Sleepless nights

The other night I was in the ward when one of our patients fell ill after the surgery. In such cases we are supposed to do bedside duties to take care of the patients.Most of the time the condition of the patients will be stable by the time they are shifted to the ward and for the resident doctor it is just a matter of utilizing the time to sit and read comfortably.

Bed No. 10 is notorious for patients who stay in the ward for long duration.We usually joke when a patient gets admitted to that bed commenting how unlucky he or she is. The bed is strategically placed to be just in front of where we resident doctors sit so that we could have a quick access to the patient in case of emergency.I have seen the condition of normal patients worsening unexpectedly in that bed.

A middle aged old man who underwent a neck surgery was admitted there.His removed disease was very close to his vessels and hence he was a potential candidate for artery rupture on the 8 to 10th day of the surgery which was a very dangerous situation.We used to consider them as mobile time-bombs in the ward. I was tired after fasting and found it difficult to concentrate in the book I was reading. My eyes wandered off to the patient in bed No. 10, even though I was doing bed side duty for another patient. The man had a big bandage covering his entire neck which made his chin to be be raised up.His position reminded me of the verse in the Holy Quran which mentions people who don't listen to the Truth, 'and verily there were iron collars to their neck lifting their chin which made their heads lift up " .He was sitting in his bed.The intra venous line was connected to an antibiotic infusion.He was looking at the bottle, me and at the medicine flowing to his vein by holding the regulator of the infusion. There were roughly 3 or 4 drops left in the bottle which prevented him from sleeping. The drip had somehow stopped. He was trying his best to make these last drops fall by checking the infusion regulator, massaging his veins and squeezing the bottle,but those drops refused to obey him. I wondered why he was so adamant to get the last drops of medicine.Was it because he wanted full utilisation of his money or was he fully confident of the medicine. I knew that those last drops would not cause much difference in his case. He was not complaining to the nurse as most of the patients do. I went to him and removed the intra venous line. He just thanked me and laid in his bed for a much awaited sleep. But I was quite sure with the large bandage compressing his neck a good sleep was a far possibility for him. He did not have any relative around because we usually send them out to reduce the rush in the ward and to prevent the contagion. I closed my unread book and went to bed.

My friends used to complain to me about the state of my room. Busy schedule and my careless and lazy attitude leave my room so shabby that I sometimes prefer to sleep in the duty room. My bed consists of a pile of books and all I do is to push them aside and sleep on the other end.I remember what my sister used to say quoting her mother in law's comments about her son or my brother in law that even if a tigress gives birth in his bed he would just push it to the other end and sleep rather than cleaning it up. No wonder I have a bad backache on getting up due to my innocuous sleeping position which my friends used to call as my football kicking position.It takes at least 30 minutes for me to straighten my stiffened back . I rarely get a 6 hours sound sleep after joining the medical profession.

Seeing this patient I thought that after all at the end of the day what we all is badly in need of is a sound slumber which neither myself nor the patient is getting. May be this is life's way of teaching me that regardless of our status or position we long for the same thing.

By the eldest son

Helpless...

Cancer is the most dreaded disease I have ever come across . The mere mention of the disease weakens my spirits. As a doctor I am not supposed to have such a feeling and should remain positive to carry on . But this disease invades my good spirit day by day . The most striking feature of the disease is that once it starts growing , it wages a war against the body , weakens its system, attacks its vital centers , suppresses the morale of the patient and sends spies to all parts of the body to ensure that even if the main center is destroyed by the doctor , the deployed troops from distant sites in the body regroup and attack .It is a master disguiser sometimes and a silent killer as well . If God gives me permission to eradicate one disease, I will not think twice to answer . Such is the burden of the disease and the pitiable end the patient is afflicted with. Don't get the idea that all cancers are so . Some of them if detected in early stages can be resected or treated . This is not a documentary on the disease. I would just like to share some of my encounters with this ailment.

As an ENT resident in one of the prime institutes in India , our out patient department is really hectic . Patients crowding around the single door of our consultation room in a steaming summer the last place on earth you would like to be . I would confidently say that more than 50 % of the patients attending the clinic will be suffering from some or other type of cancer . A middle aged lady came from in between the queue claiming that she was an ayurvedic medical practitioner from Uttar Pradesh and she wanted to show one of her patients personally . Usually I hate people who upset the order of the queue and deal with them very harshly . As she personally came to see her patient get the right treatment I appreciated her good will and asked her to bring her patient . It was a middle aged lady with a neck swelling so large that she couldn't move her neck and breath properly . Such large thyroid ( a gland in the neck) cancers are not uncommon in this part of the world but when I asked the doctor what she was thinking of when she was treating I could understand why she personally brought the patient . With a bit of guilt on her face she told me that she had advised the patient to go to higher center long before . I asked her what she expected us to do then . She had no answer . But I appreciated her care and sincerity to bring the patient herself . I took the patient to my professor who right away asked them the same question, what they were doing the whole time . He asked me to get the investigations done at the earliest and proceed . About 60 % of patients with end stage cancer who come to us were already treated by quacks , alternative medicine practitioners and even allopathy doctors . When they reach an advanced stage they resort to us and then we will be left with palliative treatment only.

I always like Sardarjis ( sikh men of Punjab) . It may be because during my childhood ,I had a Major Singh uncle as our neighbour when we lived in Qatar . Steady turban and long beard always humble me with respect . One day a sardarji in his thirties with a smiling face came to my room complaining of an ulcer in the mouth . He told me it was a minor trouble for him but nevertheless wanted to show it. Seeing the ulcer I was quite sure that it was a cancer but of an early stage . I promptly explained the case to him and took special personal interest in working him up early since getting investigations done is a very long process here . In 10 days time he was fully worked up and I took him to the professor for dating for surgery hoping I could persuade him to give an early date . I was heart broken when I saw my professors diary of dates . He just helplessly looked at me and told me if I could show him a slot he would do it . He was right . His dates were full for 4 months and he was going on leave for 1 month in between . He told me to call the patient after 1 month to be listed in another consultants list . Then it was my role to explain to the patient the time lag . As I had already explained to him the investigations should be done on emergency basis , I found it very difficult to tell him to wait for another month . Contrary to my expectations he was a very understanding man and appreciating the efforts I made for him the readily obliged . But his parting question really shook me when he asked me , " doctor Saab , ithne din me ye bad tho nahi ho jayenge " ( Doctor , won't this disease advance by one month ) . Knowing very well the rapidly advancing nature of the disease , I could just tell him , " Let us hope for the best " . Fortunately after one month the disease not only did not advance much , but according to the patient, was the swelling shrank and he was even asking me whether the surgery was necessary or not . I told him that he was just lucky and not to spoil his luck by acting foolishly. I took him to the consultant and by God's graciousness he got operated the next week .

We have a tumour clinic wherein every Friday we discuss difficult cancer cases with radiotherapist , plastic surgeon and other faculties to reach a perfect decision . We take cases in turns . The patient allotted to me was a middle aged man already operated for cancer . We had removed his right eyes and cheek . He had also received maximum dose of radiation therapy and his type of cancer will not respond to chemotherapy . The discussion concluded quickly. He had developed a chest metastasis .The decision was to explain to the patient that we had no options left with us . So all we could provide him with was palliation . In other words ,he was to go home and wait for his end . As the resident in charge of the patient it was my responsibility to explain this to the patient . I was searching for appropriate words to tell him to go home and was nothing else we could do for him. The sad patient kept imploring me to do something . Seeing my dilemma my Senior came to my rescue . She told the patient , " Babaji , Hum bagwan nahi he "( Uncle , We are not Gods) . The patient left silently . She was right . Who are we to prescribe cure for patients when it is God who disposes

During one of our morning rounds my senior complained of mild abdomen pain . She asked me to complete her dressings she was doing in the ward as she was not feeling well . I obliged with no hesitation as she was one of my favourite seniors who taught me the basics of ENT . Next day she left the operation theatre early not feeling well again . During work up she was found to have a cyst in the abdomen either in the mesentry or the ovary . We joked with saying her that the surgeons would say it was from the ovary and the gynaecologist would call it a mesenteric cyst as both of want to evade case . Any way cysts are benign or harmless . After two days in the operation theatre I could not hear the news. It was found she had raised levels of a particular protein in her blood which is usually raised in cancers . It was a big blow to all of us . The usual joyful mood was transformed into melancholic . No one wanted to discuss the matter or to ask for details . Later she was diagnosed to have a borderline .May God help her to overcome her difficulties . Even though we learn , see and explain to people regarding diseases , it was only when someone close to us undergoes trial we really feel the gravity of the disease .

May God help all these people and help me to be of some help in their lives.

By the eldest son

Confession

Nicholar D Kristof is an American journalist, author, columnist and winner of two Pulitzer Prizes. He is widely known for exposing human rights abuses around the world. He is one of few journalists who have travelled twice to Iran. He recently travelled to West Bank and was teargassed by Israeli Security Forces.

I was touched by his article on the eve of Fathers day entitled " My father's gift to me" that appeared in the International Herald Tribune in which he recounts how his father an Armenian hailing from a noble family was imprisoned by Nazis and how he managed to escape to the United States where he learned English, earned his Doctorate at the University of Chicago and began his career as Political Science Professor. He quotes the following statement of his father " War, want, concentration camps, exile from home and homeland, these have made me hate strife but they have not made me loose faith in the future of humanity. If a man has been able to create arts, sciences and material civilisation, why should he be judged powerless to create justice, fraternity and peace".

The author laments that he feels fatherless on Fathers day as his father had died a few days ago at the age of 91 after leaving " a story book life " to his only child. He opines that we should celebrate the bequest of fatherhood with some thing simpler, deeper than artificial verse on store brought card. "Speak and hug from heart and soul while there is still time".

Another columnist - I don't remember his name- was explaining in one of his articles how much he missed his late father when he visited a particular spot together with his mother and how his mother sobbed adding that they would return to the same location next year when his father would be waiting there for them .
These are words of true love, affection and appreciation. I was with my parents during the last days of their lives . It was a golden opportunity to ask them to pardon my misbehaviour and misdeeds but I was too shy to do so. Now when some one misbehaves to me I rationalise it presuming that God is punishing me for mistreating my parents especially my father as I always had a soft corner for my mother. When I say mistreat I mean my arguments and disagreements with my father and my failure to rationalize their behaviour and nothing beyond that.
16 years have elapsed since my father left this world for good. Here in Doha when my friends call me Saidukka or Saidbhai or said , they in fact help me sustain my memories about my father . Whenever I visit my parents' graves while I am at home, I feel their proximity as if they are alive. Irrespective of his financial status, my father tried to educate me even if it involved knocking at doors he had never approached. I learned from him the principle of contentment and therefore I learned not to cherish any higher aspirations. He was very eager to preserve our dignity and was never ready to compromise on this matter. I used to go Edakkazhiyoor lower primary school, then known as Mannan School with our neighbours like Late Mohamed S/O Kader Musliyar, Velan etc. Mohamed had a very nice school bag in which once I put my books and carried it based on his request. I was not mature enough to realize the implications of such an act. I have to confess that I still act recklessly at many crucial issues. When my father caught me doing so, he did not scold me in front of my friends but when I returned from the school, he asked me not repeat it. Once Latheef's paternal uncle, the famous muezzin of Edakkazhiyur mosque, Mohamedkka, censured me for running here and there in the mosque while I was learning there. I obeyed him but did not forget to complain as usual to my father about him. My father went to question him but the poor man who commanded respect and reverence from our villagers due to his simple life and, his unique voice which pierced not only through the ears but touched the hearts of our villagers when he was calling for prayer, apologised saying that his purpose was not to harm me in any way but to teach me how to respect the sanctity of the mosque. When my father told me how he had questioned him and what his response was, I felt deeply disturbed and sorry and thought I should not have lodged any complaint with my father . May Allah forgive me for harming such a person.

By the father

Paradoxes

The distance between Dar Al Tawheed Intercontinental Hotel, Makka and the Haram seems to be around 500 Meters. The sound system at the holy Kaaba is electronically connected to the hotel rooms whereby the guests can hear the call for prayer in their rooms . What one has to do if he or she does not want his sound sleep during the sojourn not to be interrupted is to switch off the the button of the electronic device beside his bed. When one steps out of the hotel and walks towards the Haram, he or she meets African and local children, youths and women carrying small of packets of tissue paper or polythene bags and imploring you to buy them at any price. It is evident that theirs is an advanced form of begging. Once when a small girl  aged around  five years ran after us holding a small packet of tissue paper in the midst of the Pilgrims, I don't know why I felt pity on her and began to pat on her head, my fingers touching her soft, curly brown hair and her countenance cooling my mind. When one member of our group gave her a fifty Riyal currency note , I thought she was too  small to hold it and that currency would fly away from her hand. Then I was told that my fears were unwarranted as her mother was watching her closely and that she had been well trained for such a task.

These children are lucky when compared to their counter parts in India and some other Asian countries where they are abducted, mutilated and used for begging business. When I tried to visualize a situation in which a parent comes across his missing child maimed and mutilated among a group of beggars, a shock wave runs through my body, my hand shivers and my pulse rate increases. I sat looking at the photo of a couple whose child went missing while he was playing in the vicinity of their house in a news paper that carried this news item.

One can use the food grains in the hands of these children to invite pigeons and enjoy feeding them as many pilgrims do around the Haram. Some times I walked in the midst of these birds enjoying an ineffable pleasure while they ate food grains and moved like bashful brides, the shining feathers around their necks resembling gem studded necklaces. They revived nostalgic memories of my childhood when I had attempted in vain to catch and tame at least one of them

The area in front of Makka Hilton Towers and Dar Al Tawheed Intercontinental seems to represent the paradoxes and contradictions of this worldly life. On the one hand you meet affluent Muslims enjoying all types comforts and pleasures even while performing Omra or Hajj whereas on the other hand you come across human beings struggling to earn their bread and butter under the scorching heat of the sun or biting cold in front of their eyes.

I don't remember the author who said " Taj Mahal is the worst structure ever erected by mankind ....Marble conceives a multitude of sins etc..." .The white marble around the Haram has a different story to tell. A number of Saudi Youths could be seen waiting eagerly in front of the hotels , looking tired and their hands resting on wheel chairs". They ask the pilgrims coming out of the hotels around the Haram whether they need them to help the aged and physically weak persons to perform Haj or Omra rites especially the strenuous task of Tawaf around the Kaaba and the Saa'yu between Safa and Marwa mountains. The pilgrims are required just to sit on the wheel chairs pulled by these youths and the rest will be done by them. Despite the fact that they are prepared to bear this burden physically and mentally for pea nuts, some of the pilgrims who stay in Five star hotels could be seen bargaining with them. These jobless youths swallow their grievances and continue their struggle for existence. The white marble around the Haram will bear witness to their plight in the Hereafter.

By the father

P.S: Please share your thoughts on this  and other posts you have read.
My email: binsaed@hotmail.com

Sound Slumber

The weather in London these days is cloudy but one has to switch on AC when he or she goes to bed. The other day while I was walking to the Business Centre, Sonja Assenheimer, Guest Relations Supervisor, Mandarin Oriental Hotel - London greeted me saying 'good morning' as usual . But when she asked me if I had slept well, I took it in the negative sense presuming that she had noticed something indicating a sleepless night on my face . It was when I read the article " Suite dreams" by Bob Greene in the International Herald Tribune that I realized that her question was quite natural . A Suite in a hotel is a luxury accommodation comprising a bedroom plus a living room and some times kitchen depending upon the type of the suite. It is pronounced as Sweet and therefore it goes hand in hand with the word dreams and the reader can will have no problem in understanding what the writer means in both ways . Such a group of words spelt or pronounced the same but have different meaning is called homonym.

What Bob Greene tries to pinpoint in his article is that whereas at one time a business traveller checking into a hotel was seeking various types of pomp and pleasures, " now a days the universal craving that hotels seek to satisfy is a night of true deep shuteye with no distractions". He adds that in 2008, 56 Million sleeping prescriptions were written and that doctors say they are dealing with 80 separate sleep disorders . The writer believes that something seems to have gone wrong and concludes that " what we need in these nerve jaggling times is a night of sound slumber".

Years ago during my college days, one of my friends had easily discovered how somnolent I was and wrote in my autograph " Sound sleep is the cheapest pleasure one can afford, so sleep Mohamed go on sleeping." Once when I wrote one of my close friends that my main business was sleeping, he said his wife burst into laughter.

Here in London what my room mate Dr. Ibrahim and myself do when we wake up from sleep is to check the time shown in the clock beside our beds to see whether we have had a jet lag as we know that our body clock will be out of sychronisation and the body takes time to adjust itself to the new time zones.

By the father

FOSTALGIA

Fostalgia , as the annual gathering of Frook College Alumni Association is called, sounds and speaks like nostalgia or yearning for the past.. Fostalgia brings a multitude of sweet and sour memories in its train. More than 38 years have elapsed since I left Farook College after spending 5 years in the same campus. Still Time has failed to erase such memories from my mind since we had an emotional attachment to this institution from which thousands of students have graduated and are now working in different parts of the world. As Peter Kujawinski wrote "with great ferocity I have protected the memory of that time, so that in quite moments I can unwrap it and inhale its scent". When I recall those days I feel like smelling  a jasime flower and  I am endowed with " serene and blessed mood" as Wordswoth had put it.

The mess hall door of Iqbal hostel where I had stayed used to be closed a few minutes prior to meal timings. The hostel inmates flocked before the door and once the door was open they ran like pigeons running after food grains thrown before them. They were searching for the plates containing more rice or bowls having more mutton or chicken curry. The plates were of the same size and the quantity was the same. But due to human error it was possible that some plates or bowls have slightly larger quantities of food. They had no option to ask for another plate or some more curry as the quantity was limited like ration system. I was most probably the last person to dine and they interpreted it as a gesture of good will, discipline, patience so on and so forth where as the truth was that I had discovered that the curry remaining at the bottom of the pot would be thick and more delicious than what was served in the beginning. .

The hostel day was a memorable occasion. It was more or less like a wedding function except that  there were no bride, bridegroom or female invitees. Each inmate could invite his friends from other hostels. The hostel was decorated with colour paper and garlands . Students welcomed their guest from the gate and escorted them to their seat arranged in the courtyard of the hostel.

The teashop close to the college run by Athamakka was known among students as Atoms Hotel . The most favourite item in the tea shop menu was 'Sami' or beef so named after the Samis ( Brahmins )who lived in the nearby vegetarian hostel. It was reported that though they were supposed to shun meat they were stealthily eating beef from there. Thus beef came to be known as Sami. The beef served in his shop had a special appetizing flavour.

During the evenings, we used to walk to the nearby town of Ramanattukara . While walking, the breeze blowing from somewhere refreshed our minds and soothed our souls. It narrated the stories of our kith and kins living in the distant districts . Our chit-chat centered on our families and our thoughts revolved around our parents. The rose flowers in the gardens in front of some houses beside the road smiled at us as if they were telling us not to worry about them. In the evenings we went to the Chaliyar river shore and sat there to share our joys and grievances . The black waters of the river polluted by a factory which dumped its waste to it and its foul smell suffocated us . We were sorry that we had to  remain passive spectators to it. I don’t know whether there were environmental workers those days to defend the nature.

By the father

A New Start...continued

I love travelling , be it by bus, car ,train or air. I never miss an opportunity to visit places. My main hobby during the journey is to watch the world outside through window and observe lives of different people. For this reason I prefer travelling by train to other mode of transport . Every big railway station has a slum attached to it. Small houses resembling match boxes packed together, children running around , women cooking , old people sleeping in their varanda , people watching television huddled together in their unimaginably small visiting rooms , neighbours shouting one another etc .Everyone is busy with his or her own life , enjoying it to the full extent and playing their role in this world with full vigour .

My friend came five minutes before the train started moving . Now you can imagine the stress. I had been there waiting. But my pain was not over yet . Now she gave me a ticket in which my name was spelt wrong to the extent that it was literally not mine. Now I had to convince the ticket checker . Railway rules had become a little strict recently and some ticket checkers are really arrogant these days . I started thinkng of my options.

1. I could try convincing the ticket checker , which had the risk of getting caught. Morover , that would put me at the mercy of the ticket checker. I could escape by bribing him , but you never know some checkers become Raja Harishchadra in a minute.

2. I could distract the checker from looking at the name. But considering the fact that I am a terrible actor the chances of getting caught were so high .

3. As usual , wait and see .

But I decided to take the adventurous option. Sometimes I like the risky routes. What's the fun in life if one takes no risks . So when the checker came I pretended taking my ID card from my wallet with difficulty and showed it at a distance . Seeing that I would take time to show my ID he said it is OK. The poor guy fell for it . After all he was a friendly young chap .

So God blessing me with a splendid rain and employing a small trick I entered Chandigarh , hoping that the beautiful city would give me a new start .

By the eldest son

Serpentine Lake

While walking along the bank of the Serpentine Lake in the Hyde Park in London early in the morning , it is a soothing experience to watch the different species of birds swimming in the lake. They nest on an island in the middle of the lake full of trees and bushes which provide a safe haven for them to breed and grow up unharmed by human beings as even bathing is not allowed in this lake.
A skein of gees and a badelynge of ducks took me back to more than fifty years when rearing ducks was one of the means of livelyhood in Kerala State. The children in our village loved to watch hundreds of ducks moving from place to place accompanied by their supervisors travelling with them in small woodden boats which can hardly accoommodate more than one person. They were in search of feeding grounds for these birds especially during the rice harvesting season when the famers used to rent their paddy fields for a very short period of time to the duck farm owners against certain number of eggs. They came from the southern districts of Kerala and spoke a slightly different dialect of Malayalam language. The children in our area listened to them with curiosity tinged with a little bit of astonishment. I still remember how children like me to used to wait for these eggs which were cooked by our moms in different syles and how we enjoyed the duck-egg specialities.

Duck eggs were also hatched by the villagers using a setting hen for domestic rather than commercial purposes. . The incubation period was more than three weeks. We used to wait eagerly to see beautiful ducklings emerging from the eggs at the end of the incubation period. When the hen moved with ducklings she looked as if was she was so proud to look after them like their step mother as they were not her own chicks. To look at the ducklings piercing the egg shells with their tender beaks in a hurry to step into this world was an explicable experience denied to the the children of today due to the onslaught of technology which has robbed them of such innocent pleasures and amusments .

Among the birds one can spot in the Serpentine Lake is moorhen which is the Europen version of Kulakkozhi in Kerala where they nest close to ponds which may be the reason why they are called Kulakkozhi which literally means Pondhen. Some of the European moorhen have a read line on the upper part of their beak making it more beautiful than their counterparts in Kerala . They are so light that they can comfortably walk over the thick layer of some water plants enveloping ponds . Its chicks resemble normal chicken except that the former is black in colour and have long legs. As a boy I had enjoyed watching stealthly these chicks moving with their mother who will run and hide as soon as they spot human beings. As a part of childish adventures, once I had chased a moorhen in attempt to catch the bird when it is too tired to fly or run. When I caught her in this way, it laid an immature egg out of fear its shell so soft as a balloon. In those days it had occured to me to steal some moorhen eggs from the nest and incubate them along with the normal eggs using a setting hen to see if the mother hen would recognise the strangers among her children and how she treated them . I had also stollen the chicks of kingfisher from its nest and tried to raise them and was extremely sorry when all of them soon died . Years later exactly in 2000 when we employed a crazy Tamil homenurse to look after our ailing mother during the last few days of her life it was a coincidence the homenurse stole some eggs from the kulakkozhi nest adjacent to the pond in front of our house but I asked her to return the them to the nest . It may be that I wanted to repent for my mischievous activities as a child.

BY THE FATHER

A New Start

I still remember the day I came for admission. It was raining cats and dogs that Jan Shadabdi(train) was leaking. I had to keep my heavy luggage on my lap to prevent it from getting wet. Everyone had to do the same. A chaotic atmosphere in the train. The mother sitting beside me was yelling at her son to keep him away from the window. But he was more interested in soaking himself in the rain. Even though it was trouble, no one complained as the rain came in the midst of the hot summer.

As I am hailing from coastal area I was not used to the extreme type of wather. Even before coming here I was warned about the climate in Chandigarh. So I took it as a welcome sign from God. I had to spend the next three years of my life in this small yet beautiful union territory.

My day was full of uncertainities .But I had faced such situations many times before. First , my train ticket was with Gunjan, from my batch who was supposed to board the train with me from Delhi. But she was late since she had to visit her relative on the way. All I could do was to wait and hope that she arrives on time.Well I had reached the railway station three hours earlier. So I had a lot of time to wait and hope . I have been a type A personality in medical terms in my whole life. You asknow that this type , they say, tends to have a short life span since they are more prone to coronary artery disease because they are more fussy about perfectionism. I don't mean I make things perfect. I just fit in perfectly .So I was there in Delhi railway station waiting and hoping my friend arrives in time with my ticket .As usual I thought about the options before me.

1. I could wait for my friends. This was very easy under the circumstances .

2. I could take another ticket . Why take the risk . But there was not ticket available and I was out of work for some time and I needed to conserve as much money as possible.

3.I could ask my friend to tell me the ticket number and I could download it from the internet . I soon dropped that idea as i was too tired and my luggage was too heavy to carry and search for an internet .

So back to plan one . WAIT AND HOPE .

To be continued .............

By the eldest son

Let me join ....

As my father pointed out the idea of a blog has been put forward by my sister long before . But i knew that it would take some strain to make me and my father make a move. for the past few years i have been asking my father to restart writing to magazines . At last my sister has done it, and it is my turn to pen. I have been trying to find the right time to write. But it doesn't happen that way.You don't find time, but time finds you. I tried to write after my duty hours , in the outpatient room and in the operation theatre.Now I start wrting on my way to Dharamshala .

I had stopped writing( except in patient files) for many years . So pardon me with my language and style. For the past few years the first thing my relatives ask me when they phone is " are you busy now ? " and my first answer would be "Haanji" ( yes , sir). It has been very busy years for me . Infact I am now used to being busy . Life has become such a routine that I could tell my day in just a few words like morning rounds , out patient , evening rounds , operation theatre and emergency . Yesterday when my friend mentioned the trip to Dharamshala , I had rejected the idea as we had posted a major case for surgery today. But today morning fortunately for me and unfortunately for the patient, the case got postponed and at that very I called my friend . So here I am on the way to the abode of Dhalai lama , the peaceful warrior in a Qualis with five of my other friends.With a driver who just returned from jammu we start our journey for good ...

By the eldest son

Let us begin

The other day when my only daughter asked me to create a blog I did not know how I could digest the idea. I am sure that my unusual and extra ordinary willingness did surprise her. She knows very well that to propose something to me is a hard nut to crack. She used to put forth her suggestions wtih hesitation tinted with anxiety together with a very brief and simple introduction saying " uppa please dont loose your temper before you listen to what I have to saý". It is true that I loose temper these days for no reason. Has it something to do with my age or is it something ingrained in my blood. On some occasions, she used to add " When Mukhlisa( her eldest brother's fiancee) steps into the threshold of our family, please refraim from scolding me infront of her. Whenever you want to censure me, call me to some other room as if your are going to reward me and say what ever you want to say". After all she is a teacher commading respect from her several students.

What I forgot to tell her is that Mukhlisa has already crept into our family to the extent that once on the occasion of some positive development at home, my wife commented saying" it is due to Mukhlisas luck" . Muklisa is more lucky that she has got a very pleasing, and  freindly  mother in law who deals with her children as friends needless to mention her other in laws.

All of us are waiting for the day when she can officially join our family. Very often I have wondered how we can convert the marriage into a unique event in terms of simplicity and invitees. After all it is upto the bridegroom to decide how it can be done.

By the father