On the sets of the TV series of great epics Ramayana and Mahabharata.
Recreating the magic of ancient India with its rich cultural heritage.
Amazing !
Tuesday, 31 May 2016
Sunday, 29 May 2016
Eulogy to FMW
These lines I wrote for the " Female Medical Ward" (FMW).
Strange thing to write something in the memory of a hospital ward.
But this ward was the center of my days of residency in the Department of Medicine.
I learned a lot..... Professionally and personally....
So when the time was nearing for the training to finish, I felt inclined to write something for this place.
My successors would come and go.
But this ward with its patients, nurses, strange smells ( of antiseptic plus human sweat mixed), its noisy corridor (especially in the morning when the head nurse would shout at the sweeper to clean properly, do this and that, blabla.....)
We used to sit in doctors duty room and rush from time to time to attend to some patient or do the rounds and work up.
Yes I was definitely going to miss this ward in the government hospital !
So the few lines for FMW on 6 th floor....
O! I will miss you my sixth floor,
When I will walk through that door,
Of Department of Medicine,
General Hospital,
Giving way to some new comer.
Ough ! That familiar stink,
Which attacked my nose
and made me blink,
Was I somewhere in hell?
No I was in FMW, General Hospital.
Early in the morning,
And doors are shut,
Banging and screaming,
I give it a jolt,
To get in return,
A very bad sore throat,
And I feel like slapping,
Whosoever I see first.
There comes the sweeper's shout,
Asking the relatives to get out,
I keep on walking,
With my head hung down,
Embarrassed and feeling like a clown.
There ! The nurses are complaining,
How many drips remaining?
Accusing each other of laziness
But neither moving from the seat they possess.
(on night duty.....)
Still of the night,
And a "bibi" has come,
"shishter-shishter !
Patient is restless and almost dead ! "
I run to find all fair and sound,
And just can't help banging my head.
Ah! Our Doctors Duty Room,
Where people come,
And friendships bloom,
This is the place that has witnessed,
All the unsaid things being said.
Our fights and our plays,
When I remember,
My whole world sways.
I wish I could stay some more,
To feel the uniqueness,
Never felt before.
( written on night duty, in late October 1989)
Strange thing to write something in the memory of a hospital ward.
But this ward was the center of my days of residency in the Department of Medicine.
I learned a lot..... Professionally and personally....
So when the time was nearing for the training to finish, I felt inclined to write something for this place.
My successors would come and go.
But this ward with its patients, nurses, strange smells ( of antiseptic plus human sweat mixed), its noisy corridor (especially in the morning when the head nurse would shout at the sweeper to clean properly, do this and that, blabla.....)
We used to sit in doctors duty room and rush from time to time to attend to some patient or do the rounds and work up.
Yes I was definitely going to miss this ward in the government hospital !
So the few lines for FMW on 6 th floor....
O! I will miss you my sixth floor,
When I will walk through that door,
Of Department of Medicine,
General Hospital,
Giving way to some new comer.
Ough ! That familiar stink,
Which attacked my nose
and made me blink,
Was I somewhere in hell?
No I was in FMW, General Hospital.
Early in the morning,
And doors are shut,
Banging and screaming,
I give it a jolt,
To get in return,
A very bad sore throat,
And I feel like slapping,
Whosoever I see first.
There comes the sweeper's shout,
Asking the relatives to get out,
I keep on walking,
With my head hung down,
Embarrassed and feeling like a clown.
There ! The nurses are complaining,
How many drips remaining?
Accusing each other of laziness
But neither moving from the seat they possess.
(on night duty.....)
Still of the night,
And a "bibi" has come,
"shishter-shishter !
Patient is restless and almost dead ! "
I run to find all fair and sound,
And just can't help banging my head.
Ah! Our Doctors Duty Room,
Where people come,
And friendships bloom,
This is the place that has witnessed,
All the unsaid things being said.
Our fights and our plays,
When I remember,
My whole world sways.
I wish I could stay some more,
To feel the uniqueness,
Never felt before.
( written on night duty, in late October 1989)
Saturday, 28 May 2016
Poems and songs
Couple of days ago I came across my old diary of poems.
I discovered I was a talented little girl....
There were poems / songs which I had written when I was 14 - 15 years old.
There were @ 4 songs which I remember composing myself.
I would write a song, drag out my harmonium from under the bed and compose the song and sing it too !
Wow !
I didn't have tabla ( percussion instrument) at home. So I used to pick two steel jars or containers from the kitchen and use them as tabla and sing on and on.....
I never got tired of playing the instrument and singing.
If I didn't have the steel containers, I would use the table as tabla .
And I remember when I was 14 year old, I would come home from school and after having lunch I would turn towards " food for my soul" that is singing.
Interestingly often I would lean on the wooden almirah in the bedroom and close my eyes and sing songs, my hands behind my back playing tabla on the almirah....
The songs I wrote and sang were full of feeling and meaning....
Total virginity of body and mind.....
Innocence personified.
I would look wide eyed at people and tried to see the truth, honesty, pure love in their eyes.....
Little did I know that as you grow older, there are layers and layers of multiple personalities upon your eyes and heart.
One doesn't even bother to look deep inside and see who really he/she is.....
These thoughts still cling to me....
They are very much a part of me....
I feel thankful sometimes that I didn't avert or close my eyes to the power of innocent self.
When I looked at the old diary two days ago, something amused me too.
There were two things I never failed to mention :
The name of the person ( written in code sometimes :) ) or some event that triggered the thought process and woke up the poet in me from its slumber.
And
The date and time of penning down the thoughts and feelings... Pouring out my heart.
There were strange venues too.
Most unusual places to write poems.
For example, the D - Hall, near the body which we were dissecting in Anotamy practicals.
Or
When I was on night duties during my government job.
The silence of night was a perfect accompaniment to the turmoil of my thoughts and feelings which were eager to flow out of my heart.
I see that I had dedicated some poems to people who touched my life in this journey.
Some were beautiful souls.... Just extraordinary.
And some were ordinary people with their own faults and limitations.
They did not share my view. Neither could they make me see the sense in their point of view.
Still my heart with its never ending fountain of love, never ceased expressing.
Most troublesome aspect of any friendship was the confusion between love and lust.
And
also confusion between real love and selfish craziness which is called love.
Well, I encountered both the confusions and it was quite disconcerting.
People misunderstood you,
Wanted to have you at any cost.
Their inflated egos hurt when you refused.
No ! It is not possible !
Every girl wants it. Why don't you? Why do you say," No"?
You are weird !
All this made me think I was indeed weird, a misfit for this rat race of grab and swallow.
No I can't lose my originality, my honesty,
I can't close my eyes.
I can't limit myself to these unseen chains....
My thoughts are like free birds, they need air and limitless sky.
The battle of passion and wrinkled bedsheets.... They can't be my whole world !
Some purity ought to remain so that I can soar high above all this muck of ignorance and deceit.
Ignorance and deceit and greed....... Has not it become a trilogy of a deadly epidemic these days?
But amidst all these weeds of characters, one sees the real blooming flowers who spread fragrance around them....
Fragrance of understanding, compassion and honesty..... Honesty of thoughts and pure love.
Ah , the little girl tugs at me after all these years !
And I must listen to her.
For who is nearer to my soul than this seed of purity?
I discovered I was a talented little girl....
There were poems / songs which I had written when I was 14 - 15 years old.
There were @ 4 songs which I remember composing myself.
I would write a song, drag out my harmonium from under the bed and compose the song and sing it too !
Wow !
I didn't have tabla ( percussion instrument) at home. So I used to pick two steel jars or containers from the kitchen and use them as tabla and sing on and on.....
I never got tired of playing the instrument and singing.
If I didn't have the steel containers, I would use the table as tabla .
And I remember when I was 14 year old, I would come home from school and after having lunch I would turn towards " food for my soul" that is singing.
Interestingly often I would lean on the wooden almirah in the bedroom and close my eyes and sing songs, my hands behind my back playing tabla on the almirah....
The songs I wrote and sang were full of feeling and meaning....
Total virginity of body and mind.....
Innocence personified.
I would look wide eyed at people and tried to see the truth, honesty, pure love in their eyes.....
Little did I know that as you grow older, there are layers and layers of multiple personalities upon your eyes and heart.
One doesn't even bother to look deep inside and see who really he/she is.....
These thoughts still cling to me....
They are very much a part of me....
I feel thankful sometimes that I didn't avert or close my eyes to the power of innocent self.
When I looked at the old diary two days ago, something amused me too.
There were two things I never failed to mention :
The name of the person ( written in code sometimes :) ) or some event that triggered the thought process and woke up the poet in me from its slumber.
And
The date and time of penning down the thoughts and feelings... Pouring out my heart.
There were strange venues too.
Most unusual places to write poems.
For example, the D - Hall, near the body which we were dissecting in Anotamy practicals.
Or
When I was on night duties during my government job.
The silence of night was a perfect accompaniment to the turmoil of my thoughts and feelings which were eager to flow out of my heart.
I see that I had dedicated some poems to people who touched my life in this journey.
Some were beautiful souls.... Just extraordinary.
And some were ordinary people with their own faults and limitations.
They did not share my view. Neither could they make me see the sense in their point of view.
Still my heart with its never ending fountain of love, never ceased expressing.
Most troublesome aspect of any friendship was the confusion between love and lust.
And
also confusion between real love and selfish craziness which is called love.
Well, I encountered both the confusions and it was quite disconcerting.
People misunderstood you,
Wanted to have you at any cost.
Their inflated egos hurt when you refused.
No ! It is not possible !
Every girl wants it. Why don't you? Why do you say," No"?
You are weird !
All this made me think I was indeed weird, a misfit for this rat race of grab and swallow.
No I can't lose my originality, my honesty,
I can't close my eyes.
I can't limit myself to these unseen chains....
My thoughts are like free birds, they need air and limitless sky.
The battle of passion and wrinkled bedsheets.... They can't be my whole world !
Some purity ought to remain so that I can soar high above all this muck of ignorance and deceit.
Ignorance and deceit and greed....... Has not it become a trilogy of a deadly epidemic these days?
But amidst all these weeds of characters, one sees the real blooming flowers who spread fragrance around them....
Fragrance of understanding, compassion and honesty..... Honesty of thoughts and pure love.
Ah , the little girl tugs at me after all these years !
And I must listen to her.
For who is nearer to my soul than this seed of purity?
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