How would you deal with grief and injustice?

Life is not always fair. Ferguson is not in my alley, nor the vents there have played out in media here. However, the unfairness of life is not new to me.

Life chugs along at a comfortable pace. The same things every day. Day after day. Wake up, go to work, come back, go to sleep. One could go through life with closed eyes. And many do. 

Then, one day- the sun refuses to rise. The clouds are dark and you know it is a different day. One such day played out a few days ago.

She was smiling. And she could barely walk straight. The grey in her hair far outnumbered the dark. The smile, however, was still that of a child. Starting at the eyes, twinkling and rippling down to the lips in a gentle wave. She often came to the out patient consultation and told the same story. She always got the same treatment- a smile in return and a reassurance all was well in the world. This time, just as she was getting up from the patient chair- she mentioned, just in a matter of keeping the conversation alive, "I must get my husband to you. He has been having this pain in the ear and he just does not listen when I tell him." 

This was unusual. I asked her where she lived and if her husband could come the same day. "No! Today, he is looking after the children- baby sitting, you know!" The smile was amplified. Her eyes drifted to look at something in the air. She continued," Both, my son and daughter-in-law had to go somewhere today. So the grandchildren are having a great time with him." 

This would not have mattered- but about a week later, she came again. This once, the smile was missing. The husband, too was missing. I love this lady. I had to ask her what was wrong. "My son has dengue. My husband is in the hospital, looking after Ajay (Name changed). But his pain is worse. Next time I will drag him here if I have to." 

Three days later- the son, and the couple came in for the long awaited consult. As he opened his mouth... the diagnosis hit me in the gut and knocked me out. It was a cancer- sitting florid and angry in the right tonsil- eating away part of the tongue and ulcers so huge and angry that it was a surprise they had not come earlier. The son was doting on the father. The father was doting on the son. The lady was smiling her usual child like smile. It was a rare family in today's age that was still bonded and whence the bods were visibly holding them all together and high above the mundane world.

I had no words to deliver the verdict. I did not have the heart to be direct. After so many years of being a doctor and care provider, something should or could have hardened me to this possibility. It is not altogether rare in my line of work. But- no. My shoulders sagged visibly. I had to pull myself upright again. And request the gentlemen to wait outside as i talked to the son. 

This boy, who was recovering from Dengue, lost in succession, his smile, his confidence and his composure. Life is a bitch. It is so unfair. Why this family? Why? Never had this man laid hand to alcohol, nor smoked. He was god fearing and prayed with his family each day. His wife obviously still loved him after  so many years of being married. His son loved him, too. They were one. And suddenly the landscape of their life was beginning to lose allots leaves- and stand bare, reaching out to touch and be touched. In pain. And in abject supplication.

He cried. Took his time to run dry. He could not afford to let his father see. This was already too far advanced to do much about. I referred them for palliative radiotherapy and prayed. For the next few days, the sun did not shine. And the rain did not come. The air was heavy and thick. And it was an effort to not think about this wonderful family being treated unfairly by Fate. Left to walk alone. The long road that would not end.

When Ajay came back a week later, his head was shaven, and his eyes had lost that shine. They still glistened, but there was no mirth now. These eyes had seen pain, and agony, and death. 

The father was no more.

They did not want to believe that all this had happened within the span of a month. They could not accept that someone as pious as him could have suffered so at the end of a life- though a life well lived.

How would you deal with the injustice of this life? 

It set me thinking...

If I were to die today- would anyone be touched as I was by this great man's demise? This man who had not been very well known, but was great in the true oxymoronic opposite to the anonymity he lived in. If I were to die today, would anyone miss me? Would anyone feel that life had been unjust? And unfair? Would I be missed? Would my obituary read that I lived my DASH well?

And I quote.

HOW WILL YOU USE YOUR DASH?

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning... to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the "dash" between those years. (1934-1998)

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth...
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little dash is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars... the house... the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard...
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can... still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile..
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Author Unknown

Can we talk about our differences? Please? Do we need to??

I am a doctor. I work in an ethnically, religiously diverse environment. Nearly 60-70% of my patients belong to Muslim community. And I feel awkward saying these words.

We look different. We talk different. We dress different. But we have the same colour of skin. We even have the same colour of hair. And blood.

In India, we do not very frequently encounter differences like Ferguson. We encounter a very insidious, difficult to touch, often floating in the air kind of bias that clings to our persona. We may try that our education keep us away and safe from these prejudices- this in itself is a huge bias.

And yet- there are pockets in India where the skin colour id also different. Where the way we speak also is different. Where the differences are obvious.

We celebrate these differences as our National Slogan and motto- "Unity in Diversity"

Cliched as it sounds- to a great extent, it is true. We do not fight about these differences. We crack jokes about them. So there are Punjabi jokes, and there are Tamil jokes. There are sick jokes, and Sikh jokes. There are even jokes about specific communities like Baniyas and Guptas; and about ethnicities like Parsees and Goans.

A famous joke doing the rounds goes something like this-

Two people are fighting...
Scene 1- Punjab- they pause, each flashes his cell phone, calls friends and soon there are many people fighting.

Scene 2 - Goa- They fight, their friends join in, they also fight- soon it is sun down and everybody stops, looks at each other, hits the nearest bar- and drink.

Scene 3- Bangalore- they fight, and someone shouts from the balcony- fight if you want to- but don't do it in front of my home. Get lost!!

Scene 4- New Delhi- they fight- then they show each other their social muscle- "you don't know who I am. " And name dropping becomes the replacement of the brawl that was on.

Scene 5- Gujarat- They are fighting, a huge crowd has gathered to witness the fight- and some young guy thinks- great time for business and starts selling hot tea to the crowd..

And so on. The regional and ethnic characters have become a matter of caricature for us in India. And we should be grateful it is so.

It does not take too long for stereotypes to take over thinking n mass and mob. It takes very little for vested interests to incite strife and violence. And that, too happens. We have seen more than our fair share of terrorism, and jihad. We, the people are not Hindu, nor Muslim. We are Indian. But the polity and the clergy know just how to hit and where for emotions and sentiments to run wild.

And quite like the age old poem I read long ago- We, the People forget!

Till we, the people learn to remember- each drop of blood spilled for history to forget- we will fall pray to racial and ethnic violence- whether in Ferguson or Muzzafarnagar.

People are the same everywhere. They seek certainty and familiarity. They do not accept mingling and mixing in the cauldron of Time- to create a better world.

They destroy the Budhas at Bamiyan, They bring down the temples as well as the mosques. They try to assert their religion as the only way to salvation even when they walk off a level playing field of a cricket match.

Where will this end?

Will it??

For this to end- we must go back to Kindergarten and remember the basics we learnt then-

Early to bed and early to rise...
Wash your hands- before and after.
Flush
Stay together.
Say sorry and thank you.
Pray.

Living a good life is not rocket science. Opening our eyes requires us to only lift our lids- and see. And smile. And accept.

Racial violence rears its ugly head everywhere

Ferguson, to us in India could be a name of a person or a place... till Micheal Brown happened. Sad and shocking, no doubt. However, everywhere in the world, racial violence rears its ugly head. Profiling, prejudice and prejudgement are rampant. Halo Effect- they call it. If you are well dressed, you would be unlikely to commit a crime. If you are well groomed, you are unlikely to be a criminal. If you wear a Pathani suit- you could be from Pakistan and if you wear a saree- oh! you are so Indian. And if you wear your hair long on your face- you could be a cleric, if on your head- you could be a devotee.

Where is the personal freedom to be and to do?

Where is the choice to look as I want to, do as i need to, wear what I may- if I stay within my constitutional and legal limits?

It is unfortunate that the mixing and mingling of cultures is not enough to let people have the freedom to be who they are, and live as they may.

We often used to wonder about the rights of women, and those of the poor. But this is not unusual- Simply because you look different, you will also be thought different. And when that happens in a situation where one can harm the other- bodily- suddenly- each side tries to justify itself.

False claims. False projections. Falsified justifications. Irrational rationalisations.

Where will it ever end? When?

Write or speak? Speak or write?

When life begins to hurt... the tongue is not the organ that comes to rescue. It is often the battle between the head and the heart that rages wild and in which it becomes difficult or impossible, even, to pick sides. And you are trapped in the threads you began to play with...

Photo art- Courtesy Simran Anand

What do you do with pieces of a broken heart? Or with the shards of a broken life? Do you go about your days in a haze, wondering if there is light at the end of the tunnel? Or do you begin that difficult journey to heal? Where would you go? How far would you travel to heal?

It is often the people that we love most who we hurt the deepest, too. We know exactly 'that' spot where it hurts, bleeds, and breaks. We know each crackle that announces the break, each drop that dripped and each sore that turned from red, to blue to black and purple before turning a dull brown. But the bruises continue to hurt. Long after.


And suddenly, out of nowhere, the door knob jabs you again- in the gut. Because you were rushing out, and did not see, nor care what or who was in the way. Actually, you could not see- the tears made the vision blurry and the breath short. It knocks the breath out and with a jerky breath, you try again to breathe deeply. Because each breath hurts, too. You are now looking for an escape- may be to another world... Where the hurt does not matter. Where it is fine to let feelings be. And where love (and coffee) conquer all!!

Then- you get tired of being tired. You get sick of being sick. And it is time for a turnaround. And time is an arrow- will go only one way. Why must we stay in the past when we are moving into an unchartered future ash moment? Why must we continue to hurt for days, weeks or even months and years when the initial trauma lasted only a few seconds or minutes? Perhaps we hold on to it? Perhaps, we try to convince ourselves of each victory being worth a celebration and a matter of pride- telling ourselves- YOU did that! imagine!! despite the broken heart, despite the broken life, despite the dripping and the bleeding... we feel a sense of accomplishment at having trained THIS dragon, too.

The untameable. The unbeatable. The dark dragon in the night that got darker and quieter than anything we had witnessed earlier. But fairy tales tell us life is wrath it. They tell us that dragons do exist- they rear their head and spit fire, too. But... and this is what is important- they can be beaten.

And when you have no one you can talk to...

No one who will listen...

Not a soul who would understand the pain...

None to acknowledge your pain and allow it to pass...

Who would you turn to? You would turn to yourself... write, journal, talk to yourself. Look into the mirror and tell yourself that you matter.

And allow the healing to happen- 

Speak up to Heal!

September PROMPTS for NaMoBloPo is Healing... Here goes to launch the HEALING MONTH...

Speechless. No words to describe the depth of despair and the pungent pain that hits one in the gut.

This may be personal hurt or pain because the society and systems do not allow for anything better. And then- it rains. It washes everything away and lets the new emerge. Till that new dawn, everything is crowded, and bare simultaneously. For healing to happen, the hurt needs to be washed away. For the pain to disappear, the pain must be attended to. For vision to be cleared, either we must wear new glasses or clean the ones we were wearing earlier.

The Old, and the hurt, and the pain must be cleared to make way for the new.

Speaking about it- if only to yourself creates the space to clear it. Meditating to heal is more powerful than trying simply to not hurt. Mere absence of pain is not healing. However, for healing to happen, pain must be seen, acknowledged and accepted. In its full force and in its complete glory- if we can call it that!

The rain is grand in its washing away of all the dirt and the grime that might have stuck to the windshield of our life, but even from the other side, we can not deal with it by not running our wipers to clean the blurring by the rain. 

Today, a friend advised me to cut the cords! The cords than bind and suffocate that do not allow hurt to be healed. That also mean cutting connectedness! :-( I was thinking this is not the way to heal. 

To heal is to call upon all forces to help build a better reality. Instead I opted to do a Heart Chakra Reiki session. And felt amazing!! 

Thank you Reiki for being here.

Thank you symbols for being here.

Thank you God for being here.

Thank my Self for being here. 

Then, placing my hand on heart chakra I intentioned for healing to happen. 

I spoke to myself. I spoke to the Universe. I spoke to feel better, not simply to 'not feel hurt'. 

Even Reiki recognises that my SELF needs to be seen and acknowledged as an important agent of healing. Energy must flow from the ebb and create a tidal wave of contentment and peace, where nothing else can matter.  

So speak when you hurt. Speak if you must heal. Speak to those you hold dear. Or speak your own self- and hold that SELF dear. 

Sometimes the violence is so senseless and the egos so strong that the sun must make a extra effort to rise from behind the clouds. 

However, the clouds are momentary- and the sun? Well- the sun is as eternal as we can get! 

Even The Bible says it- "Physician heal thyself!" in Luke 4:23 and places the self foremost. Reconnecting with the source requires us to first connect with ourselves. And then look outward. Like an infant, when we hurt, we look outward to fix a blame and repair the damage. We look to the farthest toy and pine for the good feeling it will give to hold it in our ands. Little do we realise that the closer we focus, the easier it will be to deal with. Sometimes when we must- we should! It is not very easy, but it is quite simple.  To let go of hurt, we need not cut any cords that hold us together- we must simply let go of the chains that tether. 

Letting go is not giving up. It is not holding on. 

Speaking up is not screaming. It is not shouting. 

It is only saying what needs to be said- and let the word heal. 

Where there were trees, there shall be rocks. Where there were rocks, shall sprout new tender greens. Defying death. Completing the circle of Life!