the clinical uncle stories..

Ohho you are into practice of medicine, that too a general physician. Uncle Ji comes to you and asks for your whereabouts. You tell him that you had to go to Delhi for some reason. Uncle ji in his all philosophical glory, starts to tell you that now you are a doctor and your patients are your responsibility and you should dedicate your life for the betterment of humanity. You smile and nod because he is right. If you take a small break from your job as a GP and go some where to take a breather, that patient with constipation will choke up on his own shit as the shit would keep piling up and reach his throat. I totally agree with him on that point. Thank you uncle!
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A man arriving with his wife would ask you why his wife 4 mm renal stone has increased to 6 mm in the past one month, after she is 8 months pregnant. And how before he came to you for treatment her kidney stone was in cm and you have increased it to mm. Your fault again. It’s totally your fault that the mother and baby are producing more metabolites than the mother alone, and that you couldn’t live at their house to feed the mother according to your diet plan because she herself can’t do it.
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Uncle arrives at your house with his foot with diabetic gangrene, and you miraculously save his foot from getting amputated with help of your medicine. Why uncle, why can’t you apply iodine solution on your healing diabetic ulcer, instead of banging it on everything under the sky, everyday? You scream in your head, but he totally believes in miracles of medicine. The miracle happens and the foot becomes as smooth as scarlet Johansson’s cheek. You give a sigh of relief.
The very next day uncle arrives and shows his dirty, unwashed, black nail in the second toe and says, “I think the gangrene has spread to this nail; and you start preparing your coffin for his nail.

hi uncle hello uncle

Bhai waah! You are in a train and an old uncle has started his theories about how radiation from mobile is killing the birds. Uncles were supposed to know everything in olden times but then the google era arrived and uncles, especially the train variety of them were left behind. But old habits tend to die hard and uncles still will find target audiences for their lectures.
People who were born in the 80s are bearable. But if you were born anywhere before 80s you are an uncle and you can’t know what a pain in the rectum you are to the smartphone generation. You have your fixed opinions (more fixed than 80s folks) and worst part is, once upon a time in your lifetime you had Anil Kapoor style hair. You do not want to understand the younger generation even though you yourself had raging hormones once. May be you are jealous that you did not have so many varied ways and chances to express your hormonal locha, sheer bad luck I must say. If you had your good chance of expressing the same then you are an analorifice. Anyway as a good boy it is my duty to wish you ” Uncle Namaste!”

uncle namaste

A wooden table and a bunch of uncles around it, sitting and sipping tea with your father and you go ‘uncle namste’. And there comes a voice. “Bete paer chhuo”. And you become a feet touching sanskari machine which in swift up and down motion touches the feet of all 10 people in the room, including your own pitaji, by mistake.

Sublime Reality of Real World

Thoughts getting filtered, and filter paper is still moist. Potato gardens and windows with iron bars. Rooms with a peculiar smell, like something sweaty and alien. Floor, cold, and fingers with skin and bones. The brick lane leads home. And yellow walls have blue doors. Berries from the trees and an approach to know things. A tree and cold soil, barbed wire protection.

Cold water flowing and things happening around. Guava orchards and happy squirrels on mango trees. Rains pouring, and causing ecstasy. Circuits being made and designed. Switches being fixed. Fear creeping through skin. The monkey god is Shiva avatar.

Sometimes what you can do is either save yourself or fulfill your dreams. There are some foolish people who decided to do both these things simultaneously. You need rewards for living, pleasure is needed for motivation. There are things happening while documenting the world. We can have deep systems and love it the way we can. Fear when it overcomes you, and hatred when it starts flowing in your veins it lets you see the world in its other true colors. Flowers are bright and fragrant but only to attract creatures to assist for its reproduction. The power has been granted to destroy or create. It is a choice most of the times if not always. Crabs keep fighting, and they are too busy to know that there’s a sea just outside the bucket.

A reason to do things is always required, too much satisfaction is bad for growth. Multiple thought processes corrupt the experience. Loneliness has no meaning, because one is never lonely. In a way. There are problems but those can be solved. The real world is too junglee to be an idealist and still ideals are flowing like free alcohol in an election campaign. The real world is actually surreal, and people too shameless.

Word Salad

A response from the soul when I throw in deep questions. Freedom has been achieved, all that remains is the fear. To exercise this freedom, fear is a block. Much pain has followed and troubled the soul since very long. Now the muscles beg to be better. They beg to be used. Metal compartments moving rhythmically, and things happening like that. When these things matter, they should matter like that. A fear of forgetting, of not being possessed. Can the thing be done? It can be along with the mundane things. A balance between the calling and the mundane. A balance like never before. Katana has to be pulled and arranged to the best level. One can shift between cultures and find his self. The mistakes must be corrected, and one knows how. Culture shocks are culture shocks and one can only judge other cultures according to their culture.

Rose-tinted glasses

I silently sit and watch her making coffee for me as she keeps ranting about people at her work. I am always unsure about women, even though I have been lucky to be loved by so many of them. She smells very homely, not like roses or flowers or perfume as she smells when she goes out of the house. She smells like a happy household and I feel like sniffing her armpits which when I try, she makes disgusted faces.

There have been times when I have thought about a cottage on hills, and me and her, laughing and eating maggi. I have experienced heights of ecstasy when she has spoken in her native to me. I have smelled the fragrance of her hair while talking away the night with her. I have felt her skin, her delicate skin and her tender flesh. I have imagined her in my arms, bare. I have imagined her with our souls entwined, intermingled in each other.

But then dawns the reality. That it is all in my head. I remove my rose-tinted glasses for a moment and see the truth. I don't want the truth, not here at least. I put my glasses back on.