09
Oct
14

Happy Tangent :)

We don’t ever really do anything particularly new. Not really. Either you always wanted to and didn’t or you always have done things the same way. It’s never new.

The 270 degree arc is okay. the last 90 will not happen – this circle CANNOT be allowed to complete. No circle should. WOuldn’t I grow dizzy? Jeez life! Here’s to a happy tangent!

26
Jul
14

final divide

The deepest chasms remain uncrossed,

The final leap untaken.

Time goes on and moments draw close

But as courage is yet hard to gather,and

Wits still difficult to collect,

The unknown is but dark and scary

Fears, impossible to face.

As the fires get oncemeore lit and

Horses harnessed,

Power reigns in from every quarter;

There just may be a one last chance,

To take heart and believe

And cross this last abyss.

06
Jul
14

Somewhere along in the bitterness.

 

Take a line from a song that you love or connect with. Now forget the song, and turn that line into the title or inspiration for your post.

Where did I go wrong I lost a friend somewhere along, in the bitterness, and I would’ve stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.


I needed ‘inspiration’ to write. And WordPress seems to want me to bare all and tell. Well, there – I picked my line. From How To Save A Life by The Fray. Well, although it doesn’t define my every breath anymore, it did for a considerable amount of time. Now it’s mostly just about any song that either asks the world to bloody quit judging me and bugger off or some little alternative rock stuff that tries to infuse some hope and vigour into my life. Not that there are too many happy ones, for the most of it my playlist has angsty sad songs. Damn…what does that say about me?!  Oh well, coming to the point at hand. How To Save A Life.

So, the first cue WordPress gave me was to pick a moment that changed my life forever. The second was the song thing. I picked the song thing,but I think I can effectively tackle both. Firstly, know that the event itself was rather silly. However, I hold my ground that it CHANGED me FOREVER. Forever and ever and ever more. That sort of thing happens to children when they deal with even small stuff all by themselves for too long. Looking back, after finishing both Psych rotations and Psych theory, I was clinically depressed well into mid year 2 of med school.

People change as they grow up. Your cute little next doorsy but fucking pretty best friend turns into an I’m too cool for you plain Janes socialite at 15 and you’re basically a football playing knee scraping teen already sadly enough, fed up with ‘the system’

Yep. So my friend, she was practically my sister, right? And although she was a few months older than me, I was the ‘older’ one. The bigger of two scrawny babies. What would you do if over one vacation your own little sister just started to ignore you it refused to admit it and just slowly began to make the embarrassed face where they go “oops peeps, I know she’s my sister, but don’t lump me with her” when you tried to make it to their hang outs. Embarassed! Of me! Anyway, so you call a bunch of times, but always get told she’s out or busy, but then you wait for the returned call. It never came.

So on my 16th, I probably very unwisely decided to ‘disown’ her, or rather make public her rejection of me- in public eye. Fuck that was brutal shit. I shouldn’t have. I think that shaped me. I spiralled further into the lowest of lows. And have only just, 6 years later, managed to creep halfway up the deep well. I still can’t see the light, but it seems I’m getting breaths of fresher air than I’ve been used to these parts years.

I meant to write in more detail, but it now looks like I should let the diary post rest in my diary and the blog read like a blog.

Mirthfully, maniacally laughing at my little high school self, who’s hoping against hope, that it’s all a bad dream and tomorrow I’ll wake up and find I’m not this dependent, that I am some high flying successful person, studying in those hallowed halls of the world’s best like I imagined I would. I wish I’d worked instead of imagined.

Well.

“You’ll begin to wonder why you came”

I wish I’d just talked. But I wanted to take control. I did it too suddenly. The control I tried to wrest sotnof slipped out of my grip because of how forcefully I pushed away the hands that had held the power for so many long years.

 

15
Mar
14

Free Fall

If I were to write a memoir right now, I’d end it thus –  And so, in that half a second I just let go.

24
Feb
14

You can’t bring me down

Defying Gravity

I’m through accepting limits, ’cause someone says they’re so.

Somethings I cannot change, but till I try I’ll never know.

So long I’ve been afraid of losing- well, not love, but some kind of stability/ success, which I guess I’ve lost. And that wish for stable ground under my feet, has done nothing but prevent me from taking risks. And in that bargain, I’ve lost whatever I did have, and have fallen to the lowest rung. And I’m thinking right now, I’d sooner try defying gravity. I hope I don’t bring myself down.

It’s amazing how much I actually tell myself that that’s the song of my current life. Amongst loads of other songs lamenting the loss of something or some other thing, this one really really puts my want to be daring in words.

I’m through with playing by,

The rules of someone else’s game.

- an Elphaba trying to take off and defy gravity, all denizens of Oz and their Wizard.

27
Sep
13

Posts

Post by Deepta V Narayanan:

Today I saw this 8 year old child admitted in the Paediatric ward.
He is around 32 inches or 77 cm tall. His arms and legs are stick thin – the diameter of some two or three of my fingers put together. His hair’s withering. He can only walk, and feed himself and use the toilet. He hasn’t developed speech, he can’t see very well, cannot hear very well, or even if he can, he can’t really understand, and only makes monosyllabic noises and clicking sounds – the kind one makes at a horse. He led me and a friend of mine around the beds. He had a surprisingly strong grip for one so frail and malnourished. But apart form a brief moment of a tantrum and flailing hands and trying to hit somebody when too many students had crowded around him to ‘examine’ him, ‘see’ his eyes – as if he were some curio and Bitot’s spots some special display, he was a smiley, happy appearing child, unknowing of the injustice and neglect and suffering he’s been subjected to.

He’s eight years old, stands as high as a tall 2 1/2 or 3 year old, can’t understand the world. Has no idea that he’s in a hospital, sick, and has been underfed since he was a baby.
His mother lay on his bed, smiling for some reason. She didn’t look too old. She said she’d been to a doctor when he was 4 months old and that had been told he would get al-right and that she never bothered to go again. She left unsaid why. She didn’t look worried.
I’ve seen other sick children’s parents. They might talk normally, but one can tell their anxiety from their faces. She was just – I don’t know.

I told my mother about the child. I could hear her perturbation. I thought of my aunt’s son – my little brother. I can’t till this moment stop thanking whatever forces – call it God’s grace, call it Karma or just anything on earth – for the impeccable, wonderfully ordinary childhood we’ve had.
I can’t stop. I wanted to take a picture of his, the child’s, I for some reason stopped short. Maybe I will tomorrow.

His mother probably isn’t much older than my 20 years. Or wasn’t when she had him. Barely world savvy, poor, married to a man who is in all probability not very nurturing. I still don’t think any of that is an excuse to have left him to deteriorate to mere skin and bone. I mean to say, if she could come now, she could’ve earlier.
I remind myself not to blame her. I have absolutely no right to.

He’s eight years old, and the parts of his cortex responsible for speech and understanding, and even hearing and comprehension are probably not only underdeveloped, but also degenerated to some degree.

I remember studying about how speech and hearing if not developed by a certain age -giving it a maximum of around 5 yrs- won’t develop. And I’m pretty sure that understanding and cognition also need similar early stimuli when the neuronal plasticity is still high for complete normal development.

And here I am, sitting day after day, feeling bad about my own ‘short comings’

He might be dependent life long. Being poor, and having a pathetic family (I’m sorry, I’m angry. It’s not my place, but I can’t help it right now), he’s not likely to get support. Even if our doctors manage to get him to put on weight, I don’t know how his hypothalamo-pituitary and other such hormonal pathways and complex neuronal circuits will ever just overcome the immense early neglect.

I don’t understand what he’ll do when he’s older. When his parents decide they can’t support him anymore.

Tomorrow I’ll find out about his siblings. I was too scared to find out today.

But today, regardless of what he may have to face tomorrow, he was an active child -probably because of the food he’s been getting in the hospital for the past couple of days.

When I was 8, I’d known for atleast 2 years that I wanted to be a docotr. I was reading a Harry Potter book, loads of Enid Blytons and in general having parents, grand parents, aunts and uncles all tecahing me things and caring for me.

To all urban Indian children who go to the ‘prestigious’ schools, and well, live like all the well to do poeple in the world, here’s a very sombre reminder – you’re in the top less than 2% of India as far as income goes. The poverty that everyone showcases? It’s bloody darned well real. There’s no getting around that.

This is not just one case. I found out that the average rate of admission of such cases is 2-3 per month in the hospital where I study. And this is supposedly one of the health wise ‘better’ regions of the nation.

I’m afraid I’ve digressed. It’s about this child for now. I hope he does well.

View Post on Quora

26
Sep
13

The Price of Knowing

Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts.   Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North

Knowledge, wisdom, judgement – all come at a cost. The most balanced, self-assured seeming, if not calm, decisive person you know, whom you look at and wish you could be like in some respects, is probably one who’s been in the same situation a trillion times before. And hasn’t extricated themselves from it, and is stuck making the seemingly ‘safer’ choice whence you glimpse their seeming cool countenance. On the inside, the person’s remembering every last time and wondering how they got there again, and trying to make the one choice they’ve not tried as of yet, hoping to get out and leave it all behind. The ghosts of their past will likely haunt them for a while after this time, even as you think and ‘envy’ their ‘decision’. The more a person knows about avoiding death, more the likelihood that his/her wardrobe has a jumbled heap of bones – skeletons waiting to tumble out- people they watched die & in all likelihood killed.

The ghosts of mistakes and by gone blunders haunt the house at night, leaving me tossing at night, not knowing why I’m tired in the day.

The longer I stay in a situation, the more the things I want to put behind me, and the more I try to stuff them away, the more they seep out from beneath my feet, behind my back and above my head- all around.

The more enlightened (experienced, learned) our houses are- more ghosts the walls ooze.




Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

%d bloggers like this: