A Year with Mother: The evolution of a Mumma’s Boy.

(Note: This article was first drafted  in mid 2016. And well, it then remained in the drafts. Residency or some other thing took me away from writing. With the lockdown, once during a conversation with a friend, we got discussing a blog I used to once write. I lamented how I’ve lost the zeal to write, but we decided at least there must be an attempt to reignite an old hobby. It’s Lockdown 4.0, and I still haven’t come up with anything original of substance to write about, but then this draft caught my eye. So, a lot of this is from 2016, and some from 2020. Four years on, I’m baffled how drastic drift my ethos has taken. And thus my attempt to chart an evolution.)

“You’re a total Mumma’s boy!” exclaimed Pallavi as I cracked yet one more of my famous (or infamous, nonetheless, as they say, no fame is bad fame) standup type jokes. There was no audience (cause three’s a crowd but there were just the two of us), but I’m sure if there was one, I would have been mobbed (for autographs and selfies, of course).

Pallavi is a simple creature, pure of heart and not much wit. She gets fascinated by simple things. Like the other day, when I showed her my new phone (edit 2020: Still using the same phone), her eyes lit up with excitement – “Isme to front facing flash hai!!” (edit 2020: At that time there was no Oppo, Vivo and mine was perhaps one of the first phones [yes it is Chinese, but whose phone isn’t] to have a front facing flash. Tech Savvy, ain’t I?)

So, a post call 1^st year resident (i.e. Pallavi) realising and emphasising my mumma’s boy status meant that the cat was out of the box. And that has got me thinking. How do I quantify this trait? On a scale of 1 to 10, where do I stand?

For one, all through the five and half years of MBBS (internship included. Do i smell someone one fire?)  I’ve been going home for lunch, being served fresh hot fluffy rotis. Well, if your house is 5 minutes walking distance from College, who wouldn’t go home. In my defence, during my 12^th I used to carry two tiffins – one for breakfast and other for lunch. So, that definitely doesn’t count as a mumma’s boy attribute. Yet, I do concur with the observation. But scientific thinking mandates that conclusions have to be backed by plausible evidence (edit 2020: WHO/ICMR are you reading this?) Hmmmm.........

1^st August 2008 I joined the famed GSMC & KEMH, and thus began a romance, one which has only enriched me. Here, I’ve got the opportunity to bloom to a full potential, in both my academics and extracurriculars. Well, this is my second home, I intend to be here for much longer and many more innings (edit 2020: I won’t. And I’m much grateful for that. I now have many more places I call home viz. Delhi, Coimbatore..... and counting?)

But, what had happened over the past 5.5 years is that the home where I live had just become a boarding and lodging facilty. Go home, sleep. Eat food. Back to Gymkhana for all those youthful activities (edit 2020: Gymkhana is love.) Hopping from one activity to another, one semester to another and one exam to another has been so engrossing that one hasn’t realised that time has flown away. I joined MBBS as a 17 year old minor and by now I have voted in 3 elections, have a political ideology (edit 2020: That has watered down. Now, they are all just clowns in different colours.) I have a degree, I deal with life and death (edit 2020: no longer. Hope to continue to make life livable..... the quality of life aspect that I now deal with....... that’s content for another blog), and hope to save many more lives in the future by calculated heroisms that only medicine can offer one to do.(edit 2020: Meh!)

So many things have changed over these years, but there has been a steady backbone through all the trials and tribulations, like a shadow which never leaves – the constant called mother. Yes, there have been complaints that I have had towards her and she towards me and both have amicably communicated to each other. But, there has been a comfort in her presence and much of what I have been able to do, has been because of this emotional cushion that she has afforded.

In stark contrast to the ever absent from home 5.5 years of MBBS, this past year of preparing for NEET has been spent within the confines of home. I’ve talked more with mom this year than perhaps the last 6 years put together. She has stories to tell and I have more. And now dwelling on that innocuous observation that Pallavi, my dissection partner (not quite partner, she was afraid to dissect, so Owais and I did all the work. No complains, we loved dissecting. It was a mutual arrangement. Just one complain – she never went on a dieting fad or I would have gladly eaten all her cadburys as well),made brings me to the realisation that I have now come to see the white hair that she (mother, of course) has, much more than 6 years ago. 

Those fine wrinkles on her face, they weren’t there the last I recollect. So, while as much as I may claim that she’s been a constant, she probably has been largely relegated to being a shadow.

Have you seen your shadow carefully? Does it have a face? Does it have features? No. It only has a silhout. And you never bother to notice that because it’s just so taken for granted. People talk to mirrors when they are bored and not necessarily psychiatrically ill (edit 2020: most would’ve by now, courtesy the lockdown!), but no one talks to the shadow.

But this, year has given me an opportunity to see a face in that shadow. Indian boys are so attached to their mothers (edit 2020: this one still holds), and so am I. But the shadow with a face, makes me realize that the tables are turning. Sooner than later, as these wrinkles deepen and more of the hair turns white, a change of roles is on the card. I will be the care taker, her constant, her backbone. This happens to all and sultry.

But, what will be different? Well, for her I’ll always be the one with a face, the one she reads and deciphers- emotions that I have been unaware that I was experiencing – she always has. To her, I’ll never be a shadow. And this day forth, she’s definitely not a shadow anymore.

Post Edit 2020:

Long story short, in a couple of months I moved to Delhi for my residency. Over the 3 years in Delhi, I’ve learnt to cook, keep my books (financially), manage my groceries and shop for my clothes and wash them and iron them too. Mother has been visiting often, her trips ranging from 1 week to 1 month.

October 2019, I completed my postgraduation and moved back home in early November. Then, for two months I was home, till I moved to Coimbatore in early Jan 2020 for my fellowship. In the two months, while mother insisted on cooking breakfast, I realised that my food tasted better. So, from taking culinary instructions over the phone in the Nov of 2016, here I was dictating terms in the Nov of 2019. Minor tussle. Everyone’s happy now, cause my food tastes better. As mother says, there’s something in the hands of boys who cook. Yeah!!

Come Jan 2020, mother made a trip to Coimbatore. Something here was feeling new, the house wasn’t feeling like home. But, ever since she’s been here, it has been. In our temples we do pranpratisthan for the diety’s idol. Well, her visit was kind of a pranpratisthan for the house I live in now. 

After that 1 week visit was over, we had planned a longer one in March. This time we were to go around to Ooty and all the scenic hill stations around CBE. Just a few days before her departure from Mumbai, the frenzy around Corona was building up. Being at that stage in my career where most of my batchmates have joined as senior residents or lecturers or junior consultants, there was a flood of information about the landfall that this pandemic was going to make – raw data, the one that was not yet analysed or manipulated or disguised under official figures. Real on ground situation!! And that was still March, before the official lockdown.

So, in all sense of safety and security, it was mutually decided to postpone the trip to a safer time, say October, tentatively. How have the last two months been? Extremely stressful? Yes and no.

I am happy, I don’t get to go home. I can’t. I’m a thousand miles away. Also, I see patients. Wouldn’t have wanted to go home. Win-win.

But, there’s also always a moment every day, that I am scared and worried. Every time, I hear of some so and so case. Some batchmate testing positive. Of the shortage of hospital beds. Of being unable to be of any use, despite all the resources and contacts at my disposal, because, frankly, they themselves are stretched beyond imagination.

Ever since we’ve resumed OPDs since early May, I’ve been using a N95 mask daily. It is a torture. It drains your energy. It starves you of oxygen. And the headaches are like you’ve never experienced before. Then I speak to some friend. And I feel happy that at least I’m not wearing a full PPE in this sweltering May heat. At least, I am spared the dehydration and electrolyte imbalance.

A few days back, I was speaking to Mom about how bad the situation in Mumbai has become, and just as a fleeting thought I said "May be, I should’ve let you come over.” Then again, I remembered speaking to my friend, “At least you are lucky you’re getting a PPE!"

Can’t have both heads and tails, can we?

Going back to 2016, I had written 

“Sooner than later, as these wrinkles deepen and more of the hair turns white, a change of roles is on the card. I will be the care taker.”

Come 2020, am I? Not being around, is probably the best care that I can offer. We all are at nature’s mercy. I hope the answer is in affirmative, but only time can tell.

What makes a hero standout? He makes a sacrifice. And recollect, in 2016 I had a dream to undertake “calculated heroisms”. Well, at this point, to that end, we both are each others heros and rest is for fate to decide.

“Have you seen these guys?” one of my professors had once said. “30 year olds, still having their parents standing outside their exam halls. When will they ever cut the umbilical cord?” It was probably in context of DM entrances or MD final exams, I don’t recollect clearly, and he surely was unhappy that full grown adults were incapable of fending for themselves.

To Sir, I reply. Yes, I have cut the umbilical cord. Independent I am, a bird that has left his nest and gets his own worm. And that partly, is also the reason why mother dear isn’t as worried. 

I've tried to make her tech savvy. Pushed her out of the house as much as I could. In Delhi, I bought her a metro card and told her to go around sight seeing on her own, whilst I was in the hospital. She would then come home and tell me about easier routes around Delhi.

So mush so that, when she came to CBE, I told her that I’ll come to the station to pick her up, she actually sounded surprised. And that’s the reason why I am not as worried. I know, she’ll manage. 

The umbilical cord has been cut from both the ends. We now stand to each other as mirrors, not as shadows.

Coming to whether I’m still a mumma’s boy? 

Well, more than ever! On a scale of 1-10 where do I stand? at 11.

(P.S: That March ticket which she told me she’d cancelled – well she’d actually rescheduled it for April. This she told me in April when IRCTC messaged her that they’re not running the train. We both had a healthy laugh about it. 

It’s just not us, there are so many amongst us that yearn for our loved ones. My heart aches when I think of the tragedy that the poor migrants are facing, left high and dry. Were I to be a daily wager, I would also have taken this thousand mile journey for sure. 

But, we should be lucky to be privileged that we are – me for being able to write this, and you for being able to read.)

Settling in Delhi.

“Why Delhi?” Owais messaged. His astonishment palpable.

“Don’t become a Delhi boy or I’ll have to beat you up.” Savni’s warning was as clear as it gets.

A sizeably many more well-wishers sent their mixed greetings, and concerns and tips on surviving a city that we, the Mumbaikars, the people of the maximum city, the creatures who know no sleep, who spend 40% of our cumulative lifetime travelling from home to workplace and back, have grown up to think as of being one of ravages, fed both by our sense of superiority in being the more civilised of the races and media’s constant pandering to that thought.

“Blah blah blah. More blah blah, blah blah. Hence, Delhi.” I replied.

“Why Delhi?” Owais persevered with his CID style interrogation. Now, I was lost for words.

Savni has been kinder and more compassionate though, I must add. She just calls twice a week to put me in line.

But the bullet had left the pistol and so there was no looking back. Till so far, Delhi has been kind enough. The climate here has just turned supremely pleasant – hot and superhumid – just the way we like it back in the Gateway to India, where the philosophical bath time thoughts revolve around ‘why do we bath? So that even as we’re drying yourself, we get drenched in sweat again. Karma is such a pet canine of the female gender. ‘

In a couple of days I managed to rent out a lavish palatial estate to establish my retreat, found palatable, nutritious and hygienic (?? !! OK I’m making this up, but mom also reads my blogs na!) food which taste’s just as good as home food (paneer power).

Now, there are some people who blabber about things like “We Eat to Live”!! I don’t know which mad dog has bitten them. As far as I am concerned,” I Live to Eat.” And good food I’ve sniffed out (I repeat, my mother reads this blog). So when my seniors ask,” Have you settled?” I give an emphatic “Yay!!!” (P.S.: There is, in fact one senior who’s kind enough to spoon feed us, but that’s mostly food for the mind, but food nonetheless.) Spending almost 12 hours (i.e. all the daylight hours) in the hospital, I return to my royal abode, sink into my Jacuzzi (wishes are horses that beggars can ride, I’m just bathing in a Jacuzzi at the end of an exhausting day) before laying asleep in my king size bed.

“So have you settled?” another senior asked loving.

“Yes Sir!” I grinned from ear to ear. But something felt uneasy. So much concern was pouring in my way from home and otherwise, I wondered if was I missing something. Was I so lost in happiness that I was overlooking something obvious? Was I in a misery that I was unaware of? If I had flower at my disposal I would have plucked off its petals,” I am well settled...... No I’m not...... I am well settled...... No I’m not.......” But, alas, this was not to be my luxury.

A few days later, when my Mercedes had to be sent to the garage for maintenance purposes (sochne ka paisa nahi lagta. Insaan ki soch badi honi chahiye), I had to hop into an e-rickshaw, a Delhi commoner’s horse ride. The traffic was no worse than Mumbai’s. Across me were seated a gentleman and a fair lady in her twenties, who probably had delayed neurodevelopmental milestones. The gentleman was kind and tender and polite and probably the girl’s caretaker.

“O look! Wa-all-me-ate!” She exclaimed in her monosyllabic speech as the ride passed across the store. “Wa-all-pe-per-s! Ti-il-es an-d Fl-oo-ri-ngs!” She read the tagline out loud.

'Awww!!!' I thought out loud. The gentleman was unmoved. Some stone-hearted fellow. It isn’t unusual for caregivers of special kids to get frustrated. But, they courageously persevere nonetheless, for which I respect them a lot. There are human boundaries, and they brave them on a daily basis.

“Mu-naa-faa- Ma-rt.” She started again. “Aap-ki ba-ch-at ka des-ti-ne-sh-n. Babu, here we can get good discounts na!”

Babu! She said Babu!!!! She wasn’t no retard! I had been hijacked!

And then, the misery began. I had to bear through her reading aloud all the shop names along with their taglines and a monologue on their meanings. My schooldays flashed up out of the blue. ‘Sandarbhasahit  spashtikaran kara’, used to be a question in which we were supposed to build up on a couplet from a poem and explain its meaning. Though what we ended up doing always was just writing down the poetry into plain text. Just a couple of days ago, I had ventured out after dark (like Akbar used to) against percolated wisdom, to get to know the locality, its lanes and by-lanes and markets and shops. Had I know that I’d be stuck in this ride in heavy traffic; I wouldn’t have risked my safety, my belongings and my life.

"If someone comes to mug you, just give them everything" is all that Savni comes up with anyway.

Medical practice is very different in a government setup than it is in a private set up. Just that morning, I had asked a patient’s relative to sign on the consent form and pointed it out where Relative’s name, Relative’s sign etc. were written.

“I can read.” He had snapped at me, not taking kindly to my patronising instructions. Karma, my pet female canine had turned up wagging her tail to bite me that very evening. I apologise dear Sir, if you are reading this, I now know how irritating patronisation can sound. “I can read.” I too wanted to snap out. But, alas, this was not to be my luxury. The caregiver Babu had well developed biceps whose giant compressive strength I didn’t want to ask a demo of.

“Babu look......” she continued. “The light is red, but it is blinking. So the signal is kharab na!!” I couldn’t take it anymore. Looking away at a right angle for such a long time was giving me a neck strain. So, I looked straight into the caretaker Babu’s eyes.

“Wait baby/kuchiku/sonu/monu whatever....., I’ll go and find out. You don’t leave the rickshaw. Aapki chappal maili ho jaayegi na... Aap thak jaaoge na.... Fir mujhehi aapko utha kar ghar le jaana padega na. Bhaisab, aap jara saath chalenge...”

In the year 2006, when I wasn’t even a week old in Ruia, I was chatting with Rishabh while being seated on the first bench, under the then Hindi teacher Mr. Trigunayat’s nose. That was the first time I and Rishabh had met each other. Mr. Trigunayat didn’t appreciate people socialising in his lectures. He used to ask his disobedient pupils to ‘canteen jaao aur mere naam se chai pi aao.’

“Uthiye” he had said. I was about to stand up, but Rishabh stood up instead. “Kya batein chal rahi hai?”

‘Sir, iske pass textbook nahi hai, is liye ye mujhe pooch raha tha ki pichali baar aapne kya padhaya tha.’ I would’ve answered. I made eye contact with Rishabh as he arose taking one for the team, which was yet to be forged.

“Sir, mere pass textbook nahi hai, is liye mai isse pooch raha tha ki pichali baar aapne kya padhaya tha.” he answered. We hit it off that very moment and have been friends till date, sharing some great memories.

In the year 2016, I tried to telepathicunate with the caretaker Babu. But, alas, this was not to be my luxury. Too bad Babu, we could’ve made great friends.

I sustained my gaze for a few more moments. Babu was unmoved,by me as much as he was by his pestering baby/kuchiku/sono/monu/whatever. No pain, no angst, no embarrassment. Just pure, divine, serenity (Or maybe not). Seers roam about the world in search of the divine. Divinity comes from misery they say. Must be true.

The human mind is such a sadist! It finds satisfaction in others’ agony. I had been perplexed, if I was settled or not. I still am. But, I am relieved, that if it turns out that I am not, my suffering is nothing compared to that of some of my fellow human beings having to put up with so much misery and face so much judgement in their quest for the elusive divine.

More power to you bro (Your soul and spirit, I mean. Your biceps have a lot of power. Any more and that tendon will rupture). Thank you, if you are reading this.

(P.S.S: Please get the miss to read this out loud in her monosyllable speech as well. Mere aatma ko badi thand milegi.)

The Dilemma

Victoria was a young, confident lady of all but 21 years of age. Just over 6 months ago, she had graduated from being Ms. Victoria to Dr. Victoria. Life had changed. The comfort and the carefree attitude which the student phase had afforded was over. She was joyous, nervous and enthusiastic as she continued through her internship. She had learnt a few new skills, could now establish IV access, suture cuts and lacerations, ligate bleeding vessels and set broken bones and of course, prescribe the multivitamins to the odd patient who asked for one.

Yet, while she thought that she had seen it all, she actually hadn't. Even while working in those emergency shifts, she didn't realise that she still was in a controlled environment. Which patient she saw was filtered, and even though she felt otherwise, per se, she wasn't yet responsible for anything. The only major worry which clogged her mind was that of the upcoming entrances for her postgraduate studies which were no more than 3 months away, and how little time she was managing to squeeze out for studies.

Her current rotation was away from her parent institute. A "Peripheral" posting, in the medical lingo. It was no small hospital by any means, just not as big as her mater. Smaller place, fewer people, more work, a little more responsibility. She liked that...... just that, if only had it been after the exam she could have put in a little bit more heart into it.

It was her first night shift in the ICU at the new centre. She would get to learn a lot of new skills and procedures here, because the short staffing afforded her that luxury. Probably, resuscitate a gasping patient or two. In her parent institute, one, the number of patients were so high that after finishing her alloted menial jobs there wouldn't be any time left to learn new things and two, there were despite the rampant short staffing, sufficient number of seniors for the difficult things.

At around 8 pm she began her shift. The very first patient she attended to had been in coma since 3 days. She performed het mandatory blood collections. Over the next hour or so he started regaining consciousness. His illiterate relatives thought that her hands were blessed and so they told her repeatedly. "Aapka haath lag gaya na is liye accha hua ye!! Nahi to 3 din aankh bhi nahi kholta tha!!" She knew, that miracles don't happen. She also knew that she had technically done nothing, the medications were doing their job. But, to possess a "miracle hand" is every doctor's dream. We know the realities, yet we dream. And here, just six months into her career, she was being cannonised. How could she let that go! She just smiled, ear to ear. All her worries, anxieties, fatigue, just evaporating into the thin air.

The night went along uneventful, she worked with a skip in her steps. At about midnight, a patient trollied in, referred from the casualty. A middle aged woman, surrounded by her two kids, a daughter of about 15 yrs and a boy of about 10 and her husband. She looked into the casualty paper. The woman had consumed rat poison.

Different people have different reactions to grief and emergencies. The boy was unaware of what was happening, the girl was clearly distressed yet palpably numb. The husband had lost his head, he was inconsolable. He was shouting, blaming himself for being a bad human, rebuking her for not thinking about her children, cursing the creator for destroying his happy family in a split second. The woman, still conscious, didn't look anyone in the eye, didn't answer any of his accusations, just lay there accepting her fate. In between, she would roll her eyes around, glance at her children, but not a drop of tear rolled down anyone's cheek.

There was an eerie vibe to the whole situation that Dr. Victoria had never faced before. She was intrigued by the happenings and felt so sad for the kids. Somewhere she even blamed the mother for being careless.

"Array he kaay kelaaaa...aaa... tu!!!" The husband started yelling again. There were other patients in the ICU who required quiet. Dr. Victoria wanted to sympathise with the man, but was treating all the patients.

"Please go out and do not make so much noise." she said, trying to sound kind and firm simultaneously, having not managed to calm the storm within herself.

"Array doctor!!!! We were having food. Nicely enjoying our dinner and watching TV. Look at my kids, doctor. She just got up, doctor. Went to the cupboard and removed this bottle of rat poison. And then she told me I will drink it. I thought she is fooling..... So I said, OK go ahead.......... Doctor, I did not know she was actually going to drink it. And then, before I could do anyting, she had the whole bottle..... Doctor..... Look at my kids, doctor"

"Go out". The daughter replied. Still numb, still shaken, but her voice firm. Dr. Victoria was puzzled. Here was a 40 year old behaving irrationally. And here was a 15 year old displaying a level of maturity and composure that she, despite being a qualified medical practioner would not have managed, had she been in her position.

"Go OUT." The daughter repeated.

The man stayed out of the ICU for the rest of the night while the daughter stayed by the bedside.

"What's her prognosis?" Dr. Victoria asked the registrar. This wasn't just an academic query, but she had become emotionally invested in her patient. She had committed a mistake, which no doctor should ever make, yet they make, irrespective of whether they are newbies fresh out of the eggs or whether they have lost all the hair on their heads. " She's come pretty early, so we should be able to save her na?" She added.

"This one is a very strong OPC preparation. Lot of patients come here after consuming this. Nahi bachegi." The registrar replied unfazed. He was time hardened, with just the right amount of asbestos coating around him, to insulate himself from the heat of the moment and make proper decisions.

"O!" was all that Dr. Victoria could mutter.

So many things had happened in the course of the night. From being the one with the miraculous healing hand, she was now forced to resign to her limitations. She saw as the police constable came, took the patient's statement and left. 

At 6 am she she began taking ECGs. When she reached the OPC patient and applied the cuff around her arm to measure her BP, the patient whispered, "Mala chhateet dukhtoy. (I have chest pain)." She was having angina, so Dr. Victoria began to leave to inform her registrar. The woman continued, "He beat me up. He beat me up a lot. He beat me all over my body. He punched me, he kicked me......." the woman continued.

"Do you want me to call the constable? Do you want to change your statement?" Dr. Victoria inuired.

"NO. I just wanted you to know." She said, and turned her head away in sorrow.

She only wanted her to know. Nothing more. Dr. Victoria was to be her secret keeper. But, the young doctor was shaken even more.

What was she to do? Was she to inform the police by her own volition? But, the woman wouldn't change her statement. So what was to come out of it? Suppose if she still went ahead, she would manage to get the husband convicted? But that would take time. Courts move at their own pace. She has a dream to be a superspecialist. Would this one step puncture and detract her career? The woman definitely doesn't want her husband to be punished. She has reasons. Maybe the children. With the mother gone and the father in jail, who would take care of the children? But, then a crime has been committed. Isn't it her duty as a good citizen to make authorities aware. But again, the woman won't change her statement. Dr. Victoria had been rebuked once earlier as well to reign in her enthusiasm and not take on responsibilities which aren't her due. So what if the woman won't change her statement, she could always claim that she had received a dying declaration. But does a dying declaration hold up in courts in India? Being an intern, was she even allowed to take a dying declaration? She hurried to her bag, got out her intern's log book. 

It clearly stated: "The intern will not involve himself/herself in medicolegal cases."

But, was that what was legally sound, ethically sound as well? 

It was nearing 7 am. Her shift was about to end. She was drained, physically, mentally and emotionally. Too much of a Roller'Coaster this night had been. She was 21 the previous day, but today she probably was feeling 50.

She had read somewhere," When something is too good to be true, it probably isn't."

She had also read,"There is always more than meets the eye." 

Today, she had a live hands on experience.

She glanced at the registrar. His face was dull and eyes soggy after the tiring night. Yet, he maintained his poise. His brain alert to any abnormality that crept up on the ECG monitor, or any discomfort that his patient developed, but still aloof!

(A work of fiction, with some inspiration from real life events.)