing fish fillets and mango pieces cooked in curry sauce together. Green mangoes have an appetizing smell and add flavour to fish curry. The green mango slices are also salted, dried in the sun and used as an flavour additive f to fish curry. The mango trees in our courtyard are like dwarfs compared to the large mango trees with branches grown sideways that stood in our courtyard years ago. In those days children like me used to play under their branches which served as a shade to protect us from the heat of the sun. We used to run and compete to pick them and eat the ripe mangos falling from the trees. Once I climbed a mango tree to pluck a ripe mango spotted at a height.I fell down when the branch  I stepped on  broke and was unable to stand or walk since my left hip was dislocated and had to be carried by others to my  house. I was not taken to the hospital but was treated by a renowned  local massagist. Within two weeks I was fine and was able to walk to school.

There is a number of mongooses wandering in our courtyard in broad daylight in search of food. The other day one of them stopped to stare at me.  It was aware that we had been away for the last one year and the coop in which we used to rear chicken was empty. It might be wondering if we had imported some fresh chicken  from Doha to prey on them and thus have a sumptous meal  it is badly need these days since the villagers now know how to protect their poultry from mongooses and foxes. It seems that these animals will have to satisfy themselves with some insects or degrade themselves into the level of pure vegetarians now a days.They have a bloody track record since their predecessors had killed and  consumed a number of chickens reared by the villagers in the past. But the most henious crime they had committed was in the case of some newly hatched chicken I had purchased from the market when they some how stormed into the coop, massacered them and sucked their blood.I still rememeber that the morning when I went to feed the chicks  and saw all of them lying on the ground like orange slices thrown away by children after sucking their juice. You can imagine the anguish a boy feels on such occasions.



The Jack fruit inour coutyard



A tall coconut tree in our yard 



The tamarind tree in our backyard



The yellow bamboo



I don't know how old is the tamarind tree that stands adjacent to our kitchen as I have been seeing it since my childhood. It is an evergreen tree in the sense it produces tamarind throughout the year whereas other trees growing in our area produce tamarind only in a particular season.When we constructed our house there was a suggestion to log it since it stands so close to our house. But we could implement the plan in such a way wthout harming the tree. The jackfruit(tree) in our courtyard in too old to give us fruits these days. Still it is trying its best. Its fruits when ripe are so soft, slimy and sweet smelling that one will find it hard to resist the temptation to eat them. Its seeds cooked in curry sauce are very  deliciuos.

We have a very rare variety of bamboo plant, its stem yellow in colour with green stripes and is used for decorative purpose rather than making baskets. The stem of other bamboo plants seen in our area are green in colour, thorny and are still used for fencing in lieu of boundary walls. People still  identify our house as a yellow bamboo home.Some of the coconut trees in our courtyard are vey tall. The workers still have to cllimb on the top of these tree to pluck the coconut from such trees. To do so the  have to climb a distance of not less than 20 meters. Technological development is yet to assisst these hapless workers.

I found the nest of a long Billed sun bird known in Kerala as Soochimukhi hanging on the telephone wire running through  the verandha of my neighbour. They told me that it took four days for the bird to build its nest. It was very interesting to watch the bird feeding its chicks unafraid of the people sitting close to the nest. They told me that they had seen the mother teaching the chicks how to fly and  that the chicks  would be able to fly away within two weeks after which the bird would destroy its nest . I saw the skeleton of a nest abaonded by another sun bird still hanging on the wire  Since these birds feed on nectar their mother will have to work hard to feed its young ones. Through their instincts they  know where they are safe or else it would not have build its nest at the reach of children.

The Soochimukhi feeding its chicks

By the father

NOSTALGIA (TIME FLIES , MEMORIES DONOT)

Gone from me are my fleeting days

Dreams depart with flying time

In the startled jerk of my heart

I espy how long and endless my life has been

Shock sharpened my senses

And the sunken years surged with their faces

It evoked in me the dead old memories

That lay buried in the abyss of my heart

Time arrived in its winged chariot

Kissing my tears as they trickle down

It rubbed salt into my wounds

Which I thought time could heal

I cherish a time when my heart flew from me

To feel the rainbow that arched the heaven above

And a time when my heart dived deep

To hear the music on still waters

A time when the cool blew on me

Dispelling the sorrows that surfeited my mind

And in its train it brought for me

Mirth, merriment, music and melody

The moon arrived with its treasure of silver

Embracing me with its blanket of stars

The sun shed its richer gold

Showing me the beauty that lay deep in its core

Shimmer , glimmer and swimming light

The dawn loomed with its treasure so bright

Smiling flowers , chirping sparrows

Gurgling streams , grazing gazelles

My heart flew into the blue so broad

To see the stars that enamel the skies

It dived into the darkness of ocean

To count the pearls that lay deep down

Life was bizarre and baffling

Time was taunting and teasing

Somewhere in the game of chasing dreams

And got tangled in the cobweb of time

Oh, God! It is in you that I see

Tranquility wedded to intimate sweetness

Keep me sound and safe in your palm

And rock me into a deep and dreamless trance.

By the daughter



An empty road

“A ship is always safe at the shore, but it is not meant for that”,  Albert Einstein

After all, what is there in an old and abandoned car?, some one may ask . But, believe me, I am not  exaggerating or fabricating  when I say that I  cannot forget the 1980 model Honda Prelude car I had used from 1989 to 2003 . I  am not supposed to disregard it as a negligible and rusted equipment since I had learnt several lessons from it. Once I asked an auto mechanic why one is upset when his or her car has some problems . “ A car, though it is an equipment, is like your family member”, he replied .My eldest son while he was schooling used to conceal and cover up the age of this car, let alone the discomfort of getting into it, by projecting and pinpointing its single door specification as a unique and rare feature and claiming that it was found only  in a few cars . My wife still relish in narrating the story of my adventure with the car a few months after obtaining my driving License when I tried to drive to the 4th floor of the Q-post building in Doha describing how I failed in it , how another driver came to my recue when he took over the steering from me, drove my car and thereby averted an unpleasant situation as there was a number of cars waiting in a row behind me.

When I see people struggling to start their cars in the mornings of winter season in Doha, I pause for a while and start sharing their difficulties. The broken down cars lying on the road side create a feeling of discomfort in me and I begin to feel the dilemma their drivers might have experienced.Despite its poor technical condition, my car had stopped only once on the road during the period of 13 years it had served me incessantly. That too when I began to visualize and worry about a situation in which my car broke down in the middle of the road and started speculating the ensuing embarrassment it might create for a person like me. One evening the car did stop at the beginning of the Mannai roundabout in Doha as if it was conducting a test to teach me how to deal with such situations. My face did not turn pale as it used to be on similar occasions and I did not panic nor did my pulse rate increase. I went out of the car and pushed it a little bit towards the road side, returned to my seat and turned the key once or twice. The car consented and I drove off to my destination. It was a matter of a few minutes , neither did the incident disrupt the traffic nor did it let the other drivers celebrate the occasion by blowing their horns. Thus I learned that for every problem God has prescribed remedies and that I was not to wreck my brain brooding over such matters. Once a reader in Doha wrote to the editor of an Arab daily reminding the people that when some one’s car broke down on the road, the other drivers should assist him rather than multiplying his grievances by sounding their horns and shouting at him.

Every one knows that I am a very slow driver. However when I see a car moving slowly in front of me, I begin to loose patience and try to overtake it though I know that the other driver may be faster than me. My car then told  me to conduct  a self –examination before trying to be impatient about others’ behavior and then I realized that there were many such contradictions in my life which could be eliminated easily if I was serious about analyzing them.

I am very poor in driving skills and I am always happy when I see less cars on the road. I even dream of a day when the road will be empty so that I will be in a position to drive my car fearlessly. My car had reminded me that when I nursed such an idea in my mind, I was in fact expecting in vain a life without any problems and that just as there were vehicles on the road which I considered as hurdles there would be problems in one’s life. Man has to confront and overcome such difficulties and not flee from them like a coward. “A ship is always safe at the shore, but it is not meant for that”, said Albert Einstein

When I go to the petrol station to fill my car with petrol and watch the petrol level indicator moving and reaching the letter F, I feel that my belly is full. The same was my feeling when I used to graze the goats and watch the ducks reared at home when I was a young boy. I used to watch the goats eating grass and the ducks swallowing fish and share their feeling of satiation and satisfaction. Those were the days when the children were endowed with a “serene and blessed mood” that empowered them to derive ineffable pleasures form the nature: from the sprouting seeds, singing birds, the blooming buds, the hatching eggs and from the calves and lambs when they run and play. Those days of simplicities and innocence seems to be dead and gone.

In Gods own country, Kerala, the car has begun to symbolize its owner’s social status and has unfortunately intruded into the marriage market as a pre-requisite even for the middle class parents to market their daughters at the “best price”. Even if the dowry includes lakhs of rupees and ornaments weighing one or two kilograms of gold , the demands of bridegrooms do not end there but extends to a new model car. Those who can afford to meet such demands have no problems but others have to sell their possessions or borrow money from local financiers known Kerala as “blade companies” due to the very high interest they charge and the throat cutting  attitude they adopt towards those unable to repay the loan in time.

People are crazy about the worldly pleasures and they chase them at any cost. A famous Sufi scholar said” the worldly pleasures are like a carcass and those who seek them are dogs”. He meant those who chase and compete for these pleasures. One fails to understand how a man can amass wealth by hook or crook, be arrogant based on it and view those unfortunate people around him as inferiors, when he knows that he may fall dead any moment like a ripe jack fruit falling from the tree and if it is not removed or consumed by others it will be rotten. Just as we wait for jackfruits to ripen so that we can eat them, there are worms waiting for our dead bodies in our graves.

                                                                                  By the father

Bon voyage

I love travelling, reading travel literature and watching travelogues. One of the matters I asked my better half prior to my marriage was, whether she liked travelling. But this time it is different. I was on my way to join my expecting beloved back home. I was having my morning bath when I received my mom’s call from home. Seeing my father’s mobile number on the caller ID early morning, I could guess that my wife was having pains of good news. Nothing good in life comes without pain. When we are born ,we cry and make our moms cry, we grow up by falling and getting up, the bruises of stones and scratches of thorns we cherish, our wisdom teeth erupts with pain and we toil and sweat to have a descent life. My mother told me that my wife was having pain, not sure whether it was a true labour pain, but they were going to take her for a checkup. That was the first time I realized what I was doing there. My wife was miles away bearing alone entire anxieties of birth giving and where is her partner who is supposed to support her on such occasions. I have been cramped in my working place frustrated, unable to think or act properly as my mind was far away at home. I had booked my ticket to travel two days later. I prayed for the best and left my room for the operation theatre where I had duty. I called my father and asked him to inform me immediately if the attending doctor said anything positive as there was a flight within three hours.

I avoided assisting any cases pose so that I could attend any call from home. After about two hours my father called to tell me it was false pains, however they advised to get admitted since the expected date of delivery was imminent. He reminded me not to get stressed as this was just a routine admission. I started thinking about my wife and her situation. Then I realized that it was a part of her agony that was distracting me from all my works for the last 2 weeks. I called my wife and told her that I was starting that night would join her the next day. The moment I made that decision the turbulent wind which disturbed my mind settled. Neither had I applied for leave, nor had I booked the bus or air ticket. But something inside was telling me that this was the right decision. My first reflex was to ask my junior to call his brother who was running a travel agency to check for flights to kerala from Delhi. Then I wrote my leave application and approached my head of department. He right away obliged and gave me permission to leave the operation theatre then and there. I told him that I was leaving only in the night, so it was alright for me to work today. I contacted a medical representative to arrange for a bus ticket from Chandigarh to Delhi as it was already for too late. By that time, my junior told me that there was direct flight to Cochin but it was too costly. There was another flight to Coimbatore which was much less and reached at the same time. After arriving at Coimbatore,I will have to travel by bus for about five hours to reach my destination. But I didn’t want to wait and risk my journey, so I told him to book the ticket right away. Meanwhile the medical representative called me and said that all the bus tickets to Delhi airport were booked. I told him to look for private buses, even though that meant that I would have to change bus from Delhi bus stand to airport. I had to meet my thesis guide as my thesis submission date was due after 5 days. I had already applied for an extension of 15 days. I left the operation theatre at 3 pm and went to meet her at the outpatient department. I was free by 4 pm and decided to do some shopping. I went to sector 15 to buy some sweets. I called my friend to confirm that he didn’t have any duty that night so that he could drop me at the bus station.

Fortunately, I had done much of my shopping, so I had just to pack my bags. Being the son of an NRI, packing was not a problem. I had watched how my uncle used to pack my father’s luggage. As a child, it was fascinating to see him working on the luggage, rolling them over the sturdy ropes. There was a particular method of tying ropes over bags. Each knot was connected to the other in such a way that when one loosens, the other tightens it. Or else, the tying was improper and may loosen any time. Each knot would be symmetrically aligned. In the end it was like the slogan of malabar gold, beauty meets quality. I packed the cardboard box, strapped them with tape and then with rope. By that time, the medical representative whom I had entrusted to buy my bus ticket called me saying that he had procured the bus ticket to the airport itself, but in black. Black is when buy something in an illegal way by giving more money. Fair enough in times of urgency, I didn’t mind.

It was already 7 pm and I was almost ready. Then I remembered that my wife had asked me to trim my beard before coming. It is wonderful to see how relationships could change people. I used to grow my beard so long as my hair, keep my wallet empty because of the laziness to go to the ATM, many times did the petrol tank of my scooter dry up and I had to leave my scooter road side and walk to the petrol station with a can to refill. I was careless and clumsy as a rabbit. But with my wife around I am extra careful, my wallet is always full and so is my petrol tank. Meanwhile I cancelled the ticket I had booked for 30th. I had some matters to settle before I leave, so I called some of my friends and seniors and informed them I was leaving. At around 10 pm I called my friend to pick me up for dinner. We had planned to go a hotel near the bus station so that It would be easy for me to board the bus. Another friend of mine also joined us to see me off. We went to hotel Jullundur, our usual meeting place where my friends booze and I have my usual mutton biriyani. We talked about many things from domestic to international issues. Both of them were of the notion that I would have a son for no specific reason. In fact, I too had a similar intuition.( My wife has not delivered when I write this ). I had developed the habit of predicting the sex of the child by looking at the appearance and behavior of the mother from my MBBS years. It was just like a hobby and I should say I have a 100% record so far. Please don’t torture the newcomer with your strictness, was my friend’s advice to me. They used to call me BSP, boring, strict and predictable. I was boring in the sense that I don’t get mixed with others so easily, I don’t entertain their booze and night parties and as they had personally admitted, they felt guilty while smoking or drinking in front of me. I was indeed strict in the sense that I never like to mix business with pleasure. I always reached on time for duties and expected others to do the same. I was sure very predictable. If my junior comes late for they were sure to answer to me. They could predict that with full confidence and be prepared to receive the torment. But I liked the way I am and they too acknowledged me. My friends were joking that I would refuse the child to be delivered earlier as the expected date was a week later. I finished my meals and as usual reminded them to complete their meals fast even though there was about half an hour for the bus and the bus stand was only 2 minutes walk from the hotel. They asked me to shut up and enjoy the meal even though they knew that I would remind them every 5 minutes.

I boarded the bus on time. They accompanied me to help with my luggage. They had even brought gifts for my child. That was something unexpected. I mocked at them asking since when were they so emotional and touchy. But they were like that. Even though they often reminded me of my dark side, they were there when I needed them. A friend in need is a friend indeed. As I was late in booking the tickets I got a back seat, but I didn’t mind as the road was good and it would require an earth quake to wake me up when I get into the sleep mode.

I had forgotten to keep the alarm, but my biological clock woke me up precisely .I entered the airport terminal. I hope all of you must have experienced this extra ordinary phenomenon of getting struck in the right moment. Well, I have experienced this several times as I am careless and my body has developed this defense mechanism. I had reached Delhi airport one hour earlier on purpose because in winter the fog was supposed to delay the traffic. But I had no problems this time. I sat there and waited among the anxious passengers. The lady at the boarding pass counter asked me which seat I preferred. I thought of it for a while as the last time I travelled with my wife, she wanted a window seat, but we didn’t get it. Now I am offered the pleasure of choosing one when I don’t need them. Well, this is life. Nevertheless I told her the window seat, even though it made no difference as I was sure to doze off the moment the flight took off. I had one more hour before I could board the plane. I had my breakfast at the “Vaango” restaurant. The name had always fascinated me. It means ‘Come’ in Tamil and was the perfect word to invite people to a place where they served Idli and dosa. A man was arguing with the cashier, why he was given only idli, when he had ordered idli and dosa. I sometimes felt that people need to ask the question “Now what “rather than persisting on “why”, which would avoid a lot of tension. He could have ordered another plate of dosa instead of getting into an altercation and spoiling the scene. After having the breakfast, I roamed around the waiting lobby, window shopping in the costly electronic and perfume shops, musing the aquarium fish. Last time, they had the clown fish, which is the prettiest fish I have ever seen. This time they have only parrot fishes and gouramies. As it was time for my morning prayer, I went to the prayer room. A middle aged man was already into his prayers, so I joined him. By the time I finished my prayers, the 16 No gate was open for the Indigo Flight to Coimbatore via Chennai.

I reached Coimbatore airport at 11 am. I went to the auto rickshaw stand to go to the bus stand. I vainly had a short bargain with the driver in my broken Tamil for charging me Rs 150. Neither did I impress upon him as a native, nor did he reduce the charge. I didn’t want to irritate him either as the Tamilians were already angry with us for the Mullaperiyar Dam issue. When I reached the bus depot I was happy to see three buses to my place. But my momentary elation vanished when I came to know that due to the attacks of Kerala State Bus Transport Buses by some of the natives, they have decided that all the buses would leave together with police escort only after 2 hours. When I used to see the news about the ageing Dam issue I never thought that I would be a part of its ill effects. I didn’t sleep during my bus journey, partly because I was afraid of any attacks from the natives and partly because my neighbor was interested in chit chatting. One thing about people is that when they come to know that you are a doctor, they ask about the illnesses that occurred to them during in their entire life. This person had questions regarding his jaundice which was cured 3 years back, the dandruff he had last year, his mother who died of uterine cancer 6 years back, his friend who died of leukemia 3 years ago ,his occasional weakness so on and so forth.

I reached Thrissur bus stand at about 4. 30 pm and took an auto rickshaw to the hospital where my wife was admitted. The driver started asking my whereabouts while taking me to my destination. I purposely avoided telling him my profession, but he skillfully took it out of my mouth. Then the predicted question comes, I have been having a pain in my left hand occasionally, I have been taking ayurvedic medicines without relief, could it be due to rheumatism? My first impulse was to tell him, you give me a free ride and I shall give you free advice, but I told him, “Sorry, I am an ENT specialist, wouldn’t know much about bones”. He looked at me surprised or dissatisfied as I was counting down the time left for me to join my beloved.

by the eldest son

Humour at death bed

Among us are certain individuals endowed with extra ordinary power to laugh at odds, misfortunes, calamities befalling them and even when death confronting them. Like this time, I was on annual vacation in Kerala in December 2010. What a gulf goers usually do during their vacation, is to pay lightning visits to his friends and relatives to renew the friendship and refresh their memories. Last year when I called at the house of a close friend and former colleague of mine, his wife confided to us the painful story of his hospitalization and admission to ICU where he had to be kept for more than ten days and that all of them were alarmed at the possibility that they would not see him alive once again . I was at a loss how to face him or what to ask him , let alone  console him. When I began to grope for words, my friend who had just been discharged from the hospital intervened and came to my rescue. He shook hands with me and began to enquire about  my children especially about the elder ones who were so close to him while he was living in Doha. With smiling face he began to describe what he had happened to him: “My wife might have told you that I was in the hospital. It is because of the fact that we are sometimes compelled to remind others that there is an organ in our body called heart .I am a heart patient,  and my wife   is diabetic and therefore we are partners even in ill-health”. Since he was laughing when he  spoke to us we shared his “joy”with difficulty. By the grace of God he is still leading normal life with his family at his native place.

The other day we had been to the house of a maternal uncle of my son in law who died of kidney failure. He had a history of struggle with diabetes. His house was packed with mourners from different walks of life.. I knew that he was not a political leader and that the mourners were not there to express their “deep shock at the irreparable loss or unbridgeable gap”. He was a common man who won their hearts  through  his lighthearted approach, simple life and innocent jokes. I know him since 2001 when the engagement ceremony of my daughter with his nephew was conducted. The ceremony had coincided with my eldest son’s admission to Aleppy Medical College. When he met my son during the ceremony he congratulated him saying “ I wish you all success. When you graduate and work as a doctor , I will come to see you with diabetes in my hand”. When I narrated this incident to one of the mourners, he testified that the deceased had always had an unusual sense of humour.

During the marriage ceremony of my daughter conducted after one year from the engagement, he noticed that the electric switch board in our living room was covered with clourful grazing papers normally used for wrapping presentation items. My daughter had done it not to expose the wooden box to the participants in the function. She told us that he had later asked her whether the switch board itself was one of the gifts presented to us on the occasion of her marriage.

When his father passed away a few months prior to his death , the newspaper that carried the death news introduced his brothers as retired engineer, Kerala State Electricity Board employee etc. whereas they had nothing to mention against his name . After reading the newspaper, he commented saying that he should have been introduced at least as a kidney patient.

Once a journalist colleague of my son in law fell unconscious and was taken to hospital where the doctors disclosed to him that he had only one kidney and that was why had fallen unconscious. When he resumed his duties after being discharged from the hospital he told his colleagues who congratulated him on his recovery: “ I have been, hither to, proud of being the owner two kidneys . You know the truth now. In lieu of being proud of having two kidneys, I suggest that all of you undergo a medical checkup. It is possible that some of you may have only one kidney .

The other day when I met a friend of mine I enquired about his younger brother who also close to me. He said that he met with an accident recently and died. Though I was sorry to learn about his sad demise, his brother narranted the incident   in such a way  that one would fee that  his brother had gone for shoppping..

By the father

GOOD MORNING, YOU ARE DYING !!!

PATIENT: “Sat sree akal Ji” (form of wishing in Punjabi)

“Doctor Sahib, Apna reporte ayaa hai” (Doctor, my reports have come)

DOCTOR:“Babaji, thuade Ghale me cancer hai” ( Uncle , you have a cancer in your throat)

PATIENT:”Achha Ji”(Local term for Yes sir, but it comes so spontaneously that what it actually means is that I heard something but I didn’t get any thing)

“Waise teek hai na” (after all that is normal, right)

It is interesting to watch how people receive bad news. During the last two years I have had the opportunity to see patients with bad prognosis day in and day out. Thanks to being in a prime institute of my country, India, I have developed an expertise in spelling out the death certificates to the patients. There was a time when I used to avoid such situations on purpose as I had considered myself emotionally inefficient to deal with such cases. But it was when I had to do my thesis on oral cancer that I developed this touch in spelling out misery.

People react to their disease in different ways. Everyone has their own unique way of defending pain. Some cry, some get angry at themselves (and at the doctor), some deny it all, some defy it,some withdraw into themselves, and some get ready for the fight. This depends on many factors such as whether the patient is a male or female and on his or her educational, economic, religious and social backdrop Therefore as a resident doctor it is very important to assess the mental and emotional capacity of the patient before you spell it out. The trick is to say the truth without provoking the patient, to be tough but without hurting him , emotionally bonded to the patient but within the limit that you never become his or her sympathizer.

A patient once came to my late OPD in the late hours with a CT scan report. As I had already packed up my instruments and was ready to leave I was a bit reluctant to entertain him. But he told me that he had not brought the patient and just needed opinion regarding the CT finding. I saw a huge tumor involving most of his nose, sinuses and nasopharynx. Seeing the amount of destruction it caused to the bones around I could say that it was highly malignant. I told him that his patient had a malignant tumor which was rapidly progressing and destroying his body and most probably was not amenable to treatment with curative intend. He sat there and heard the whole sermon of doom. Then he replies,” I hope everything is all right then”. I sat wondering which part I or he had missed . I told him that we could not cure the patient who asked me whether everything was alright. I told him that it was not the case and that his patient was dying. I asked him to bring the patient and we would explain the rest.

It is extremely difficult to explain the prognosis to women. However informed and educated they may be , they have this inborn character of cracking up in such situations. An old man with carcinoma of larynx in an advanced stage had been coming to my OPD. Each time I sent him for biopsy he got lost and came to my OPD next time without the results. So this time I insisted on him to bring someone from home. But to my dismay, a young lady in twenties had accompanied him. I preferred to explain the prognosis to the old man rather than to the lady. But she told me that she was a distant relative and was a nurse working in a peripheral hospital which comforted me. At least she must have seen patients like this. I sent the patient outside and started explaining the bad prognosis of her uncle’s disease to her. She told me she was expecting this for sometime seeing the smoking habit of her uncle. I told her that the biopsy was just to prove the diagnosis; even though we were 99% sure it was cancer. She was calm and composed. She said she would later break the news to the relative and left. I was sorry for the patient but was happy for my accomplishment of breaking the news to a women and not making her cry for the first time. After 5 minutes she rushed into my room her eyes red and raining with tears. She told me she could not face her uncle being informed that he was going to die. She began to cry loudly and other patients tried to notice. I asked her to calm down and be stronger. Things like this could happen to any tom, dick and harry . I have a fixed protocol of lines to calm patients down. It took me around ten minutes to console her and she left wiping off her tears. I felt a little relieved but still waiting for that woman who can receive the bad news.

We have our own ways not to frighten the patients because majority of patients coming to us are scared either of the disease they have or of the surgery we perform. So one wrong word would make them run and hide at their homes. It is very easy to convince the patients that they are ill . After all that is what they expect when they come to us. On the other hand, it is very easy to make a patient disagree with surgery. Just explain the procedure in layman’s terms and he will never allow you to cut him open. Most of our patients are neurotic which simply means that they are obsessed with disease. The moment you tell them they are normal, they either switch the doctor or keep increasing their complaints and visits. So we try to formulate terms and conditions which would satisfy them. Globus hystericus is the most fascinating among them all. Seen most commonly in women, this condition just means that the patient has a feeling of a lump in her throat but there is nothing wrong. If you tell her she is normal, she would just come again and again. If you tell her the fancy name, she will be happy irrespective of whether you treat her or not. Such patients are very happy with relative gimmicks like diet management, exercise, steam inhalation etc though none of these is a definite treatment. Not all tumors are dangerous or deadly , so it is very important that we don’t frighten the patients and make them count his days. So we have got wordings which would explain to him the disease perfectly. These words are just locally evolved and have the same meaning, but the idea it gives to the patient is different. Like for instance, a ‘Gant’ is a swelling which is benign, a ‘rasoli’ is supposed to be a similar swelling which is more dangerous and everybody understands when we call a swelling a cancer. A ‘sojish’ is a small ulcer or oedema , a ‘chala’ is a similar ulcer but more dangerous and next stage is a cancer. Since the boundaries between these terms are pretty vague, one must use them very carefully or else the patient may get misinformed.

The only time I don’t like my patients is when they become careless and don’t follow my instructions. A patient had cancer in his larynx which was treated by radiotherapy. He had come for follow up after 6 months and had not shown any evidence of disease. I examined the patient and there was still no evidence of the disease. I removed my facemask to tell him the good news but noticed the foul smell of tobacco smoke. I asked him whether he started smoking again. He reluctantly told me that he has been smoking for the last 2 months. I got so furious that I shouted at the patient so violently that even my co-resident, who was an occasional smoker got frightened seeing my hatred to smokers . How could he start something which caused his disease at the first time? He has not understood the gravity of his disease and the extent of damage it could do to him and his family. I was under the false impression that we had conquered the disease while the patient himself was conspiring against me. I threw his card away and told him to get lost. He sat there and stared at me. I told him not to see me again until he quit smoking. I knew this was against doctor patient conduct, but my care for the patient had overwhelmed my conscience. The other patients started explaining to him the importance of quitting smoking and that I was behaving like this because I cared for him. May be the patient would never come to me again, but at least I made my point clear to him.

As a doctor we are often accused of being emotionally blunt. Especially surgeons are considered rogue and emotionally attached to patients. Some say that how can we bond with our patients and later cut them with a scalpel. But the truth is surgeons unknowingly get attached to their patients even if they don’t want to. But we often try to hide this by behaving indifferently because most of the diseases we deal with have bad prognosis and urgent decision making and action is of paramount importance. So being emotionally attached to our patients would really interfere with such a decision making. This reminded me of a joke which floated in the facebook. Physicians and Surgeons go for duck hunting. When the ducks fly over them the physician, the Internist points his gun, but does not shoot. "This bird certainly looks like a female mallard, but I must rule out geese , and swans. A juvenile Mesopotamian sea duck would look exactly the same!" the duck flies away. The surgeon comes,” look it flies,BOOM, then turns to the pathologist and asks , what was that?.

By the eldest son

Singing birds and sweet mangoes.

In this world of ours unfortunately dominated by chaos, confusion, tension and turmoil, every one is looking for a bit of relief , a little space to relax and a ray hope. A singing bird or a melodious music or a beautiful butterfly that seeks  to suck the nectar of flowers fluttering its wings or the fragrance emanating from jasmine flowers is apt to give man what he is badly in need of these days.

Apart from these blessings of Nature there are certain aspects of human behaviour that grant us mental satisfaction and contribute to our peace of mind. The other day we had been to the house of my wife's friend to hand over a book my wife had borrowed from her. I waited on the ground floor of the building whereas their apartment was on the first floor so that my wife could hand over the book and return quickly since it was already 10 P.M as people in Doha are in a hurry, during winter season, to dine and go to bed after wrapping themselves in warming blankets to plunge into sleep induced by the cold weather . My wife did not come back quickly but their eldest son came down telling me that his father was calling me to go upstairs. Though I tried to apologise, he insisted on his request and I had to follow him. While my wife was chatting with her friend I sat in their living room talking to her husband explaining why I was waiting on the ground floor instead of entering their house When the chit-chat between the two housewives went on for while , I began to remind my wife that it was already too late but her friend tried to assure me they were not at all disturbed by our presence and that their bed time was 12 midnight .Despite that they were not expecting us, with in a few minutes two plates of chapattis and a bowl of chicken curry were placed on their dining table. Then we found them literally begging us to accept eat something. Though our dinner was ready at home, we began to eat while both of them stood beside us requesting us to eat more and more. His wife was taking chapattis from our plates and tearing them into small pieces to facilitate our dining. She told me that she presumed that the curry prepared by her might not be as delicious as the one prepared by my wife which could be the reason why I was hesitant to eat . We were like obedient students before them as we could not escape from tight grip of their warm hospitality which had a special flavour unmatched by any item in the menu of any hotel in the world. What mattered were not the dishes on their dining table but their open-hearted approach and extraordinary cordiality that have left an indelible imprint on our minds. It disturbs our minds when we think that we will not able to reciprocate their hospitality when they visit us next time however hard we may try. We believe that God has chosen such persons to be an epitome of those sublime characteristics.

I remember a man who used to invite me to join him for a cup of coffee when ever I passed by the traditional teashop in our village in Kerala he used to frequent. When I apologised, he seemed to be annoyed. My initial reaction was some sort of astonishment or even resentment as I wondered why he was annoyed at my unwillingness to join him as if I had to wilily-nilly obey him and I even thought that he had no right to force me do something I didn’t like . It took me some time to realise the sincerity of his purpose, the selflessness his motive , that his was not a perfunctory act for he expected nothing from me in return and he would gain nought save the pleasure he derived if I accepted his invitation. If I acceded to his request, he was instead going to loose a few bucks .If he had asked me to do him a favour prior to his invitation or thereafter, his invitation would have been tantamount to a diluted version of bribery

Once when I was living as a bachelor in Doha, a friend of mine who was living with his wife in a humble house invited me to dinner. The dish prepared by his wife was handmade pathiri (pancake made of rice flour) and some curry. I asked her why she took the trouble of preparing handmade pancake instead of preparing it using a home appliance called “pathiri press” as other housewives do . Then she told me that during one of their visits to our house in Kerala, when my l mom was alive , my wife was trying to serve them cookies and cakes which is the usual method among housewives to treat their guests even these days as it saves time and requires no efforts on their part . But when my mom saw this , she told my wife that it was not the proper way of treating guests, volunteered to prepare handmade pathiri by herself in front of her and asked my wife to serve them what her mother in law had prepared .My friend’s wife told me that it was from my mom that she had learnt to make handmade pathiri. She added that handmade pathiri was softer and more tasty as its contents include ground coconut as well. Though the financial status of the host counts, it is not the main contributor to the satisfaction of the guests. I remember one of my late maternal aunt who was so loving and affectionate . Her husband was a man of principles who always wore pure white shirt and dhoti which he himself washed until his death. Such persons never think of earning money and hence he was suffering from financial problems throughout his life and trying hard to make both ends meet. But every one who visited their house testified to the fact that what they witnessed there was an atmosphere of affluence bestowed by their selflessness, humility, love and care for their guests. Their financial problems had had no adverse effect on the impression they created in the minds their visitors. On the other hand who ever visited the house of another maternal aunt of mine, whose husband was rich, owned properties and lived in two-storey building in those days complained of a gloomy atmosphere and dead silence in their house.

Our mom taught us not to disappoint any one who knocked at our door even “ if the person came to us on a horseback” .She did not always have a money to give those approaching her as her husband was just a farmer who was trying hard to meet the day to day expenses of his family. Therefore she sometimes gave them the shirts or dhotis her children were using without telling them. When we returned home we found our dress items missing and quarrelled with her.

Our villagers still remember that my mom had hosted whoever visited our house regardless of their financial status . Last year when I was on vacation in Kerala, an ailing person whom I met told me how my mom used give him Kanhi (rice water soup) when he visited our house to purchase fresh mangoes from mango trees grown in the plot of land where our old house stood. Neither those mango trees that gave us different types of sweet mangoes nor my mom who used to care for them are with us today. When I sold the last mango tree to a timber merchant as it stood so close to our house and its branches began to cause damage to the roof , I thought I could plant another one to give us the same type of large fleshy sweet mangoes. But though we have more than three mango trees in our plot of land today none of them is similar to it in terms of taste or shape.

A few weeks prior to her sad demise in 2000, my mom was hospitalised. When her condition worsened, she expressed her wish to see me. By the time I reached the hospital in Kerala where she was admitted she was in the ICU unit .Since the moment she saw me, her condition began to improve and she was transferred to general ward. She soon regained the power of speech she had lost, began to speak to the visitors and even crack jokes with those visiting her. We decided to take her home and look after her with the help of a home nurse. At home she was looked after jointly by my sister and brother’s wife. Her condition seemed to improve and my sister returned to her house. We thought that every thing was going well but a couple of days later all on a sudden when I was having lunch she breathed her last due to cardiac arrest .Even when my only sister hugged me and wept, I don’t know why I could not follow her . It seemed that my feelings were frozen or it might be that one needs to be brave even to shed tears. If one cannot weep even at the death of his mom, nothing else in the world can make him cry.

By the father